Chapter 4

4

JAMIE

E ugh. I fucking hate alcohol.

I groan as I roll into consciousness, despising every second of it.

A breathy chuckle washes over me, igniting my skin in goosebumps. "On a scale of one to fucked, how're you feelin'?"

I huff, even if the contraction of my abs makes me groan. "Royally."

"Figured as much. Here." I crack open an eye to see Fiona holding out a bottle of water and a few pills. I force myself to sit up, leaning against the arm of the couch as I reach for them.

Fiona's eyes rake down my body, and I flush. "Just some Advil," she says as she drops the pills in my palm. I smile weakly at her, dropping my gaze as I crack open the water and pour some into my mouth before swallowing the pills.

"Thanks," I murmur, feeling ridiculous.

She hums, and I shift under the tension of her stare. "Hungry?"

My stomach rolls at the thought of food. "Not even a little."

Fiona huffs. "Figured as much. I washed these for you." She hands over a pile of folded clothes— my clothes. "And your phone's on the coffee table. It's been buzzing." Her eyebrow quirks in that arbitrary way it does, and even sick to my stomach, it still makes me flush.

I blink as I take the clothes, my heart skipping when her fingers graze mine, trailing softly down my arm. I yearn to reach out for her as she pulls away, but when my gaze drops and I catch sight of the marks littering my chest, I freeze.

I trace over them with hesitant fingers, over every shade of pink, red, and dark purple. How the darkest ones throb with increased pressure and the red ones sting, like a scrape.

"Do you want me to get you some ointment?" Fiona asks softly as she reaches toward a mark near the base of my throat. "I didn't mean to break skin."

The jolt of possessiveness I feel over them startles me as I yank the blanket up and over my chest, shaking my head. My face burns at Fiona's wide-eyed stare, and my teeth sink into my bottom lip before I release it with a hiss.

I drop my chin to my chest as my fingers twist in the light cotton covering me. "Sorry," I mutter, blood boiling with shame for what I did.

It wasn't how I wanted things to happen between us. I planned on talking to Fiona at the bar, but she hadn't been there for three days in a row, and I just felt so fucking foolish. Because why would she want anything to do with me? We were only ever friends—if you could even say that—and all I was doing was chasing a pathetic fantasy and repressed feelings that were probably unrequited.

Jesus, did I fuck up.

"Do you remember?" Fiona asks bluntly, effectively scattering my shame spiral.

"Of course, I do." How I made a fucking ass of myself, pushing her even when she said we shouldn't. Knowing I was a little too drunk but enough where I just didn't care. Not when I could finally want without fear—because it seemed like she wanted me, too.

But I don't say any of that because Fiona doesn't deserve to hear my regrets. "I remember everything about the way you worshiped my body," I admit through a tight throat.

I startle at the feel of her hand on my face, tugging my chin up. When our eyes meet, I take in her deep irises, my skin tingling at the point of connection. "Good." Her thumb brushes over my lips, and I pucker them against her touch. "Do you regret it?" Her dark eyes are narrowed with inquiry, searching my own for an answer that's so fucking obvious. Her knee presses against my thigh from where she's crouching beside me.

I focus on that as I answer, "No, I don't." A second passes. Then another.

"Ask me, Jamie," she demands.

Fuck. What if she says yes? What will I do then?

But I've already fucking jumped. I… I finally fucking kissed a woman. Touched her. Felt her on me, and in me, and everywhere. But it wasn't just any woman… It was Fiona. The only one who has ever made me feel like I can be who I am.

Who has made every single moment I spent repressing and doubting myself feel so vastly unimportant— like those years don't define me, but who I am now does. The one who understands my vulnerability and didn't— doesn't— make me feel ashamed.

But I still have to look away as I ask, "Do you… regret it?"

I don't expect her to laugh, so when the rough chime reaches my ears, I start, brows knitted. Fiona pulls my bottom lip out, exposing my teeth as she smears my saliva across my mouth.

"I could never regret you, little one." The heat in her gaze knocks the breath from my lungs—as does the reminder of the pet name she coined for me. But the relief is overwhelming— because even if it was messy and all sorts of wrong, we still ended up on the other side better off.

Hopefully.

At least for now.

"Still don't understand that nickname," I mutter, trying to look away, but Fiona keeps my chin clamped between her fingers, effectively keeping me pinned exactly where she wants me. I find I don't mind much… or at all.

