Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Jamie

The night had a laid-back vibe, with jazz music weaving through the air, until Craig's mood took a sudden nosedive. When he came back to our table, I could tell something was off. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and he avoided looking directly at me as he said he wanted to leave. Had someone said something to upset him? Someone at this table? I couldn't recall anyone being rude, but sometimes the subtle nuances of communication went straight over my head. I settled our tab, still trying to figure out what might have turned his evening sour so quickly.

Had I done something wrong?

He said he'd run into a huge pile of shit, and his voice had been tinged with frustration and a hint of anger, uncomfortable. Whatever, I was happy to back him up if he needed to leave, and it was convenient enough to get us out without a fuss.

As I stepped out into the night, the cool air felt unusually sharp, cutting through the humidity that had settled over the city. The streets were dimly lit, with an occasional street lamp casting long shadows on the pavement. The usual buzz of the city felt subdued, almost like Craig's mood when I found him standing a few feet away from the jazz club's doorway, taking deep, shaky breaths. The evening had turned, and now there was a tension in him, a sign he was trying to regain composure, and it hurt to think that maybe he was regretting coming with me. I hesitated, giving him space to breathe, while my mind raced with worries about what had upset him so much.

Under the late evening sky, which was a deep indigo with only a few stars peeking through, my skin felt too tight.

"Okay?" I asked, which was stupid because he was obviously not okay.

"Sure," he lied, and headed toward the car, me skipping to catch up to him then falling into stride alongside him.

"Did I… was it…" Great, and there went my ability to string together sentences.

"Huh?" he asked.

"Have I upset you? Did I say or do something?" Horror struck me. "Did I choose the wrong place to take you? I should have asked you if you liked jazz, or if you wanted to go somewhere quieter." I was working myself up into a mess, and I inhaled sharply as he placed a hand on my chest.

"No, Jesus, it wasn't you."

Every line of Craig's body was rigid with strain, and it was so unlike what I'd come to learn about him—he'd relaxed with me since we were dating, loose and calm, and whatever had happened in there I wanted to go back in and fix it for him.

"My ex was in there," Craig finally said, his voice low and tight. "It didn't end well and somehow he always makes me feel…" He shrugged but I could see his expression and he was broken up about whatever had happened.

"Did he…" hurt you? hit on you? I didn't know what I was asking. He didn't know anything about my asshole ex, and I'd never asked about any of his past hookups or partners. Should we have done that by now? This was where my social skills lacked polish, but it didn't seem as if we were heading down the path of the exes discussion anyway, even though I could tell there was more to the story.

Before I could reform the question, Craig's demeanor shifted drastically from closed off to feral, and I whimpered when he pushed me against the car parked beside us and kissed me. It might have been to stop an awkward conversation, but it was a fierce, fiery kiss that spoke volumes, overflowing with all the tension and emotion he was holding back. The world narrowed down to the space where our bodies met, his tongue tangling with mine, hands gripping my jacket as if I were the only solid thing he could hold onto.

I scrambled for something to grip, laced my hands behind his head and melted into his touch. Making out in public was not something I'd done before. I'd always been reserved, cautious, calculating outcomes and potential pitfalls of discovery before I'd ever gotten to the point where people could see me. But with Craig, caution melted away under the heat of his touch. I was overwhelmed, hot as hell, and so present in the moment. Every nerve ending seemed to fire at once, every sound muffled except for the rush of my heartbeat.

As we finally broke apart, gasping for air, he seemed calmer, focused, smiling, his eyes wide, his lips damp from our kisses, and I'd forgotten there was an issue to begin with. Craig's kiss had swept away all thoughts of exes, past hurts, and bathroom confrontations. It was only him and me, here and now, the cool metal of the car contrasting with the warmth of his body.

"I've never—" I started to say, breathless, still reeling from the intensity of the moment.

Craig rested his forehead against mine, a small smile playing on his lips as he caught his breath. "Neither have I," he admitted, his eyes bright with a mix of mischief and something deeper, more honest than I'd seen in any man. I thought I'd loved Sean for his brains and his achievements, but he was nothing beside the brilliance of the man cradling me against the car.

Standing in the dimly lit street, leaning on the car with Craig's arms still around me, I felt so turned on I could have cried, and it was new, unexpected, and bloody intoxicating. Whatever fears or hesitations I had learned from exes like Sean about public displays of affection were trivial when I could be with someone like Craig. This was more than just physical attraction; it was a desperate need to be together.

"Wanna go for a drive?" he asked, then kissed me.

I hesitated, a little disappointed. Given how I was feeling at the moment, part of me had hoped we might head back to his place or perhaps get a bit adventurous right here in the car. But the offer to drive somewhere, to extend the night in another direction, was too sweet to decline. "Sure," I replied, forcing a smile as I buckled up.

