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While Donna talks, Jamie stares at me like he doesn’t know what to make of me, and I gesture at him to go.
I can’t bear the idea of Jamie losing interest in me like Zach did. At just the idea of it, I feel sick. I can’t go through that again.
“About tonight,” he starts. His throat works and he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t think we should do it again,” I blurt out, and his eyes shoot to mine. Is that disappointment or relief? I can’t tell. “You have your mom and I have…” I trail off, shaking my head. I can’t tell him the truth. I have a very breakable heart and a big crush on him. “Right.”
“I should get to bed.” “Good night, Pippa.” His voice is low, and there’s something in his eyes that makes me want to hug him. “Good night.”
Inside my room, I lean against the closed door and gather my thoughts. Jamie doesn’t have room in his life for me—tonight was a huge reminder of that. It wasn’t Jamie’s fault; it was just bad timing, but I know he’s downstairs blaming himself for it. It’s going to keep happening, and he’s never going to choose me over his mom. He can’t. She needs him too much. The whole situation has a neon warning sign over it that says DANGER, blinking, with giant red arrows pointing to it. If I let it continue, I know exactly how it’ll end for me.
I should be relieved she isn’t upset. I should put it out of my head and move on. Instead, I can’t stop thinking about the other night. She was right that we shouldn’t be messing around. What happened with my mom was a warning shot, a reminder of what can go wrong if I’m not there for her. It doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.
I’m desperate to make Pippa come again, but if we start messing around, we won’t stop. I’ll make her mine, over and over, every morning, afternoon, and night. Probably in the middle of the night. She’s too fucking sweet, too soft, too special, and I can’t get enough of my pretty assistant. She’s so much more than the pretty girl from high school, and the closer we get, the more my resolve around her crumbles.
She deserves so much more than me, anyway. Someone who can make her their full focus, give her everything. I hate the idea of another guy in her li...
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I hate the way she’s tucked into his side like that. She should be tucked into my side. Not his. Never his.
His eyes are practically fucking twinkling at her. Rory Miller is twinkling at my Pippa. Everything about this is wrong, and a possessive rage rushes through me.
Miller’s looking at me like he won something. He’s challenging me, but I can’t do a fucking thing. I’ve already drawn the line with Pippa and crossed it a few times. That fucking fuck. I hate him for playing this stupid game with me. I hate myself for getting this jealous over a woman I can’t have.
Besides, beneath his cocky bravado, Rory wants to be friends with Jamie again. He just doesn’t know how, other than getting on Jamie’s nerves.
His mouth crashes into mine.
Oh god. Jamie is mouth-fucking me moments before Rory shows up, and I don’t even care. I can’t stop.
“Perfect,” he whispers in my ear. “Fucking perfect.”
“About fucking time—” Rory stops when he sees Jamie, and he breaks into a cocky grin. “You going to crash our date, Streicher?” “Yeah. I am.”
I know we shouldn’t have messed around again, but the second he touches me, all the thoughts just fall out of my head. It’s too electric between us. Too intense, too good.
“She’s good,” he tells Rory. They’re the first words he’s said to him since we got here. “If she wanted to, she could work in the music industry.” A block of ice forms in my stomach. “It’s not just about talent.” “No, it’s not.” Jamie’s gaze is hard. “It’s about hard work and believing in yourself. You’re just missing the last one.” An ugly, hesitant feeling rises in me, and my hands twist in my lap. I’m about to change the subject when Rory cuts in. “Sounds like you have a fan,” he says, flicking a grin at Jamie. No teasing. No overconfident smirk. Just a smile. “Her biggest fan.” Jamie’s
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I think about Jamie and how intimidated I was by him back in high school, and even a few months ago, and how kind, sweet, and protective he is beneath his surly exterior.
“Songbird.” Jamie’s using the voice he only uses when we’re together, like he’s forgotten Rory is sitting on the other side of the table. “You’ll kill it, if that’s what you want.”
“Next time we pass it, you should go in and play it.” I shake my head with a smile. “If I play it, I’ll want it even more,” I admit. “Would that be such a bad thing?” Yes, because then I’ll want other things even more. I’ll start picturing things. I’ll start dreaming again, and the last time I did that, it didn’t end well. “In another life, maybe, but not this one. Come on. Let’s go home.”
I bet that’s the expression he’ll wear when he tells me we can’t do this anymore. It’s only a matter of time. He’d never dump me the way Zach did, I realize. He’d do it the right way. He’d do it to my face, with care and respect. I flinch, picturing it. Why does that feel worse? Because that’s exactly the reason I like him. He’s kind, and he would never hurt someone on purpose, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt me without meaning to.
“I can’t do casual,” I tell him. My words hang in the air, and my message is clear. We need to stop this. Even if it’s fun. Even if he’s giving me the best orgasms I’ve ever had. Even if we can’t keep our hands off each other. He stares at me for a moment before his Adam’s apple bobs. “Yeah.” My chest feels funny, tight and strained, with an unwelcome pressure. “Good night.” He nods, looking so serious. “Good night, Pippa.” In another life, I said to him about the guitar. Maybe that applies to him, too.
I’ve never been the jealous type, but around Pippa, I lose my mind thinking about her with other guys. I hated the idea of her going out with Miller. Fucking hated it.
Fuck me. Pippa Hartley has no fucking clue how gorgeous she is.