It's actually quite nice letting her do what she wants. I don't have to think quite so hard about what I should probably be doing.

One of her eyes is covered by a lock of dark purple hair. My fingers twitch with the desire to brush it away.

"I told you, babe. It suits you."

I frown. "But why? I'm older than you. And taller than you."

That makes Fiona release her hold on me to push to her feet, and my eyes rake over her body eagerly, to see her in the light without the haze of alcohol distorting my vision. I follow the line of her long legs, up her exposed midriff and the belly button ring in her navel. Over each arm and up her throat, over every visible, colorful tattoo.

Just as I part my lips to ask about them, about which are her favorites and why—because I've always wanted to—Fiona smirks, eyelids heavy as her bottom lip slips between her teeth. "Well, that's why."

"What?" I blurt without thinking, but even as the word leaves my mouth, understanding dawns.

I'm below her, looking up at her. Willing and waiting for her to tell me what to do. How to make it good for her because it's already so good for me.

Because fuck. Last night was perfect.

I ruminate on the facts. Pair it with what I already know about sex, about likes and dislikes and kinks.

So, does this mean I'm… submissive? Does Fiona like to have the control? Or did she just take the reins last night because I am completely and utterly oblivious when it comes to women… Maybe because I was a little drunk?...

Even if I wasn't, I'm pretty sure I would've humiliated us both by my utter lack of… skills… if I would've had to…

Fuck. I want this to be good for her too, but I just don't know how.

"I can see the cogs in your detective brain going into overdrive."

I roll my eyes, even as I force a laugh. "Sorry. I…" I swallow. "I see what you mean… I just don't know what that suggests about me. "

Fiona pauses for a moment. "It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to, Jamie. You can just be. " Sincere words— serious words—meant for a time when I don't feel like I'm going to throw up just from breathing. From trying to think about what… all of this means.

I don't have to have it all figured out today—I know that—but the part of me that needs to solve open-ended things is already spinning with the influx of all I didn't know about myself.

I can't look at her. "I know." I hold the blanket a bit tighter as I swing my legs over the side of the couch, eyes trained on the soft, dark carpet beneath my bare feet. "I should get dressed."

The blanket slips as I stand, exposing much of my backside, but between holding my clothes and keeping the blanket in place, I leave it as I rush into the bathroom, feeling Fiona's heavy gaze on me the entire way.

When the door is shut between us, I drop onto the toilet with a sigh. My eyes prick with the tears I assumed would be coming the moment I was alone. But I don't let them fall, even as my insides burn with shame. I lean my head back and blink them away, determined to keep my shit together. Because this is a good thing —even if I'm confused and battered with questions. About who I am and what I like. If my fucking anxiety and awkwardness has done more harm than good—and it's looking like it has.

By the time I'm dressed, I don't feel one iota better, but it's easier to ignore as I walk into Fiona's small kitchen and see her standing at the stove. The smell of bacon wafts in the air, and my stomach grumbles, surprising me. Fiona must've heard my footsteps because when I'm drawn to her eyes, I find her already looking at me, beaming with a smile that knocks me back a step.

But just as quickly, I'm reminded of the position I put her in last night, and I frown. "I'm so sorry, Fiona."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Jamie." Her tone is as icy as I've ever heard it. She clearly doesn't want to hear this, but I have to say it.

"I do. I took advantage of you last night and, well… That was fucked up. I know you already know this, but I'm gonna say it again anyway, okay?" I wait for her nod before I continue. "I'm gay, and I've always known, but I've never—" Fuck, this is hard to admit out loud. "I've never been able to be gay. I've only ever slept with men—which was few and far between—and each experience was quite literally a disaster."

My fingers clamp around the edge of the counter at my back, and I use it to steady myself as I push through. "Even after I got away from my family and their ridiculously fucking homophobic beliefs, it took me years to reach the point of being able to admit to myself who I am and what I want… Something I can honestly say I never expected to feel. Pride. But with that comes shame—not because I'm attracted to women. Not because I want to be with you." I force my eyes to meet hers with a brief flash to know she heard me. "But because I lack confidence. And experience. And it's fucking embarrassing to want, to need, and to not fucking know how."

I swallow the lump pressing into the back of my throat, and my fingers tremble, even flexed and strained. But even feeling sick and uncertain, the smile that stretches across my face is instinctual as I recall the moment I saw Fiona for the first time. "I remember the evening I walked into Gin River with Rhett and saw you standing there in your daisy dukes and ribbed tank, dark curls piled high on your head."