He fiddled with his playlist, setting it to a collection of soft jazz that filled the space with smooth saxophones and lazy bass lines, perfectly suiting the late-night mood, and then leaned over to kiss me.

"I wanted to take you home," he admitted.

"Okay."

He reached for my hand, and we laced our fingers, and he squeezed. "I want it to be right and I need to get my head straight."

"I understand," I said. I wished I didn't—I wished I was selfish. Post-kiss, the expectation was electric, and I wanted more.

"Thank you," he murmured, maneuvering the car onto the road. The soft jazz created a soothing backdrop, and I decided to lighten the mood with a story.

"You know, my dad used to drive me around at night to get me to sleep when I was a kid," I began, watching the city lights blur past. "He'd say it was the only way to keep me quiet for more than five minutes."

Craig chuckled, glancing my way as he drove. "Did it work?"

"Like a charm." I laughed. "But every once in a while, I'd pop my head up and ask him if we were there yet or demand another story. He'd sigh and say, ‘Please, Jameson, just go to sleep.'"

Craig's laughter filled the car, a sound that made my heart skip. "I can imagine you being that kid," he said, shaking his head.

"Hey, I was a very curious child," I defended playfully, enjoying the ease of our banter.

He hummed to the music, which was so peaceful, but then he smiled at me. "So, Jamie is short for Jameson?"

I smiled, turning to look out of the window before answering, "Yeah, Jameson Hennessy. My dad thought it clever to match the whiskey with my last name." The story always seemed to amuse people, and telling it now, in the intimacy of Craig's car, felt right—like sharing a small, personal piece of myself.

Craig chuckled. "That's cool."

He turned into a parking area underneath a sign for the Mulholland Drive lookout, and the engine's soft purr fell silent, the music stopping, and we were left with the quiet of the night.

"I love it here," he said. We stepped out, and the view was breathtaking. The city below us was a tapestry of lights and colors, vibrant even at night, alive in a way only Los Angeles can be. The lookout was peaceful, and we leaned against the car, our shoulders touching, and stared at the view. I couldn't have imagined a more perfect end to the evening, standing with Craig, high above the sprawling city, feeling like the only two people in the world.

The night air was cool, sweeping over us as we leaned against the railing, focusing on the glittering expanse of Los Angeles. Ribbons of streetlights threaded through the darkness, and the city lights blurred into one. Above, the sky was a deep velvet blue, largely obscured by the city's luminescence, yet a few stubborn stars twinkled faintly. Craig tugged me into his side and then tucked his head into my neck. He was exactly the right height for me and perfectly fit in my arms.

Craig's voice broke through the calm, pulling me back from my reverie. "Sorry, I messed up tonight," he murmured.

"You didn't. I have a shitty ex as well, you know," I found myself saying, the cool night breeze carrying my words and regretting saying them immediately. "Shit. Sorry. Not that my shitty ex is any worse than what I assume yours was, I'm not saying that. I'm sorry."

"You love apologizing."

"It's a thing." I smirked and then shrugged.

"Tell me about your shitty ex," Craig murmured, nuzzling my throat. I could get used to having him in my arms.

"He took the credit for our shared research, and I was walking into a conference room just as the applause began, and there was Sean, soaking it all up, as if I hadn't been part of any of it. They were my theories."

"The spiral thing?"

"Yeah, and it's application. Those were my ideas, but you know what, all he has is the research, it's me who got funding, so fuck him."

"Yeah, fuck him."

"What's different between my shitty ex and your shitty ex is that I won't meet mine randomly in LA." I hesitated. "At least I hope not. He's back in New York and he'd have to be dragged to the west coast kicking and screaming." I sighed, the old frustration flaring up briefly. "I never should have stayed in New York after Oli came here but y'know, I was trying to make the boyfriend thing work. Sean was the only reason I stayed there as long as I did. And after Oli got traded here, I missed him and the girls so much and I just wanted to be with them." Craig squeezed my hand. "I want to reassure you that I will never be a shitty ex."

Craig chuckled. "You mean you don't want a full membership of the shitty exes club?"

"Nope."

"Me neither."

"Yeah, we're the good guys, right?"

"Totally." He paused. "I will tell you, if…"

If this goes any further? If he can?

I squeezed his hand. "I know."

Against the perfect backdrop of Los Angeles at night, we leaned into each other and kissed. It was deep, sweet, and hot—a kiss that felt as if it were pulling every pent-up emotion to the surface.

When we finally separated, both of us were a little breathless; Craig's eyes were bright, alive with something that looked a lot like hope. "You want to come back to my place?" he asked, with the words soft between us.

"Yes," I answered without hesitation, my voice steady despite the racing of my heart. The idea of continuing, of letting go of this connection, felt exactly right. As we headed back to his car, I couldn't help but think how perfect this night was turning out to be.

And remembering the barbecue and how hot that experience had been, I imagined the night was about to get better.