by Reese Ryan
“Or you could let me pick you up tomorrow and use my auto club membership. Then they’d never have to know,” he said quickly. He paused for a moment, realizing for the first time how strange it was not to have a two-foot oak bar separating them. He inhaled the floral scent drifting from her.
Jamie shifted the bag on her shoulder and sighed. “I appreciate what you did tonight, but I can’t impose on you any more than I already have.”
“Why not? I thought we were friends.” He smiled. “That’s the kind of thing friends do for each other, right?”
Jamie leaned against the side of the house. He could barely see her face in the darkened drive, but he could feel the warmth from her skin. He leaned in slowly, closing the space between them. His movement so gradual it felt like slow motion. He needed to be sure she wanted this, too.
Miles placed his hands gently on either side of her face and pressed his lips against hers. He relished the feel of her lips—plump, soft and firm. Savored their taste—sweet and tingly from the mint she’d popped in the car.
She’d leaned in closer and was kissing him back, her fingertips resting gently on his sides. He glided the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips then slid it between them. Suddenly she pressed the heels of her hands firmly against his chest, pushing him away.
Shit! It was the tongue, wasn’t it? The tongue was too much.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.” She stepped to the side, creating distance.
“Jamie, I like you a lot. And I get the impression that you feel the same way about me. So what’s the problem?” He stepped in front of her again, forcing his hands down to his sides and resisting the urge to touch her. “Are you seeing someone?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what?” He stepped closer, leaving marginal space between them.
Jamie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. “I can’t see you. You’re a customer at Tahlia’s and we’re not allowed to date customers. Period. It’s a fireable offense.”
“You—the woman who broke at least twenty laws on the ride over here—suddenly cares about the rules?” His laughter was derisive. He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way, but his feelings were hurt. Jamie’s eyes blazed and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. He took a step back.
“Look, I know it’s just a shitty little barmaid job to you, but it’s important to me.” The words tumbled from her lips as she stepped forward into the light. Her cheeks were red, her lips drawn into a tight, thin line. She crossed her arms. “So excuse me for giving a shit about jeopardizing my job.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He rested his fingertips gently on her arms, maintaining the distance between them. “You strike me as the kind of rebel who doesn’t care what other people think, so...does Tahlia’s really have a no-fraternizing rule, or is that just your way of telling me to kiss off?”
She seethed. “If I didn’t like you I’d just tell you to fuck off.”
“So why didn’t you tell me this a long time ago, when I first asked you out? If you’d told me then, I wouldn’t have bothered you again.” He released her arms and watched her face.
Her gaze raked the ground as she bit her lip and shrugged. “Maybe I was afraid that if I did, you’d stop coming around.”
Miles released a breath, the edge of his mouth curling slightly. It was the most hopeful he’d felt about his chances with Jamie Charles. She’d purposely withheld this information because she liked spending time with him. He hadn’t misinterpreted her feelings for him.
“I can respect that. And I’m sorry to have implied that you’d do anything to jeopardize your job. You’re an excellent bartender, and I’d never want to be the reason you lost your job. Forgive me?”
Jamie’s eyes met his. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve said something earlier.”
He took another step back and gestured toward the door. “I know you’re tired. Sorry to have kept you.”
Jamie stuck her key in the door and turned the knob. “Thanks again for the ride.”
“You’re welcome. And I meant what I said about giving you a ride into work tomorrow or helping you get your car towed. I’d be happy to help. Just give me a call if you need me.” He dug a card out of his back pocket and handed it to her.
“I’m fine, but here...take one of my cards, in case you can’t find your way back. A couple of wrong turns, and you’ll end up in shit creek.”
Miles smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, and Jamie...”
“Yes?” She was barely visible now, having mostly closed the door.
He shook his head and sighed. “Have a good night.”
She nodded and closed the door behind her.
