A Love Letter to Whiskey
Page 20
You know those gut feelings you get that warn you of impending doom? I had swarms of them that night as we danced around each other at the party, never getting close enough to talk again, yet never getting completely out of the other’s sight. I stayed close to Ethan and Jamie kept his distance, but whenever our eyes met across the crowd, my stomach twisted in warning.
I should have listened, but if you haven’t learned by now, caution signs didn’t work when it came to Jamie.
EVEN THOUGH I KNEW EVENTUALLY I would cave, I did resist the first few times Jamie asked me to hang out after that night. The first time, not even a full week later, I said I was studying. The time after that, I was with Ethan. And, the third time, I claimed period cramps. I thought for sure he’d let it go after that last excuse . But the thing about whiskey is that it’s a stubborn drink that refuses to be ignored. It doesn’t just sit on a shelf in a pretty bottle and wait patiently. No, it clamors for attention, and that was just shitty news for thirsty fools like me.
It was only ten in the morning and yet I’d already worked a full six-hour shift at the coffee shop. Opening sucked, especially since the biggest rush of the day came between six and nine. Thankful as I was for the job, I missed sleeping in something fierce.
I was yawning, ready for a Friday spent curled up in my tiny twin bed when I rounded the corner to my dorm and saw Jamie leaned up against the same cherry red Jeep he’d driven in high school. He wasn’t even in a parking spot, just pulled up against the curb closest to the entrance of the community where my dorm was housed.
He didn’t see me at first, and I took those few stolen moments to shamelessly check him out. He was still just as lean and tall as he was in high school, but his arms had filled out since then. In fact, it seemed all of him had filled out — even his neck, which was a strange thing to notice about a person, but I did. He was in a weird state of being between the high schooler I’d left on the beach over a year ago and the man I wasn’t sure I’d have the privilege of knowing five years from now.
When he noticed me approaching, Jamie stood straighter, a shit-eating grin in place. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he offered as I approached him with another yawn.
“Pretty sure this is illegal,” I spoke through it, my voice morphed, pointing to his Jeep in a sweeping motion.
“It’s okay. No chance of being caught since we’re about to move.”
“We?”
He nodded. “We. Hop in.”
“Jamie…” I started to argue.
“Nope. No excuses. I’ve heard enough of those over the past few weeks.” He pushed off his Jeep and circled to the other side, opening his passenger door. “Let’s go.”
“I’m so tired. And I’m not dressed for anything.” I motioned to the white jean shorts and pale-green polo I’d worn to work.
“What you’re wearing is fine. And we’ll get coffee.” He lifted a brow, nodding toward the front seat again. “Come on. In.”
I debated arguing again, but at that point I knew it was useless. “Brat,” I huffed as I slid inside.
Jamie smirked, but didn’t press his luck, simply shutting the door behind me and jogging around to the driver side. I have to admit, it was surreal being back in that seat, in that Jeep. A rush of memories flooded in, of long nights driving around our lazy beach town in South Florida, talking about our fears, our secrets, our dreams.
“She’s missed you,” he said, watching me as my fingers traced the dash.
“She?”
“ScarJo,” he answered, opening his arms wide to gesture to his car.
“Oh my God, you can’t be serious. Like Scarlett Johansen?”
“Hey!” Jamie defended. “Don’t judge! I was a horny sixteen-year-old when I got her.”
“Nerd,” I teased, but when I ran my hand over the door panel, I sighed contently and leaned back into the seat, kicking off my sandals and propping my feet on the dash. Home. “It does sort of feel like this seat belongs to me.”
I glanced over at Jamie and he was watching me in that peculiar way, just the slightest hint of a smile resting on his lips. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but before I had the chance, his hand found the gear shift and he threw us into drive.
“Let’s go see San Diego.”
FOR THE FIRST HOUR, Jamie just drove. I don’t even think he really had a place in mind. His Jeep slowly cruised the streets of the different areas of San Diego, moving us through Chula Vista into the heart of downtown. We both stared out at the city, pointing here and there, rarely ever saying anything. Claude Debussy mixed with the California wind, which made for the most incredible soundtrack for our drive. It was sunny, but the clouds were puffy white that day and they gave us reprieve from the sun.
For a while, I didn’t even think about being tired. San Diego was such an artsy city, and there was something colorful and eye-catching around every corner, it seemed. Still, eventually, the yawns caught up to me again, and Jamie said he knew the perfect place to get coffee.
When we reached the destination he had in mind, my feet hit the floorboard and a laugh ripped from my throat. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘You have cat to be kitten me?’”
“You’re not cute, Jamie Shaw,” I retorted, shoving my sunglasses on top of my head to get a better look.
The Cat Café.
“Am too. And what? I thought we could honor Rory’s memory. Plus, if you fall asleep on our first date, I’ll never live that down.”
I rolled my eyes as he circled to find parking. “This is not a date.”
“It’s a boy and a girl out doing fun things together.”
“As friends.”
“Or…” Jamie teased, finding a spot. He whipped the Jeep in with a crooked smile on his face.
“I have a boyfriend.”
He was unbuckling his seatbelt, but paused a moment, his eyes on where his hand still held the buckle. He sniffed, cracked his neck, and then let it go. “Come on. Let’s get you caffeinated.”