“Are you bringing a plus one?” I’m about to say no. I should say no. Pippa can stay in Vancouver with Daisy, and if something happens with my mom, she can get over there fast. The idea of going with Pippa makes it bearable, though. I picture her in an evening dress, feeling gorgeous. Her hand on my arm. Sipping champagne, laughing. “Yes. I’m bringing a date.”
I spend the rest of the afternoon in the gym, trying to keep my mind off her and the way she said I can’t do casual. There it is—confirmation of exactly what I thought before. Pippa wants more than I can give her, just like Erin did. I’m older now, and I know better than to toy with someone’s emotions.
We won’t be fooling around anymore, but I can’t seem to stay away from my pretty assistant.
My heart sinks. “Everyone should have a birthday.” His gaze rakes over my face, so soft and gentle I can almost feel it. “You’re right. It’s unacceptable.”
“Mid-January? We can have a party.” “A party? You want to have a party.” His eyes spark. “Only if you’re there.”
I’m finally ready to admit it—when I picture myself at the marketing job, a little piece of me dies.
“Songbird.” Another chunk of my resolve falls away, and I wish he wouldn’t call me that, because I like it too much. It’s impossible to pretend with him when he calls me that.
“You have the drive, Pippa.” His tone has a frustrated bite to it, and his gaze pins me. “You’re so fucking talented, and the only person who doesn’t see this is you.”
Our surroundings fall away as our gazes lock. I see everything in his deep green eyes; I see that he wants this for me, that he hates what Zach did to me, and that he’s furious that my parents have this unknowing influence on me.
“Do you know how many people told me I wouldn’t make it?” His brow furrows with frustration. “Just ask Owens, or Miller, any other professional athlete. Anyone who has done anything bold has naysayers. Shut out those voices. The only opinion that matters is yours.” “Your opinion matters to me,” I say, truthfully. His nostrils flare. “Well, I know you can do it, so why don’t you listen to me?”
I want to believe him. I think I might, too. I don’t know if I’m ready to fail hard at something that matters, but there’s a tiny, stubborn part of myself that isn’t ready to give up yet.
When Jamie says things like I know you can do it, that stubborn part thrives. Across the table, he’s studying me with a serious expression, and my heart tugs. Jamie is so ki...
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“You don’t have to tell me,” I rush out. “If it’s personal.” “No.” He frowns. “It’s fine. It’s personal, but—” He looks across the table at me, really looks at me, and in this moment, I feel like we’re so much more than we are. “I want to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but I wasn’t sure how.” He folds his arms over his chest. “She thought she was pregnant.”
This is why he doesn’t do relationships. The realization makes me so sad. Jamie’s been beating himself up about this for years.
The song in the restaurant changes, and my thoughts screech to a halt as I listen to Zach sing the opening lyrics. My stomach drops through the floor. “What’s wrong?” Jamie’s voice sounds very far away. The lyrics float around me, and my lips mouth the chorus as Zach sings. I’m vaguely aware that Jamie’s hand is covering mine on top of the table, but all I can focus on is Zach singing my song. My song. The one I played for him and his manager. The one they laughed at. They said it wasn’t good enough before they took it.
“Pippa,” Jamie murmurs, and his hand is on the back of my neck, warm and solid and comforting. The contact drags me back to the present, and I blink up at him. He looks furious and concerned, a hard set to his jaw and fire in his eyes.
I’m confused, shocked, and so, so angry, but having Jamie here somehow makes it better. Jamie, who believes in me. Who’s furious on my behalf.
“I hate him for what he did to you.” I feel his low words rumble through his chest. “Me too,” I whisper. “You want to go home?” I shake my head. “I want to stay.” I’m done with Zach, and I’m done with letting the past weigh me down.
Minutes later, I’m filling my stomach with another order of tacos Jamie insisted I eat, and his phone lights up with a text. The background image makes my heart jump into my throat. It’s one of the photos I texted him of Daisy and me at the park, sitting on one of the giant logs. I asked someone to take it. He made it his background. My pulse gallops. I don’t dare let myself hope. He sees where my eyes go, and he slips the phone into his back pocket before leaning his elbows on the table, watching me.
I love this song, and I’m proud of myself for writing it. I think Jamie would be proud, too.
Absolutely no falling for Jamie Streicher. He’s damn near perfect, and I can’t bear to watch him turn into an asshole like Zach. If we’re just friends, he can’t hurt me.
I have a training session starting, he says. I’ll talk to you later, songbird. Every time he calls me that, I get a rush of happiness through my chest. I picture him smiling at me, that rare, broad, sparkling smile that makes me want to stare at his face forever. It’s not fair that he’s so hot. It’s not fair that I have to see him every day.
I’d do it forever if it wouldn’t break my heart.
We pass the guitar store, and my eyebrows snap together. My dream guitar is gone, replaced with a black Fender electric. Something sinks in my chest. I couldn’t afford it, so I don’t know why I’m so disappointed.
A realization hits me. I wrote that album for Jamie. I thought about him the entire time, and when the impostor syndrome crept in, I remembered his words of encouragement and his warm looks of affection, and it spurred me on. I’ve never written even one song for someone, let alone a collection of them, and no one has ever encouraged me the way Jamie has. It’s like he thinks I can do anything. The truth is obvious, and no matter how hard I deny it or try to compare him to Zach, it’s not going away. I have major feelings for Jamie Streicher. Now I just have to figure out what to do about it.
