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“Oh yeah?”
He gives me an up-and-down stare. “Yeah, hurry up.”
I shake my head, having another bite. It’s a lot warmer up on the porch. Maybe because he’s so far north, the boards reflect the heat. Thinking about how I’m on the coast of Maine gets me thinking about back home and what went on the last time we were both there together. I glance sideways at him again. He’s gazing up, propped on the heels of his palms.
“Why did you do it?” I ask.
My heart is thumping.
“Do what?” He doesn’t turn.
“Fuck me and leave.”
He’s quiet, then clears his throat. “Because we were hooking up. We both knew that.”
He’s right, but he’s also being avoidant.
“I’d believe that if I weren’t here right now,” I say. “Because you texted me.”
His jaw works. “I did.”
“Why?” My voice breaks. I didn’t want it to.
“Because I want you, and I can’t stop thinking about wanting you.”
His honesty shocks me. My heart soars, and my stomach flip-flops. That was clear from how desperate his text was, and how hard he fucked me, but I needed to hear it out loud.
“Then why ignore me all year?” I say finally.
“Because you are too young for me, and I don’t want you tangled up in my work.”
Now, I don’t love that honesty. It’s blunt, and his tone is flat. However, there is a part of me, way below my pride, that understands what he’s saying. It was one thing for Sabrina and Coen, though that wasn’t an easy path, either, but I’m even younger. I’ve googled Jamie’s age, and I was about right; he’s thirty-seven soon. Which makes him a —not a good sign in my opinion.
“You can’t stop thinking about me, either,” he says finally.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you came when I asked.”
I clear my throat, watching the blue water ripple. “Maybe we can just fuck it out and forget.”
The thought kills me. But it’s possible we can fuck until we start fighting. Maybe he can make me hate him—really, truly hate him. That would help. Because, right now, I want to climb into his lap, take his face in my hands, and kiss him slowly so I can feel him get hard between my legs. It’s not even in a lustful way. More of a lazy Sunday morning feeling, the desire to spend time with him, to discover him.
That’s a rapid change from earlier.
“Maybe,” he says.
“At the end of it, we can get in a really big fight, and I’ll go back to my mom’s house.”
The corner of his mouth turns up.
“Yeah, that’d be okay.”
Even though I’m upset, I eat a little more food before giving him the picked-over plate. He pushes both plates aside and shifts closer. His rough palm touches my face, turning me. I half expect him to kiss me gently. Instead, he kisses me like he’s ready to start fucking it out right now. Parting my lips and grazing his tongue against mine. Then, he slides his other arm around me and pushes us into the water.
I yelp, clinging to him. He doesn’t let me go under, holding me in the crook of his massive forearm.
“Can we pretend to like each other?” he asks.
