“Jasmine,” he greets with a tip of the head.
“Hey, Samson,” she replies softly with one of her genuine smile.
I don't miss the way his eyebrows do the slightest raise at seeing me with her. It's possible she hasn't brought a guy home since she moved here, and I can't help the fucking joy I feel at the thought of that. He's also wearing a wedding ring and isn't ogling her at all, so that makes me feel good about it.
The faint scent of warm vanilla is the first thing I notice as we walk through the door to her apartment, and it has me thinking that she sprayed herself with it in here right before leaving earlier tonight. I didn't care for the smell either way before her, but now I feel like I'm half obsessed with it, even going as far as putting it in my car.
Nothing compares to smelling it on her, though. Maybe because it's not just vanilla alone that she uses on herself. There's something that reminds me of marshmallows and sugar mixed in with it as well.
The second thing I note is how neat and tidy her apartment is, with a much more modern feel to it than mine. It's clear that she takes more pride in keeping her place presentable than I ever did. Her place has a more homey feel to it, whereas mine simply feels like a crappy place to sleep.
I guide her to the couch and make her sit, adjusting the pillows around her. “Do you want a drink or something? Some food?”
She sends a soft smile up at me and starts to stand up. “I'm okay now, Cam. Really. I can get my own things.”
“Nope. You sit.” I push her back down, and her quiet chuckle follows me as I walk into her kitchen. “Glasses?” I start opening a few different cupboards, not waiting for a reply, and find them a moment later. “Do you want a snack?” I ask, filling the glass with water.
“There's a bag of chips already open in the cupboard next to the fridge, so I'll have some of those.”
“Got it.” I grab the bag and then bring both the drink and snack over to her on the couch before seating myself on the coffee table in front of her.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, taking a sip of the water and placing the chips next to her. “Did you at least win tonight?”
Right. The race. I'd almost forgotten.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Sorry I missed it,” she says, her voice filled with regret as she reaches into the chip bag and pops one into her mouth.
“Don't be sorry. It's all good,” I reply. Too many seconds pass with me simply watching her eat, possibly waiting for something. Maybe a sign to know she's really okay now. “Want to tell me what happened back there?”
She folds the chip bag closed again and sighs. “Alright, um. That was a panic attack.” I nod, aware of that much, and gesture for her to continue. “Well, I started getting them randomly after my parents died. They never really pinpointed what caused them, but there were suspicions that it might have involved high emotions . . . and things to do with cars and crashing.” At my furrowed brow, she adds, “They died in a car crash. I was in the car.”
“What?” I hiss out, shocked and horrified while stabbing a hand into my hair. “Fuck. Why didn't you tell me?”
Her parents die in a car crash that she was in, and I bring her to a fucking race?
She leans forward, grabbing my free hand and enclosing it in her warmth. “I haven't had an attack in years, so I didn't think anything would happen. It's not your fault, Cam. I wanted to come. It just . . . happened.”
“It wouldn't have justhappenedif you weren't at the race. I shouldn't have taken you.”
“Don't do that,” she rebukes, withdrawing her hands again but staying close. “I'm a grown woman and made the decision to go,knowingwhat had happened in the past. You had no idea.” When I don't reply, but my brows remain furrowed, she sighs. “Don't.”
Finally, after a moment of chewing at the inside of my cheek, I give a small nod and fidget with the hand she released while trying to accept what she said. But fuck, the sour taste of guilt is still there.
I doubt she'll allow me to voice it, though. I can remember her trying to convince me the other night that Jacob being put in prison wasn't my fault, and while she gave a convincing argument, it still didn't stop me from drinking for two days straight.
“Okay,” I reply, shaking the thought away. I want to ask her more, ask her about the crash and her attacks, but I don't want to possibly set her off again by talking about it while she's already in a fragile state.
As I sit here watching her, another thought comes to mind, and I can feel the muscles in my shoulders start to bunch up. I'm not sure if she even noticed all the men that were there watching her as we walked through the crowds, but those two guys were lingering awfully close to her when I found her, and if I find out they did anything to her . . .
“Nobody there touched you or anything, right? Those guys weren't harassing you?” Just the thought of someone doing anything to her seems to have me feeling weirdly enraged.
“No.” The side of her lips lift in a small smile, and I feel myself relaxing – one by one my muscles release. It's amazing how quickly negative thoughts I have can drain out of me when she looks at me like that. It's only now that I realize just how close our faces have gotten to each other, with us both leaning forward. “No one touched me,” she adds softly, her eyes drifting to my lips.
My own eyes fall to her pouty mouth, where I've felt soft moans escape from – what I wouldn't give to lean forward and taste those luscious lips again. It wouldn't take much effort. We're close enough that I can feel her warm breath tickling my skin. Jasmine must have the same thoughts because she leans in just that little bit more, inviting me to take the last couple of inches. And, oh, how I want to. I drag my eyes back up, momentarily getting sucked in by her chocolate-colored gaze before my senses return.
I can't. She deserves so much better than me.
