A Love Letter to Whiskey Page 8

  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.

  Jamie seemed in his thoughts as we walked the street up to the café, his hands tucked in his pockets and eyes on the cobblestone below our feet, but when we opened the door to the café, he perked up again.

  It looked a little strange to me. We sort of walked straight into a decision in the form of two, rather unimpressive hallways. Jamie led me down the one straight ahead where a counter that looked similar to a concession stand at a high school sat. We placed our orders as I took in the paw prints on the wall and the snacks for purchase. In the end, Jamie opted for black coffee while I chose the Americano, and hot drinks in hand, we made our way back to the other hallway. When we emerged into an open room with seating along the walls, I nearly dropped the cup in my hand.

  “Holy shit!” I said, louder than I intended, definitely loud enough for the couple sitting at the first table to hear me. “There are actual fucking cats in here!”

  Jamie barked out a laugh, pausing at the entrance with me so we could both look around. The inside of the café was quaint, sort of rustic, with wood browns warming the walls and floors of the room. But there were pops of color — a red door near the back, bright orange pillows plopped on the floor here and there, and brightly colored cat havens and toys littered the entire area.

  And there were cats everywhere.

  “When it said Cat Café, I didn’t know I was supposed to take it so literally,” I mused, eyes still wandering the space as a black and gray striped tabby wove itself between my ankles. She arched her back as she rubbed against my bare leg, then sauntered off, plopping down on one of the empty pillows and looking back at me as if to ask, “What are you waiting for?”

  “Careful. I think that one is plotting how to get you alone and in a bathtub.” Jamie cracked a smile at his own joke and I glared at him before pushing forward to claim one of the last tables available. Some customers were sitting down on the floor with the cats, playing with different toys or posing for pictures, while others sat at small tables like the one Jamie and I had selected.

  “How do you even remember that story, anyway?” I asked, sipping my Americano to the symphony of soft mews and human chatter around us.

  “How could I not? You fell butt ass naked into a pile of cat shit.”

  “You’re the worst.”

  Jamie laughed. “Oh come on, you can’t hate cats forever.” He set his coffee down carefully and picked up a tiny black cat that had wandered over to our table. “Look. This one is so sweet.”

  He cradled the little guy in one arm like a football, scratching behind his ear before rubbing his belly and repeating the process. And as if Jamie Shaw wasn’t already hot, melted sex on a stick, he was holding a little kitten inside a coffee shop with a five o’clock shadow teasing his jaw.

  Lord help me.

  We drank our coffee slowly, filling each other in on the last year and a half. I loved hearing about Jamie’s family and he entertained my stories of Jenna and me during senior year. He was impressed she’d gone off to NYU, and I tried not to feel that familiar pang of jealousy when he asked a dozen questions about her.

  It was so comfortable between us, even in the silence, and that’s what I loved most about our time together. It never felt forced.

  Yet, there
were these small, almost microscopic moments of charged energy between us that broke the comfort from time to time. They came when one of us would stare a little too long, or smile just a little too big, or think just a little too hard. They were almost like little shocks to our system to make sure we were paying attention, that we didn’t slip too far, and I think it was those moments we craved the most.

  When our cups were empty and we’d made the rounds to play with each and every cat in the café, Jamie checked the time on his phone.

  “Do you still write?”

  I was still kneeling, petting that same tabby that had greeted us at the door, and I peered up at him. “Yes?” I couldn’t believe he remembered that. I’d just started writing that year I met Jamie, and since he left, I’d slowly found myself writing more and more. Usually it was just poetry or assignments for school, but I could see myself building a world one day — telling a story that meant something to me. “Why?”

  He held out his hand and I let him help me up, brushing the fur off my palms as a grin played on Jamie’s lips. “How’d you like to visit the most popular author in the city?”

  IT TOOK EVERYTHING IN ME, including a hand hard over my mouth, not to laugh.

  Jamie’s fists were clenched, his face red as he listened to the librarian tell us for the eighth time that there was no way in hell we were going to see the Dr. Seuss collection.

  “As I’ve explained, sir, it isn’t open to the public. We offer exhibits during his birthday month of March and sometimes over the summer, but at the moment—”

  “This doesn’t make any fucking sense!” Jamie’s voice had always been smooth, low, but right now it was booming, and while I was close to laughter, the tiny librarian was not. She had wide, owl eyes that, even narrowed at Jamie, took up her entire face. She was also about as tall as I was in fifth grade, but she wasn’t backing down. “So you’re telling me the collection is still here. It’s all here. But for some fucking reason it’s blocked off and no one can see it?”

  “Sir, the collection is very fragile. Only researchers who have obtained permission can gain access to the collection.”

  “We just want to see it,” he pleaded. “We won’t touch a thing.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Now, if you continue to raise your voice, I’ll have to ask that you kindly leave. This is a library.”

  Jamie scoffed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Exactly! A library! But you won’t let us see the fucking books!”

  The librarian rolled her eyes with exhaustion just as laughter won me over and I grabbed Jamie’s arm. “Come on, it’s fine. Let’s go.”

  He pointed a finger at her nose as I yanked him away. “Karma is real, Mrs. Seuss Security. Just remember that.”

  I laughed even louder then, tugging on him harder to pull him out the front door and back into the walkway of the UC San Diego library — the Geisel Library, to be exact — named after the one and only Theodore Seuss Geisel.

  Dr. Seuss.

  “As amazing as it would have been to see that collection, it’s not worth getting you arrested,” I said through my laughter, looking back at him. Jamie was still scowling and I learned quickly that looking back while trying to tug him forward and walk at the same time proved to be too much for my hand-eye coordination. I tripped over my own feet, shooting forward before Jamie’s arms were around my waist, catching me, steadying me.

