Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I can’t,” I say quickly. “I have plans.”
Plans that I can easily cancel, but why would I do that? I won’t rearrange my life just because Jameson shot back into it.
“Oh.” That one very small word that just left his lips holds a lot of meaning.
I know Jameson. Or at least I used to. He only ever says ‘oh’ when every other word in the English language escapes him. It’s a sure sign that he’s been caught off guard.
His gaze trails over my face. “You have plans.”
I nod. “Yes.”
I wait to see if he’ll ask me for more details, but he shakes his head briefly as if he’s chasing away every possible scenario that has crept into his mind.
“Maybe we can do tacos another night,” I suggest. “When I don’t have plans.”
I’m having too much fun not to drag this on.
“Yeah, sure.” He tears his gaze from me to glance down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Is there time for me to shower before dinner?”
“Plenty of time.” I nod. “The food is staying warm in the oven, so whenever you’re ready, we can eat.”
“All right.” His left hand rakes a path through his hair. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
His eyes catch mine, and I see a host of questions in them, but he doesn’t say another word before he heads toward his bedroom.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jameson
Plans?
That little five letter word has been bouncing around my brain since Sinclair spat it out.
I spent all of my time in the shower thinking about it.
While I got dressed in jeans, and an old college T-shirt I stole from my brother years ago, I whispered the word over and over again.
Do plans always mean a date?
There’s only one sure way to find out.
I drop my ass on the corner of my bed and type out a text.
Jameson: When a woman tells you she has plans, what does that mean?
As usual, Kalon responds immediately.
Kalon: Did 14-year-old Jameson get ahold of the phone because what in the ever loving fuck is this question?
Chuckling, I send him back a text.
Jameson: Does plans always mean a date?
I watch the three dots bounce around before another message appears on my screen.
Kalon: You’re shitting me, right? Are you seriously asking me if Sinclair is going on a date with another guy?
I shake my head and type.
Jameson: Who said anything about Sinclair? I want to know what it means when a woman turns down homemade tacos because she already has plans.
Within seconds after I press send, my phone rings. I answer it immediately, “Well?”
“Well, what the fuck is your problem?” Kalon barks on the other end. “If Sinclair doesn’t want your tacos, you need to up your game.”
“I never said I was talking about Sin…”
“Save it,” Kalon cuts me off. “We both know you are, so own it, James. Did you think she was going to wait around for two fucking years for you to cook her tacos? Have you seen her? She’s beautiful. She’s accomplished, and she’s been happily living her life since you left town.”
Leave it to Kalon to lay everything out in simple terms.
Before I can get a word in, he’s talking again. “I’m meeting Damien for a drink, and he’ll lose his shit if I’m late. If you’re this torn up about her plans, ask her what they are. You’re not a scared kid anymore. You’re goddamn Jameson Sheppard. Own it and go get the girl.”
“I never said I wanted the girl.”
Kalon laughs. “Jesus, you’re a bad liar. My brother is waiting for me. I’m hanging up now.”
He does just that, leaving me to wonder what the hell I’m doing.
It’s not as though Sin wants anything to do with me. If Denia hadn’t died, I would still be in New Mexico, and Sinclair would still be making plans as she is now.
I stand, suck in a deep breath, and try to convince myself that what Sinclair does has no bearing on me.
I know it’s bullshit because everything she does matters to me, but I need to find a way to control my urge to ask about her plans or anything else going on in her life.
“I’m a great cook,” Sinclair declares as she finishes the last bite of food on her plate. “You can admit it whenever you’re ready.”
As much as I don’t want to smile, I can’t hold it in. I glance at the empty plate in front of me. “I admit it. Gone are the days when you used to burn toast.”
She waves one finger in the air. “Once, Jameson. I did that one time.”
I lean my elbows on the table. “Are you sure it was only once?”
She nods. “Once when you were around.”
I laugh. “So it happened at other times?”
Her gaze drifts to the left and the many empty chairs at the table. When I came out of my bedroom, she had the table set with Denia’s best dishes and silverware. The two place settings were directly across from each other at the far right end of the table.