what you’re thinking,” I say softly. “Stop being on the defensive with me.”
He relaxes a little, and the waiter returns with the bottle of champagne and opens it. He pours a little into the champagne flute, and Jameson tastes it. “That’s fine.” The waiter then fills our glasses and leaves us alone.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said last weekend.”
“And?”
He sips his drink. “I canceled my massages this week.”
I smirk as my eyes hold his; I stay silent.
“The thing is with me . . .” His voice trails off.
I wait for him to speak, and when he doesn’t, I squeeze his hand in mine for reassurance.
“I’m married to my job, Em.”
I frown.
“When I said I wasn’t looking for a relationship, I didn’t mean . . .” He shrugs as if lost for words.
“You didn’t mean what?”
“I didn’t mean that I don’t want to see you. I meant that I am a workaholic, and I know that very few women can deal with how much I work.”
“Jameson, I don’t care about how hard you work. I just don’t want to be one of many.”
He frowns. “Meaning what?”
“I’m not wired for one-night stands, Jameson. It’s not who I am. But I’m not looking for a deep and meaningful relationship either. You’ve misunderstood me.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want to have a friendship with a man and know I’m the only person he’s sleeping with.”
He listens.
“And I most definitely don’t want to share you with a fucking masseuse.”
He rolls his eyes.
“And I don’t want you to roll your fucking eyes at me.”
He clenches his jaw, unimpressed. “Watch your tone,” he warns.
“See that?” I say.
“What?”
“This defensive shit. It has to stop between us. We can’t keep fighting over every little thing like we do.”
“You’re just as bad,” he fires back.
“I know, and I’m trying to stop it. Just now I held my tongue because you ordered my drink without asking what I wanted.”
“I’m used to being in control, Emily,” he snaps.
“So am I. That won’t change.”
His eyes search mine, and he rearranges the napkin on his lap as if he’s thinking.
“I’m not asking you to be my boyfriend, Jameson,” I whisper. “That’s not what this is about. We have a great sexual connection, and I want it. I feel like I have to have it . . . but I can’t, not if I know you have it with other women. I need to be the only one.”
“Fine, I won’t sleep with anyone else,” he snaps in exasperation.
“And?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “And you can order the fucking drinks.”
Chapter 12
I giggle. “This isn’t about the stupid drinks, Jameson.”
“What is it about, then, for Christ’s sake? Speak English.”
“I want you to drop being defensive with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” I whisper as I hold his hand in mine.
“So are you.”
“I know I am, because I feel like you will walk all over me if I’m not.”
His brow furrows. “I would never walk all over you.”
“Not purposely.”
He clenches his jaw, and I know that’s exactly how it is.
“I just want the guy I met on the plane. The one who let himself go.”
His eyes hold mine. “I don’t know how to be that guy all the time, Em. It’s a very small part of my personality.”
“Then just save that small part for me,” I breathe.
A soft smile crosses his face as he watches me, and he sips his drink. “What was so good about that guy on the plane, anyway?”
“He made me laugh.” I smile as I remember. “And he gave me the best sex of my life.”
“Of your entire life?”
“Uh-huh.”
He smiles, pleased with himself.
“So do we have a deal?” I ask.
“Let me get this straight—you want to have friends with benefits but only with each other?”
“Yes.”
“What happens when I’m at work all the time or away and you’re out and . . .” His voice trails off.
“Then I’ll call you and tell you I need you.”
His eyes hold mine.
“And you’ll talk me through it over the phone, or I’ll wait till you come home.”
He rubs his thumbnail over his bottom lip as he listens, as if fascinated.
“I don’t want to have sex with anyone else, Jameson. I’m not that kind of girl. You are the only one-night stand I’ve ever had.”
He squeezes my hand, pleased with that answer.
“I’ve had sex with four people in my whole life, and you’re one of them.”
He leans onto his hand and smiles dreamily at me.
“What?”
“Do you know how often I think about fucking you?”
I giggle, surprised by that