I let him avoid the statement, mostly because I was dying for coffee. You would think working in a coffee shop would make me not want it as much, but it was quite the opposite, actually. I started every morning with a cup of Joe and I was far from opposed to an afternoon pick-me-up at the moment.
I should have listened, but if you haven’t learned by now, caution signs didn’t work when it came to Jamie.
EVEN THOUGH I KNEW EVENTUALLY I would cave, I did resist the first few times Jamie asked me to hang out after that night. The first time, not even a full week later, I said I was studying. The time after that, I was with Ethan. And, the third time, I claimed period cramps. I thought for sure he’d let it go after that last excuse . But the thing about whiskey is that it’s a stubborn drink that refuses to be ignored. It doesn’t just sit on a shelf in a pretty bottle and wait patiently. No, it clamors for attention, and that was just shitty news for thirsty fools like me.
It was only ten in the morning and yet I’d already worked a full six-hour shift at the coffee shop. Opening sucked, especially since the biggest rush of the day came between six and nine. Thankful as I was for the job, I missed sleeping in something fierce.
I was yawning, ready for a Friday spent curled up in my tiny twin bed when I rounded the corner to my dorm and saw Jamie leaned up against the same cherry red Jeep he’d driven in high school. He wasn’t even in a parking spot, just pulled up against the curb closest to the entrance of the community where my dorm was housed.
He didn’t see me at first, and I took those few stolen moments to shamelessly check him out. He was still just as lean and tall as he was in high school, but his arms had filled out since then. In fact, it seemed all of him had filled out — even his neck, which was a strange thing to notice about a person, but I did. He was in a weird state of being between the high schooler I’d left on the beach over a year ago and the man I wasn’t sure I’d have the privilege of knowing five years from now.
When he noticed me approaching, Jamie stood straighter, a shit-eating grin in place. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he offered as I approached him with another yawn.
“Pretty sure this is illegal,” I spoke through it, my voice morphed, pointing to his Jeep in a sweeping motion.
“It’s okay. No chance of being caught since we’re about to move.”
“We?”
He nodded. “We. Hop in.”
“Jamie…” I started to argue.
“Nope. No excuses. I’ve heard enough of those over the past few weeks.” He pushed off his Jeep and circled to the other side, opening his passenger door. “Let’s go.”
“I’m so tired. And I’m not dressed for anything.” I motioned to the white jean shorts and pale-green polo I’d worn to work.
“What you’re wearing is fine. And we’ll get coffee.” He lifted a brow, nodding toward the front seat again. “Come on. In.”
I debated arguing again, but at that point I knew it was useless. “Brat,” I huffed as I slid inside.
Jamie smirked, but didn’t press his luck, simply shutting the door behind me and jogging around to the driver side. I have to admit, it was surreal being back in that seat, in that Jeep. A rush of memories flooded in, of long nights driving around our lazy beach town in South Florida, talking about our fears, our secrets, our dreams.
“She’s missed you,” he said, watching me as my fingers traced the dash.
“She?”
“ScarJo,” he answered, opening his arms wide to gesture to his car.
“Oh my God, you can’t be serious. Like Scarlett Johansen?”
“Hey!” Jamie defended. “Don’t judge! I was a horny sixteen-year-old when I got her.”
“Nerd,” I teased, but when I ran my hand over the door panel, I sighed contently and leaned back into the seat, kicking off my sandals and propping my feet on the dash. Home. “It does sort of feel like this seat belongs to me.”
I glanced over at Jamie and he was watching me in that peculiar way, just the slightest hint of a smile resting on his lips. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but before I had the chance, his hand found the gear shift and he threw us into drive.
“Let’s go see San Diego.”
FOR THE FIRST HOUR, Jamie just drove. I don’t even think he really had a place in mind. His Jeep slowly cruised the streets of the different areas of San Diego, moving us through Chula Vista into the heart of downtown. We both stared out at the city, pointing here and there, rarely ever saying anything. Claude Debussy mixed with the California wind, which made for the most incredible soundtrack for our drive. It was sunny, but the clouds were puffy white that day and they gave us reprieve from the sun.
For a while, I didn’t even think about being tired. San Diego was such an artsy city, and there was something colorful and eye-catching around every corner, it seemed. Still, eventually, the yawns caught up to me again, and Jamie said he knew the perfect place to get coffee.
When we reached the destination he had in mind, my feet hit the floorboard and a laugh ripped from my throat. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Don’t you mean, ‘You have cat to be kitten me?’”
“You’re not cute, Jamie Shaw,” I retorted, shoving my sunglasses on top of my head to get a better look.
The Cat Café.
“Am too. And what? I thought we could honor Rory’s memory. Plus, if you fall asleep on our first date, I’ll never live that down.”
I rolled my eyes as he circled to find parking. “This is not a date.”
“It’s a boy and a girl out doing fun things together.”
“As friends.”
“Or…” Jamie teased, finding a spot. He whipped the Jeep in with a crooked smile on his face.
“I have a boyfriend.”
He was unbuckling his seatbelt, but paused a moment, his eyes on where his hand still held the buckle. He sniffed, cracked his neck, and then let it go. “Come on. Let’s get you caffeinated.”
I let him avoid the statement, mostly because I was dying for coffee. You would think working in a coffee shop would make me not want it as much, but it was quite the opposite, actually. I started every morning with a cup of Joe and I was far from opposed to an afternoon pick-me-up at the moment.
