Jameson (Face-Off 4)

I dig my index finger into the crease in his cheek. “Okay, Dimples.”

He covers my hand with his, blushing. His response is so fucking cute that I want to kiss him again, except I wouldn’t stop him this time. I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from lunging at him and pinning him to the sofa. So, I keep my hormones in check by swatting his hand away from my face to create enough space that I can breathe without feeling as though he’s depriving me of oxygen.

“Shall we get back to me schooling you in your own game?” I ask, reeking of sarcasm.

Jamie moves his head toward me, our lips meeting halfway. While brief, the kiss stirs more desire inside me, followed by the realization that it has to end. At least for now. Once our lips separate, Jamie swipes a strand of hair behind my ear and says, “Prepare to get your ass kicked again, Foxy. Don’t think for one second I will let you win just because I like you.”

“Me either,” I spit back, challenging him. “Bring it.”

He sinks into the couch cushion and flashes a closed mouth smile in my direction. “It’s been brought. Now, hit the start button on your controller and stop playing like a girl.”

My mouth opens in surprise, enjoying the challenge. “I wasn’t playing like a girl.”

He shrugs, nonchalant, his eyes focused on the screen. “Call it what you want, but that was some sad gaming. I was just waiting until after you let me kiss you to tell you.”

“I hate you,” I say, not meaning a word.

“That’s a shame because I like you,” he counters. “I guess I have to find a way to change your mind.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Don’t even think about letting me win.”

“I wouldn’t dare. If you’re going to beat me, you need to earn it.”

Settling into the cushion next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder, I lift the controller. “Hit start already.”

Without another word, only the smile on his lips, Jamie walks me through picking our teams, weapons, and battlefields, even though I still remember how to do it from last time. But it’s cute that he wants to teach me because this isn’t just a game to him. It’s like bringing me to his work, allowing me inside his brain. And with a guy like Jamie, that means a lot more than getting into his pants.

Chapter 7

Jameson

“Would you come out already, Charlie? I’m growing old here, and I have things to do other than sit in another dress shop.”

“No,” she yells through the curtain separating her dressing room from the bridal suite that I’m stuck sharing with a bunch of women. “I look stupid in this one. It’s so fluffy.”

“Fluffy?” I laugh at her words. “Isn’t it supposed to be like that?”

She sighs. “It’s just…not right. Alex won’t like it. I don’t like it either. People will laugh at me.”

“You're ridiculous, Charlie. Stop acting like such a girl.”

The eyeballs alone I am getting from the girls are uncomfortable. Some give me a look of disgust, while others wink or flash a smile. All I want is for this madness to end. Charlie has to find a gown before I lose my damn mind. We have spent weeks searching, followed by nightly phone calls about how nothing is jumping out at her.

“You don’t get it, Jamie. I wish you had to wear a dress and have everyone stare at you and take your picture.”

“No one is forcing you to do anything,” I retort. “It’s your wedding you can do whatever you want. But you have to start somewhere, so come out and let us see this hideous dress.”

I chuckle at my attempt at humor, failing with this crowd. People are so tense when it comes to weddings. While I understand it’s a huge decision, I don’t see why there has to be a big production. Charlie and I grew up with nothing. We lived a simple life, devoid of any luxuries.

Her prized possession was a basketball and mine was a special issue of The Amazing Spider-Man. I still have the comic book. She still has the ball. Somehow, we were able to keep our foster parents from getting their hands on our things.

I don’t see the need for something so extravagant. We have more than what we need and live well below our means, apart from our lavish city apartments. But places in the city are expensive—even shit holes. That’s the price of having the city lifestyle.

“You’re not helping, Jameson,” Charlie spits back with venom in her voice, though I doubt she’s mad at me.

More like she’s mad at herself. She thought this process would be easy. Under different circumstances, I’m sure it would have been a breeze. That is, until Charlie booked the Wells Fargo Center for the reception. Who does that? I doubt she was thinking, and once Regan had confirmed that she could make it happen, Charlie had felt obligated to take her up on her offer. But the venue also added a lot more stress that Charlie didn’t need.

Sydney stands up from the chair in the corner of the room, flicking her black curls over her shoulders. “Let me handle this, Jamie. Charlotte just needs a woman’s touch.”