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I wanted her. I wanted to fuck her again. A dam wall had broken, and I flooded with all the pent-up lust that I’d held back for years. It wasn’t just lust, of course. What I felt for Oaklee went a hell of a lot deeper than that.
Fated mate kind of deep, apparently.
Fuck.
I’d told Oaklee it wasn’t her, it was me, and that was true. I’d been determined to keep her at arm’s length after this. I’d hoped I’d just gotten it out of my system, but now… Oaklee was in my system. She wasn’t just the girl I liked anymore. She was a part of me, and even now, tipsy as I was, furious with what had happened, I could feel the bond between us.
She was there, on the other side, tugging right back when I found the bond.
Most of me was panicked about what had happened, but a small part of me was curious about her. What would happen if I reached into whatever this could be, and I accepted that she was my fated mate? What if I tried to figure out a relationship?
I’d told myself I didn’t date, I didn’t fuck… the bond had decided otherwise.
Maybe I had to figure out what was going on.
Talking to Oaklee could be a good idea.
15
JAMESON
When I parked in the street on Monday, I looked up at the rundown building. It was a shitty part of town, and the apartment building looked like it housed squatters.
There was a buzzer at the door to the building, and Oaklee’s name was on the top button.
I pressed it.
“Hello?” Her voice was groggy like I might have woken her up.
“It’s Jameson.”
She hesitated long enough that I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me.
“What do you want?”
“I just want to talk to you.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Then maybe you could just listen? I don’t want to cause trouble.”
You already did that.That fact hung in the air without either of us saying it.
“Okay,” she finally said and buzzed me in.
I pushed the door open and climbed the stairs. The stairwell smelled like piss, and from somewhere, a cold breeze sung up and down the stairs.
Oaklee deserved something better than this shithole. I hadn’t known where she was living. Sure, her address was on file—it was how I’d found her—but I hadn’tknownwhere she lived.
She stood at the door when I reached the top floor. She wore a red robe, wrapped around her pajamas, and her hair was a mess. Her eyes had circles under them like she hadn’t slept.
I felt like shit. Was that because of me?
“Can I come in?” I asked.
“Is this work related?” Her eyes were weary.
“No, it’s not. It’s about us.”