  And then, I was facing him. My eyes on my hands that had found his chest. His hands on my hips. I glanced up at him, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, putting some distance between us. “Can you take a picture of me?” I pulled out my phone and handed it to him before he could answer. Before he could stare any longer. Catching my breath, I put on my best smile and held my arms up high to frame the sign with the library name above me.

  “She was a Doc Blocker,” Jamie said, and he waited for me to crack up before snapping the picture.

  “That’s actually kind of clever.”

  He took a bow, handing my phone back to me, and I felt his calm settle in. Getting him out of that library had been step one, and he seemed to be shaking it off now.

  “There’s a snake path over here,” Jamie said, pointing off to the side of the library. “It winds through some fruit trees. I didn’t get a chance to check it out when I came for the campus tour, and since I ended up at Alder, I haven’t made it over here. Want to walk for a bit?”

  “Sure.”

  It was a neat place, not just the library but the college campus, too. I loved the idea of an entire library being dedicated to an author. To be able to write stories that inspired the way his did? That moved people? That was something special.

  “So,” Jamie said as we made our way toward the path. I could see the snake head peeking out over the sidewalk ahead of us, different color tiles creating the illusion. “What do you write?”

  “It depends. Mostly poems right now, but I think I’d like to write a novel one day. Maybe.”

  “Possible major?”

  I scrunched my nose. “I don’t know about all that.”

  Jamie grinned. “Ah yes, I almost forgot. Ms. Indecisive.” I stuck my tongue out and he flicked his sunglasses over his eyes. “Well, do you like to read, too?”

  “Of course.”

  He shrugged, steering us between the first two fruit trees. “Could always go into publishing.”

  “Yeah?” I brushed my hand against one of the leaves. “I never really thought about that. That could be cool. I love to read, and I think I could be a pretty good salesman.”

  “Oh yeah,” Jamie said, and I nudged him at the joke that rested beneath his comment. “So what do you like to read?”

  “I read a lot of things. A lot of genres. Right now I’m really into romance.”

  “Romance?!” Jamie exclaimed with a laugh. “Oh man. Does Ethan know?”

  “I don’t know, I’m sure he’s seen me with my books a time or two. Why does that matter?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just saying, I would want to know if I wasn’t pleasing my girl enough and she needed a steamy sex book to get her rocks off.”

  “Oh my God, Jamie!” I halted our walk then, just as two girls with books pressed to their chest rushed past us. “It’s not even like that. At all.”

  “Sure,” he said with an amused smirk. Bastard.

  “It’s not. I read romance because it’s fun to fall in love. And with romance books, I get to do it over and over. I get to be different types of lovers, I get to feel the heartbreak of love and the successes. Love is the most powerful and real emotion we feel, and I think it’s sort of magical that we can experience some of the greatest loves of all time through books.”

  “Except they’re not real.”

  I huffed. “You’re impossible.”

  We started walking again and Jamie apologized. “I’m just kidding. I’m sure they’re great.” He paused, but curiosity got the best of him. “So Ethan is satisfying you between the sheets then, huh?”

  “We are not talking about this.”

  “Oh come on,” he pleaded. “I told you all the dirt when I was dating Jenna. You owe me.”

  That was true. He had told me more than I wanted to know about his and Jenna’s… adventures.

  “Yeah, that wasn’t exactly saint-like, either.”

  “True,” he conceded. “But lines always have been pretty blurry with us, haven’t they.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And it was the truth.

  I sighed. It was just Jamie. I mean, this was the guy I’d shared the story about my name with — the most personal story of my life. He’d called me his best friend. And in a way, he’d always kind of felt like mine.

  “Fine. But no teasing.”

  “I swear.”

  I rolled my eyes, because I definitely didn’t believe him, but let out a long breath anyway. “I don’t really know what to say.”

  “Tell me how Ethan is in t
he sack,” Jamie said simply.

  I balked at his forwardness, shaking my head.

  “I don’t know.” I was flustered, stalling. “He’s fine.”

  “Fine? This is sex we’re talking about, B. Not china.”

  “You said no teasing!”

  “I lied.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Seriously,” he said, pulling us to a stop again. We were right in the center of the snake path, the trees shielding us from the outside world — even if just for a moment. “Come on. Sex isn’t a taboo thing. It should be talked about. It’s about finding what works for you, what brings you pleasure.”

  God, just hearing that word roll off his lips sent a rush of heat from my face all the way to my toes.

  “He’s fine. Good…” I trailed off. “I just, I wish it was more… exciting. He’s so sweet, gentle, and that’s nice but…” I blushed. This was the most I’d ever talked about sex, including the few times I’d opened up to Jenna, and I didn’t want to feel embarrassed, but I did. “There’s no real passion. There’s no urgency. I’m all for sweet nothings whispered in my ear, but sometimes I just want to be thrown onto the bed, you know? Ravaged. Like he can’t fathom the thought of taking his hands off me.”

  I was babbling, looking around the garden, afraid someone might overhear us. But when I chanced a look at Jamie, everything stopped. The heat of the sun closed in around us and suddenly the symbolism of where we were clicked into place. A snake path, in a garden. I felt like Eve, and here Jamie was — the juicy red apple — taunting me. Daring me.

  His eyes were hooded, and I’d never been so fascinated watching someone breathe before, but there was a dip that appeared over and over at the base of his neck as he inhaled. It disappeared when he pushed the next breath out, and I counted that motion nine times before he spoke.

  “I get that.”

  He only said three words, low and breathy, and I knew it was because he didn’t trust himself with more than that.