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But if anything this Jamie looks even fiercer, like a proud alpha predator who’s already cleared the jungle of all his minor threats, hair burning silver, eyes blazing almost the same shade.
“I asked what sort of stories you write,” he says, somehow making it an accusation.
“Oh,” I murmur, feeling my cheeks flame unfairly, my body all too eager to show this man the effect he has on me. “Mostly romance, but lately I’ve been dabbling in some fantasy. I guess I’m still in the experimental stage.”
Jamie nods slowly. “Well, you’re only nineteen, so you’ve got plenty of time.”
“Dad’s an old codger,” Yasmin jokes good-naturedly, beaming over at him.
“What?” she laughs when he glances at her, still with that grimace on his face. I swear he should get that patented, it’s so unique to him. “I spend most of my time online, Dad. In internet years you’re basically a dinosaur.”
I find myself shaking my head fiercely, even if this is the last thing I should be doing. I try to remind myself that Jamie is Yasmin’s dad and nothing more, and yet for some passion-filled reason I feel compelled to defend him.
“I don’t think forty-one is old at all,” I say, looking down at my plate so that I don’t have to feel the combined Jensen gaze on me. “I mean, especially if a person takes care of themselves … and I think you do, Mr. Jensen, Jamie. I think…”
I trail off, my tongue becoming impossible to direct.
The silence lengthens and I risk a look up at Jamie.
He’s glaring at me, his jaw tight, as though my attempt at a compliment has only convinced him all the more that I’m just a silly, naïve, stupid nineteen year old.
I tighten my hand on my fork and screaming Fuck it in my mind.
Fine, let him think that.
What is he to me, anyway?
It doesn’t matter that my mind keeps leaping to absurd places, places where Jamie’s steel colored hair is almost black with his lust fueled sweat, the scent of his musky manliness filling the air as he leans over me, pressing his firm hard pectorals against my breasts, whispering that he wants me, again and again.
I recede into myself again, the conversation moving on around me. I’m vaguely aware that Jamie is talking about the Japan branch of Alignment, but mostly my mind is scouring the last few minutes, reliving the awkwardness, crippling myself with anxiety.
Knowing that this is a bad habit seemingly does nothing to stop me from engaging in it.
Jamie’s sharp tone tugs me back to the present.
“And you have no idea why?” he says passionately, glancing between me and Yasmin.
“Why what?” I ask.
Yasmin rolls her eyes and smiles again, always willing to forgive my imagination tourism even if we’re in the middle of a conversation.
“Why that man’s following you,” Yasmin says.
“No, I don’t have a clue,” I say. “It’s so weird. One day I just left work and noticed him and—”
“Why are you working as a waitress, anyway?” he asks, turning his full attention to me.
It’s like being pinned beneath the laser stare of a superhero, the look is so commanding, as though for a few stolen seconds I’m the only woman in existence for him.
“Writing is clearly your passion.”
“There’s a little thing called money,” I laugh, shifting my thighs under the table, my sex more than pleased to have his undivided attention. “Maybe I don’t want to mooch off my friend while I wait to become a bestselling writer, huh? I mean, it’s not like I’m even guaranteed to get a book published anyway. What if I quit my job and just end up living here, writing bad stories that nobody wants to read? What if …”
I trail off, realizing my voice has become loud and laced with red hot anger.
Unfairly, I see Dad toppling over the edge of that snow touched hill. I see him rolling head over skis and then smashing into the broad trunk of a tree, the wooden sound mixing with the bony snap of his death.
I see it all, in a flashing vignette, and then I remind myself that this is why I try to keep myself calm.
Passion brings pain.
Okay, Yoda.
“It’s natural to be frightened,” Jamie says slowly.
For the first time since he sat down, something like humanity creeps into his voice.
“Why, thank you,” I snap, unable to stop myself. “I’m so happy I have your approval.”
He smirks, just a short twitching touch of his lips, but it’s a smirk all the same.
“Maybe you should just use your sarcasm against this stalker,” he chuckles.
He somehow laughs without outright smiling, more of a grim grimacing rumble, but at least it’s something.
It proves that he’s human.
But then I remind myself that it doesn’t matter if he’s human or if I can make him laugh. He’d never be interested in me, and even if he was – which he wouldn’t be – it would be downright evil to pursue anything with Yasmin’s father.
