Audrey shudders. “I could never. I’m way too private. I live over thirty minutes away from my clinic just to ensure I don’t run into clients anywhere. I can’t even imagine what you must go through.”
“Unfortunately, I’m used to it now. But I’ve learned how to deal with it. Can’t say I’m sad about how much can be delivered nowadays, but I also have an assistant who does a lot for me to guarantee I’m not in a compromising position in public.”
“Compromising position?”
I nod. “Believe it or not, I’ve been surrounded in a grocery store. Right up against the meat counter. And before you ask, no. They weren’t asking for autographs. They were all pissed at a shitty pass I’d thrown the prior weekend that was a pick-six, and that knocked us out of playoff contention.”
“Oh, that was five years ago. I remember that game. Baltimore, right?”
“Uh, yeah. It was Baltimore.”
Audrey’s lips twitch. “It was indeed a shitty pass.”
I throw back my head with a bark of laughter. “It was.”
“Excuse me,but we’re getting ready to close … oh, that’s who you meant by Jamie!” the hostess says with an audible gasp. “We always call him Señor Wahlberg.”
“It’s okay, Marisol.” Jameson looks somewhat embarrassed, a slight pink hue covering the back of his neck. His eyes dart between mine and hers, as I notice has happened quite often tonight. Maintaining eye contact is either a challenge for him, or he’s very uncomfortable in my presence. Honestly, it’s a toss-up which one it might be.
“Can I order something to go?” I ask the hostess.
“Sure.”
“I’d like the arroz chaufa, please.”
“Oh, that’s my favorite as well. Make that two, Marisol.”
“Coming right up!”
“Why James Young?” I blurt out as the hostess walks away.
Jameson smiles. “Well, James is a play on my actual name. And Young is after my favorite quarterback growing up, Steve Young.”
“What should I call you? You seem to have a lot of names.”
“Jameson or Jamie. My friends call me Jamie, or QB if they’re being scrappy. If we’re going to be working closely together, I’d like to think we’ll become friends, don’t you?”
It’s incredibly hard to put a lid on the internal squeal just begging to be let out. “Jamie it is.”
Once we have our to-go containers, we set off toward the parking lot. As we approach the front door, I can see our reflection in the glass. I watch as Jamie begins to place his hand on my lower back, then hesitates. He runs the hand through his hair before dropping his arm against his side. I’m not sure what to make of that.
As I walk in the direction of my car, Jamie falls in step beside me. “I’ll be out of town the remainder of the week for a sponsorship deal. Next week I have some team things in the mornings, but I can meet again to begin actually planning the event. Will any night next week work for you?”
“I’m flexible.” I’m not flexible. I’m wide open. Other than work and a dress fitting for the charity event my parents guilted me into attending, I have nothing to do. My social calendar is a travesty.
“I’ll, uh, get in touch with you soon.” Jamie looks at me expectantly, jolting in my direction. Lunging toward me, he suddenly plants a kiss against my cheek, and I’m too stunned to respond. “It was really lovely meeting you, Audrey. I wasn’t looking forward to planning this event, but I certainly am now.”
I assumed I wouldn’t hear from Jamie for a few days, so I was undoubtedly surprised to find a text from him the followingmorning. Seeing the name James Young makes me giggle, and I immediately change his contact info.
QB
I need to know what the word of the day is.
Me
Polyglot.
QB