* * *
Jamie slung her bag on the bed and slid down to the floor, her back pressed against the side of the bed. She’d finally met a guy she really liked, and she couldn’t have him.
The old Jamie would’ve fucked him a long time ago and not given a shit whether she got canned over it or not. But this job was different, and so was she. Maybe she’d finally grown up. For once, she would put her desires aside rather than disappoint Tahlia, Ms. Anna, or Ellie. This job was a great opportunity for her and she wasn’t going to blow it for a quick lay.
But as deliciously fuckable as Miles Copeland was, for the first time she’d been drawn to something deeper than how her body responded to him. He was funny, thoughtful and sweet, and he was genuinely concerned about her. She liked the guy. A lot.
She climbed to her feet and sauntered into her darkened studio. A sliver of light from a streetlamp fell through a crack in the curtains and struck her drawing, lighting up the eyes and mouth she’d drawn.
Jamie reached out to trace those dancing eyes. The ones that made her so happy she could drown in them. It was just her luck that the first guy she’d actually felt something for was completely off-limits.
Chapter Seven
Jamie and Lisa sat on her worn-out couch, catching up on episodes of The Walking Dead. Lisa’s small poodle mix mutt, Archie, was nuzzled in her lap.
They’d just finished the third episode when Jamie hit pause on the remote. “You want something to drink?”
“You got any more of those mango margaritas? That was incredible. Even better than at work. I’m telling you, girl, you should have your own spot.”
Jamie went to the small kitchenette. There was a full-size refrigerator, a cooktop and a microwave, but no oven. It was just as well. Cooking wasn’t her thing anyway. She basically just heated up canned soup and microwaved leftovers from Sunday dinners at Ellie’s.
“I’m going to pay the water bill. Don’t start without me,” Lisa called over her shoulder as she headed down the hall to the bathroom.
“TMI, Lisa. TMI.” Jamie shook her head and chuckled to herself.
Archie wandered into the kitchen and parked at her feet, his sad brown eyes peering up at her as she refilled the bowl of Chex Mix. “You’re a greedy little monkey. You’d better not tell your mommy about this.” A conspiratorial grin seemed to lift the edges of the dog’s mouth as he dipped his head. She tossed a handful of the mix on the floor, and Archie practically inhaled it.
Settling back on the couch, she waited for Lisa to return, trying to resist the vivid memories of the kiss she and Miles shared that night. He hadn’t returned to the bar since then. She told herself she didn’t care. He’d only been a distraction—at work and in her head. A distraction she didn’t need. She should be glad he’d finally gotten the point. Now things could go back to the way they were before he’d waltzed into the bar with his brilliant blue eyes that crinkled at the corners. And that damn smirk that crumbled her resolve, tugged at her heart and instantly made her laugh, no matter how hard she tried to resist.
They were all wrong for each other. He was raised in a fucking mansion. She’d subsisted in a trailer. He was born to a New York City socialite and a high-powered lobbyist. She was born to a couple
of alcoholics who had abandoned her first chance they got. He was highly educated. She’d graduated from the school of hard knocks. They would’ve been an absolute disaster together.
“Jamie, get in here!” Lisa called to her.
“Did you stop up my toilet?” Jamie hopped off the couch and rushed toward the bathroom.
“Eww! As if,” Lisa said. “I’m in your studio.”
What was her nosy ass doing in there? She’d shown her studio to Lisa before, but this time she purposely closed the door because she didn’t want Lisa to know...
“I thought you said you didn’t care that Miles had stopped coming to Tahlia’s.” Lisa stood in front of the incriminating painting of Miles she’d completed from her original sketch in the weeks since Miles had stopped coming to the bar. “Then what is this about?”
Jamie contemplated denial. She could say Miles was simply the inspiration, that it wasn’t actually him. But that sounded lame—even in her head, where she was the only person who needed convincing. “Like you said, he’s eye candy. I figured I’d be able to sell this to some rich, lonely widow. It’s no big deal.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow and jabbed a finger in Jamie’s direction. “You’re usually a much better liar. You’ve got it for this guy even worse than I suspected.”
