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Because she’s right. James is a keeper. And I’m never letting go.
Not even for a second.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
James
“I guess I should’ve taken you out on a date before Ihadyou all to myself,” I tell Jasmine, after helping her into the car.
She pouts a little. Then, before being able to stop it, she smiles.
“I think I know which I prefer already,” she croons, meaning it, too, by the tone of her voice.
Jasmine and I smashed straight into each other, and that’s what makes this so amazing.
“I just hope you don’t think… I mean…,” I try to explain.
I’m not sure I need to, but I want to be clear. I want her like nothing else, and if I had to go through another day without doing what we both need so badly? It would’ve been a very short date. We were destined to be bunk buddies long before choosing salad or soup and an entrée.
“I kinda did suggest we go straight to your place,” Jasmine tactfully reminds me, not letting me take all the credit for claiming her.
I think she’s done a bit of claiming herself. My heart. It bursts every time I look at her. It’s only been a day, but I already feel like I could…
“Married sixty years,” Jasmine says aloud thoughtfully, breaking my own thoughts as I have to do a double take.
“Huh?” I ask, confused.
Here I am, thinking about how fast things are moving, and she’s talking sixty years?
“Iris and Phil,” she chimes, crimping her lips and sighing to herself.
I watch her eyes move out the window, reminding myself to keep my own on the road. It’s still wet outside, and apart from wanting to take her home, I’d love to show Jasmine a good time in another way.
I just hope she likes food as much as I do. I eat. A lot. The suggestion of food at any hour is going to get my attention.
“I’m not exactly dressed for dinner, though,” she says, suddenly wincing to herself. “Maybe we could swing by my…,” she starts, but stops herself.
“You want to get changed? You look great,” I remind her, craving her whatever she’s wearing. Especially now that I know what’s underneath and just how good it feels.
I can see she doesn’t want me to see her apartment. This leads me to make a confession of sorts.
“I followed you home, Jasmine… twice,” I tell her, feeling her head snap around and focus on me while I keep my head straight. Ten and two on the wheel and eyes front—my go-to confessional pose.
“Twice?” she asks in a rising tone.
I expect her to get mad or have second thoughts, but she finally sighs loudly again and throws herself back deeper into the soft leather of the sports seat.
“Iris was right,” she says softly to herself. “Why didn’t you say something to me in the store or buzz my buzzer? I would have let you in,” she says, batting my arm and scolding me playfully, making me feel dumber than I already do for acting like such a bonehead instead of just doing it as she says.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you want me to go to your place now?” I counter, pulling up at a stoplight and casting a look to challenge her.
I’m only playing, but I can see straight away it’s hit a nerve.
“Or… we can go do a little shopping,” I suggest.
“I’m not exactly dressed for dinner either,” I remark, backpedaling again.
It feels like every word’s just digging me into a deeper hole when I notice Jasmine’s face falling. It’s hardly the time of night to go clothes shopping. I don’t blame her. It’s going to take time to show her how different things can be for her—for us both if she’ll let me.
