The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

“Way too far.”

Chapter 26

We walk down the street toward my apartment, hand in hand. Jameson is being overattentive and talking nonstop, and I am quiet. I’m annoyed that with just one dinner meeting, I find myself here with him.

I’m officially a pushover.

Weak as water.

His phone beeps with a text, and he shuffles around in his pocket to retrieve it and smiles. “Tristan.” He reads the text out loud “How did it go?”

I roll my eyes. “Text back, ‘Not out of the woods yet. Still may be found dead in a ditch tomorrow.’”

Jameson smirks. “No, I’m not writing that. If it actually happens, I don’t want you to go to prison.” He turns to face me and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “You wouldn’t kill me.” He leans in and kisses me softly.

My eyes hold his. “Wouldn’t I?”

He smiles and then takes my hand as we walk toward the door. I stop on the spot. “Good night,” I announce.

“What?”

“You’re not coming in.”

“Why not?”

“Jameson, I am still eighty percent pissed off with you.”

“Yes. I know. Let me make it up to you.” He smiles darkly.

I pull out of his arms and step back from him. “There is nothing sexual that you could do that would make up for how you have treated me.”

His face falls.

“When I agreed to try again, it was just that . . . to try again. I’m not promising anything, and I don’t know how this is going to turn out. I honestly don’t know if we can get back what we had. The morning you left me after the second stopover, you broke something between us. I have never been so upset in all of my life. It was devastating for me. Having sex with you now is the very last thing that I want to do.”

“Em,” he whispers. “I couldn’t talk to you because it killed me to push you away. I was battling myself over it.”

“Good night, Jameson.”

He looks around in a fluster. “Well, when will I see you again?”

I shrug. “It’s Thursday, and I’m away for the weekend, so next week, I guess.”

“Next week?” he huffs. “That’s like four days away.”

“Is it?” I reply flatly as I begin to dig in my bag for my keys. I really do need to get a better system in this damn handbag; it’s like the fucking Bermuda Triangle in here.

“Well, that’s too long,” he stammers. “I haven’t seen you for a month. I need more time with you.”

“Take it or leave it,” I reply.

“Em?”

I turn and kiss him softly on the lips, and he snaps his arms around me. We stay still for a few minutes in each other’s arms, holding on tight and needing the closeness that the other provides. I’ve missed him desperately, and it would be so easy to take him upstairs right now.

No . . . I have serious trust issues that I need to deal with. He needs to deal with.

“I’ll sleep on the lounge,” he whispers. “I can’t be away from you for one more night. Don’t ask that of me.”