“I’m not lying—”
“You’re not telling the truth either. What really happened between you? Why’d he stop coming into the bar?”
Jamie sighed. She hadn’t told Lisa. She hadn’t told anyone. “He...kissed me.”
“Did you kiss him back?” A smile spread across Lisa’s face that narrowed her almond-shaped eyes.
“At first...but then I realized it was a mistake and I stopped him. I finally told him about the no-dating rule. He apologized and said he understood. But then...”
“But then he stopped coming into the bar. What a jerk. Typical guy, though. If he can’t hit that, why bother, right? Then again, I’d have done the same thing if I were in his shoes.” She sighed.
“It’s fine. I don’t care. He wasn’t my type anyway.”
“What, tall, dark, handsome and loaded? That’s not your type? Well, I’ll tell you what, sister, anytime you hook a fish like that again you just toss him my way because that’s exactly my type.” Lisa shoved her arm.
Jamie laughed. “And I thought breathing was your type. It’s good to know you have standards.”
“Ha! This from the woman who specializes in men you can’t take home to momma.” Lisa shifted her weight, one hand planted on her generous hips, the other pointed at her friend. “You should talk.”
“Okay, so we both have awful taste in men. Neither of us should be allowed to reproduce.” Jamie grinned.
“Amen to that!” Lisa was laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath.
They returned to the couch and Jamie was about to hit play. Archie, who’d finished his contraband, was snuggled against the couch under Lisa’s feet.
“All joking aside,” Lisa said, “it’s obvious you were really into the guy. I don’t blame you. Sure, he was gorgeous, but he also seemed really sweet. I’m sorry things didn’t work out. It would’ve been nice to finally see you with someone who has long-term potential.”
“It’s okay.” Jamie drew her legs onto the couch and wrapped her arms around them. “Believe me, we’re both better off this way.”
* * *
It was Monday, and Jamie had been working in Nazirah’s studio since nine that morning, far earlier than usual. But she’d shown Nazirah her painting of Miles, and the woman had been blown away by it.
“This is what I knew you to be capable of,” her mentor had exclaimed. “In this, I see your heart. You care for this man very much, do you not?”
Jamie’s face had suddenly felt as hot as the furnace Nazirah used to blow glass. “He...he was just a customer at the bar where I work,” she stammered, knowing she sounded defensive. “There was just something in his face that—”
Nazirah held a hand up. There was a glint in her warm brown eyes. “You do not have to tell me, and perhaps you have not yet accepted it, but you do feel something for this man. I see it in your careful attention to every detail. The way the light falls on his face, and his eyes...those magnificent eyes stare deep into your soul.”
Jamie had turned her attention to drips of paint on the floor, not willing to explore the truth of Nazirah’s words. “You really think it’s good enough to enter into a prestigious competition like this one?”
“Most certainly! We’ll start working on the application tomorrow. The deadline is soon.” Nazirah hadn’t pressed the issue of her feelings for Miles. “But there is something else I think you should do. You have been working on your sculpting skills. There is much talent, but no soul in your work. But this man...I think he is the subject that would allow you to put your heart and your soul into the work of your hands. What do you think?”
Jamie looked at the painting again. The smile that melted her heart. Lips that felt—and tasted—sinfully good against her own. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
The idea of sculpting Miles Copeland, with his strong jawline and handsome face, was exciting. She loved painting and multimedia but was reluctant about sculpting. It required a discipline and dedication she admittedly lacked. For her, painting embodied the same carefree, playful spirit she’d felt when she’d finger painted as a little girl. Yet sculpting in no way resembled the hours she’d happily made animals out of scented modeling clay. No, sculpting was hard work, so she’d avoided it. But the idea of holding his face in her hands—even if it wasn’t the real thing—something about the prospect excited her.