Fiona curls her lips inward but remains silent to let me finish what I need to say, and I'm so fucking grateful for it. "Not to get off track, but fuck, you were stunning—are. Are stunning," I correct, which makes her laugh. I wave my hand. "Whatever, you know what I mean. But I remember being in a shit mood, needing a drink so fucking bad, and Rhett wasn't better off. When you slid those beers across the bar top with that fucking dimple etched in your cheek, I couldn't fucking breathe. You quite literally made me stupid. I felt like I'd never spoken a word before in my life."

"Still do, I think," Fiona quips as she leans back against the opposite wall, crossing her arms over her chest as she waits for the food to need to be flipped.

"That's an understatement," I mutter as I draw my hair over my shoulder. "But I felt myself drawn back to the bar. I've never been a heavy drinker, but I needed to see you, and it was the perfect excuse. Bar, bartender, conversation. Conversations that turned into more, grew more serious.

"You became important to me, Fiona." I take a deep breath to steel myself. "You were the first person I'd ever met—apart from Rhett—that didn't make me feel ashamed, even after I told you my story. But that never mattered to you, did it?" I ask softly.

"No, Jamie. While your past has influenced so much of you—as it has with everyone, myself included—all that matters to me is who you are now."

My socked feet shift on the linoleum floor, eyes shamefully downcast. "Fiona…" The silence is sharp between us, ready to shatter at the briefest pressure. "You deserve someone who isn't riddled with shame and confusion. Who can give you what you want, be who you need."

"But you are, Jamie."

I swallow sharply. Feel the breath rush through my nose, the relief in my lungs as they fill. "Am I?"

"Yes," she answers quickly, so fucking sure of herself. Of what she wants. "I don't want—or need— an out," she says sharply.

"But how do you know?" I ask hesitantly.

"How do you? " she counters, tilting her head as she flips an egg. A strand of purple hair slides over her shoulder, dangling, so I reach for it and brush it back, tucking it behind her ear. Then, I graze my thumb over the shell of skin and cartilage. Over the piercings and her stretched ear lobes.

"I concede to your point," I answer eventually. She's right. Sometimes you just… you know. And maybe it's high-time I fucking trust myself, even if I'm not certain of everything.

I can't live in fear forever.

It's quiet but comfortable as we eat on the couch together, the T.V. turned to some detective show. Fiona watches, and I watch her. Rapt on the rotation of her jaw as she chews, the way her throat rolls with every swallow. The way her tattooed fingers hold her fork. I inhale the scent of her cinnamon coffee wafting through the air as she takes a drink.

The entry of a commercial drags me out of my trance. I blink a few times, my body growing warmer the bigger Fiona's smile gets. Eventually, she turns toward me, her perfectly shaped brow arched once again. "You're not subtle," she quips as she bites a piece of bacon in half, white teeth flashing like fangs in the night.

"I'm not trying to be," I respond, distracted by the way her eyes sparkle in the light of the lamp. "Can I have your number?" I blurt, then nearly choke.

Fiona's lips curl inward like she's trying to hold back her laugh. I stare up at the ceiling as I blow out a long breath. She's a fucking saint because I'm a goddamn mess.

"Finally asking me yourself, hm?" Our eyes meet. "I'd say that's progress."

"Yes, well, considering how I behaved last night, the least I can do is take you out." My nails score across the back of my neck. Jesus Christ, this is the exact opposite of smooth, Jamie, you dumb bitch.

Fiona's face lights up, and my heart skips. "Oh, so you're asking me out now?"

I shake my head. "No. Definitely not. Because if I were, it would be a lot…" I click my tongue. "Better. Than… this." I wince.

Fiona giggles, and it's such a sweet sound, I feel sick as its vibration enters my bloodstream. She reaches for my phone on the table and hands it to me. I ignore the notifications lining the screen as I unlock it before handing it over to her.

As Fiona taps away, she speaks softly, "Please don't give this to anyone else."

"Of course." I nod.

When she's done, she hands me my phone with a small smile. It looks a bit wobbly, and I try to ignore it, but it's such a sharp contrast to her normal smile, it's hard to.

There's a disconnect from her usual self and what I know about her. But it's not the time, and I don't have the right to invade her privacy.

