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“We should keep moving, Lemon.”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“Sounds serious. Maybe we should get home first?”
“You lied tonight, kid. You said you’re better in the kitchen than I am.”
“And?”
“You might be better at cooking than I am. But I think you’d agree that I’m very good in the kitchen.” She motions to her tits and then her pussy, in case I wasn’t clear on what she was talking about. I was.
“Babe, you know I meant cooking. You’re the best at fucking me, no matter where we are.”
“Exactly. Thank you for noticing.”
“Trust me, I noticed. I notice everything about you, Lemon.”
That seems to make her happy, because she starts walking again. She’s still sliding from one side of the sidewalk to the other, from the edge of manicured lawns to the curb next to the street. If I wasn’t holding onto her, she’d be in the middle of someone’s lawn, or worse, in the middle of the street.
We’re still about five minutes from her house when she stops again.
“I need to tell you something else.”
“We’re almost home. Let’s just keep walking, babe. I promise you can tell me whatever you want to tell me when we get there.”
She shakes her head. “No, this can’t wait.”
“Okay, what else did I say wrong tonight? Let’s hear it.”
“You’re such a good friend, kid.”
My face drops to meet hers as I frown at her. “We’re not friends, Lemon.”
“Yes, we are. We’ve always been friends. Being friends is the most important thing. But now we’re friends who have a lot of sex. Now you're not just my friend. You’re my Jameson.”
She thinks I’m her Jameson? I’ve known that for months. I guess it’s something that she’s finally figured that out. But Lily calling me her Jameson is only a fraction of what I want from her. I want everything from her.
“Yeah, I’m your Jameson. Let’s get moving, babe.”
“No. I’m not done. I need to tell you something else.”
“You’ve got a lot to say to me tonight. But it’s late. Can we please just go back to your place? Then you can drunk-talk at me all night, if you want.”
When she shakes her head at me, her long blonde hair flutters around her shoulders. I can’t stop myself from reaching out and catching some of the soft, silky strands and rubbing them between my thumb and index finger. This woman has no idea what she does to me. And I’ll give her whatever she wants.
“Okay, what do you need to tell me that’s so important it can’t wait until we get home?”
She bites her lip. “I thought I was in love with Gunnar all those years.”
Gunnar is not on the list of things I’m willing to talk about right now, a list that’s getting smaller by the second.
“I don’t think my cousin is a conversation we should have after you’ve had this much wine.” Tugging on her hand, I try to get her to keep walking.
She doesn’t move. And when she looks like she’s going to cry, I know I’m going to give her anything she asks for. I’m going to stand on this sidewalk five minutes from closed doors and a warm bed and let her talk to me about loving another man.
“Jameson, just listen to me, please? I promise, I’m not saying this to hurt you. I never want to hurt you. But I need to tell you something.”
“Fine. Let’s hear it.” I brace myself for what she says next because I have a feeling it’s going to hurt a hell of a lot.