So she’d been getting up early and coming to the studio to work, even on days when she had to work the night shift at the bar. Her perseverance paid off. The sculpture was beginning to take shape.
She’d washed the clay from her fingernails so she could make a pot of coffee when her phone rang. The number was unknown, but she sucked in a deep breath and answered it. “Hello.”
“Hi, baby. It’s your mother.”
The muscles in her neck and back tensed. She sighed. “Jo, what is it? Do you need more money?”
The woman let out an uneasy laugh. “Don’t be that way. I called to see if you were ready to talk. I’m serious about wanting to make things right between us.”
A knot wrenched Jamie’s stomach. She flopped down in a nearby chair. Quelling her anger drained every ounce of strength she had. “I’m not up for a heart-to-heart with you, Jo.”
“Well, would you mind meeting me for coffee? We could chat a little, get to know each other again. Just take it one step at a time. It’s the only way you’ll see how much I’ve changed. I’m not the person I was then.”
Jamie leaned forward, head throbbing, forehead in her hands. Ellie and Mel’s advice to give Jo another chance before it was too late echoed in her head. If she agreed to meet with her, it would be to get some closure and finally move on with her life. “Where?”
“At that little café where we took you for your tenth birthday—”
“I know the one,” Jamie said quickly. “What time?”
“Three?” There was relief in Josephine’s voice. Apparently she’d expected more of a fight.
Jamie looked at her watch. “Fine. I’ll meet you there at three.”
She clicked the phone shut. Jaw trembling, she resisted the urge to hurl it against the wall. She pounded her fist against the arm of the chair instead.
“What is it? Is Ms. Ellie okay?” Nazirah entered the lounge space with an armful of groceries. Concern pinched the delicate features of her face.
Jamie jumped up and took a bag from her. “Ma’s fine, it’s... Sorry, I didn’t mean to...” She cleared her throat and followed Nazirah up the back steps to the small apartment where she lived with her young daughter. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine to me, corazón.” Nazirah put the groceries on the counter and made room for Jamie to put h
er bag down. Her warm brown eyes regarded Jamie’s. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it? I am a very good listener.”
“It’s nothing, just family stuff.” Jamie sighed, her back pressed against a wall. Normally she’d have already headed back downstairs, but today her feet seemed rooted to the floor.
Nazirah offered a broad smile, eyes sparkling. “I got some tea. Why don’t I make us both a cup?”
Jamie nodded. Since working with Nazirah, she’d come to like tea. Then again, maybe there was something comforting about it, because Melanie had been the only other person who’d been able to get her to drink it. “I’ll put the water on.”
Jamie filled the teakettle as Nazirah put away her groceries. They discussed her progress on the sculpture, and Nazirah was excited about the competition. The jury would soon announce which pieces had made it to the next stage of the competition.
After Nazirah made them tea, she beckoned for Jamie to have a seat at the wrought-iron café table near the window. “Now, corazón, tell me what is bothering you. I haven’t seen you this tense since our first meeting.”
Jamie sipped her tea, then put the cup down. “It’s my mother—not Ellie, my biological mother.”
“Hmm...” Nazirah nodded thoughtfully as she sipped her tea. Jamie guessed that Ellie had already told her something of her rocky relationship with Jo. “Family—the one we are born into and the ones we make for ourselves—can be a complicated thing.”
Jamie snorted. “That’s putting it kindly. My parents aren’t complicated. It’s simple. My mother’s an addict, and my father’s a deadbeat dad who’s been missing in action since I was ten.”
“Somehow I think it is not quite as simple as that. It never is, no matter how good or bad the situation. So what has your mother done to upset you so?” Nazirah took another sip of her tea.
Exist. “I don’t hear from her for fifteen years, then suddenly she’s back, trying to make amends. I’m not buying it.”
“Why?” Nazirah watched her face intently. “Because you think it is impossible or because it is too great a risk to your heart?”