After taking our dishes to the sink, I slip my wallet into my pocket and turn toward the door. I don't want to leave, but I can't stay either. "Thank you, Fi."

That goddamned eyebrow. I want to lick it. The thought surprises me, and my eyes widen.

"For the sex or the food?" she quips.

I blush hotly, dropping my chin to my chest as I blow out a large breath before peering up through my hair. "Both?" I try to smirk, but I worry it comes across as more of a grimace.

Whatever Fiona sees must be good enough because she laughs loudly as she walks up to me and slips her arms around my waist. My eyelids flutter at her touch, and I drop my forehead to hers.

I like this… This is easy.

"Seriously, though. Thank you, Fiona. Last night was… incredible." She grabs onto my nape and pulls my mouth to hers. I sigh as we kiss softly. Slowly. Soft lips and hot breath.

By the time she pulls away, I'm chasing her, stealing one last touch. And then, she's stepping back to peer through the peephole before opening the door, eyes fixed on the hallway behind me.

"Go on." She tilts her head. "I know you've gotta talk to Rhett." I whirl around, feigning offense, which only makes her laugh harder.

After I step over the threshold, I lean back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh. Acting like you still don't tell him absolutely everything."

That makes me frown. "I actually don't—since he moved." Fiona's face softens for a moment into one of understanding. And then, her lips curl as she smirks.

"Well, you're about to." She drags her tongue across her front teeth.

"Why do you…" I trail off, burning hot all over as vivid memories of her tongue on me make their way to the front of my mind. Fiona laughs as she pecks my lips, and with one last, lingering glance down the hallway on either side, she shoots me a wink and closes the door. I listen to the sound of the locks turning and sliding into place before I pull out my phone to call my best friend.

"What?" Rhett answers gruffly.

"Sorry to disturb your beauty… sleep." I laugh at his grunt. "But I need a ride."

"Why?" he asks, but I hear the sound of shuffling and a muted yelp.

"Why, what? I don't have my car. I left it at Leo's Pub last night."

"Leo's Pub?" he bellows. I pull the phone away from my ear with a wince.

"Don't fucking yell. Yes, Leo's Pub."

It's quiet for a very long minute. I can hear Dominik and Rhett whispering in the background, and I roll my eyes.

"Hellooo?"

"Where are you, Jamie?" This time it's Dominik, tone purposefully pitched high.

"What am I, on fucking speakerphone?"

"Yes," he answers quickly.

"This is too fucking much for me. I'm at Fiona's. I'll text you the address." And before either of them can grill me, I hang up.

After sending Rhett a drop pin of my location, I drop down on the curb outside her building and twist my phone between my fingers. Flashes of last night threaten to overtake me completely. Every hot breath and aching touch. The way she figured out my body better than I've ever been able to.

Fiona kisses like it's with her last breath, and I didn't think anything could ever feel so necessary. The lingering tingle of her touch is still very much present, and it grounds me, keeping my anxiety at bay as I wait.

I glance around the parking lot, having to lean my body to the left to peer around the giant, white truck directly in front of me. The lot is mostly full of cars but devoid of people it seems, which I'm grateful for.

I close my eyes and roll my head between my shoulders, feeling a lot better than I did when I woke up. My neck aches, radiating up and into my head, but the sun is warm through the cloud cover, and the light breeze keeps it cool, which helps.

When I open my eyes, I nearly yelp when my gaze connects with a man's through the windshield of the truck parked directly in front of me. My eyebrows pinch, and goosebumps prickle along my skin as the seconds tick by, the breeze feeling much colder all of a sudden. My lips turn into an awkward, pinched smile before I look away.

I tap my foot on the concrete, check the time on my phone, and readjust the cuff of my jeans. My eyes rotate, meet the man's endless stare once more. This time, I frown, but before I can think much more of it, the rumbling of Dominik's Mustang sounds through the air, and I push to my feet, brushing off the back of my jeans.

A few seconds later, Rhett whips into the parking lot, taking up at least two parking spaces.

"Do you have to be such an ass?" I call out as I walk over. Dom's laughing in the passenger seat, cigarette dangling between his long fingers.

"Yes," Rhett deadpans, making Dominik snort.

Rolling my eyes, I clamber into the back, my gaze drawn toward the white truck on instinct. I pull out my phone and barely make a note of the license plate before Rhett's speeding off.

"So…" Dominik starts as he takes a drag, and I groan.

I have the worst friends.