Jamie smiles. “Can I blame two decades of media training on this? I’m so used to never making a scene, and always saying the right things. I don’t know how to be confrontational. That’s probably part of the reason why I stood there, staring at you like a deer in headlights, and couldn’t even move. I’m never in contentious situations unless it’s on a football field.”
“You did look like a deer caught in headlights at the gala,” I confess. “But I can understand where you’re coming from. There’s a lot of fear associated with confrontations. Neverknowing how the other person will react, and how it will impact your life moving forward. So I get it.”
“I hate it,” Jamie blurts out, seemingly surprised at his own words. “It’s kind of dishonest. I don’t like playing a role. I hate feeling like I need to be perfect. Like the team depends on me, and a leader can’t be a human being who makes mistakes. The stupid shit they’re making me do because of the coach’s niece Saturday night is frustrating.”
“What do you mean? What are they making you do?”
He exhales in frustration. “Media stuff. I got roped into coaching a peewee football team for the summer, and attending more events than I’d been tasked with for the summer. Personally escorting VIPs. Stupid stuff.”
“All because a woman had too much to drink and caused a scene?” I ask, flabbergasted.
“Yup. Evidently, I was supposed to control her every move, including policing every drop of liquid she put into her mouth. I was basically forced into taking her, and now I’m forced into all kinds of other shit because of her behavior.”
“That’s absurd!” I shout, and Flash barks in agreement. “If you hate my parents, can I hate your coaches?”
“Sure,” he says with a chuckle.
“I can’t believe you’re being penalized for someone else’s decisions. It’s one thing to try and teach a child this way, but grown adults? It makes me assume your date —”
“Not my date.” Jamie’s interruption is quick, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “I see that grin trying to pop out, Doc. It’s okay. You can be excited or relieved that it was absolutely not a date.”
I grin. “It’s not like I have a claim on you, so if it was a date, I wouldn’t have any reason to be truly upset.”
“While we may not have discussed logistics of our situation yet, I feel like maybe we should have a few ground rules,” he says, his face serious.
“Alright.” I stare at him, waiting for him to start, while he seems to be waiting for me. “Jamie, I don’t know what rules we should set up. My dating history is pretty sparse, so I think you have to take the lead here.”
His eyes widen. “Oh. I wasn’t insinuating — I mean, I didn’t think — crap.”
I drop my hands into my lap, turning my napkin until a sharp point forms, and I rub it against the pads of my fingers. It’s a weird stim I started in high school, and it helps to calm me. Right now, my nerves are through the roof. I’m debating on how I need to go about asking him some questions, when he suddenly blurts out, “I don’t fucking share.”
“What?” I ask with a laugh.
“Exclusivity. That’s what I mean. If we’re dating, then it’s just us. I don’t want to hear or see you with someone else.”
“Well, I’m fine with that, because I did see you with someone else, and it really sucked. So I’m fine with being exclusive. What’s next?” I’m absolutely delighted by the first rule. “Oh. Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?”
He smiles. “Yeah, Aud. It means I’m your boyfriend.”
I’m giddy with happiness as I reply, “I’m glad. Next rule?”
Jamie’s brow furrows with concentration. I can see the wheels turning as he attempts to work out what he wants to say, and I patiently wait. Everything he’s said leads me to believe he’s very nervous about saying the wrong thing in all aspects of his life, and until he’s feeling more confident to say whatever he wants in my presence, I’ll give him the space he needs.
“As our relationship becomes more physical,” he finally says, clearing his throat as his eyes dance between the wall behind me and the floor under our feet, “I think we should both committo being honest with each other. If we’re uncomfortable with something, we need to have a safe space for that.”
“I don’t like kissing after oral. For either of us. It’s just … gross,” I confess with a grimace. My sexual history is nothing to write home about, but I’ve had sex. Kissing a man after he’s had his mouth on my vagina is such a turn off.
“Honestly, I don’t like it either,” Jamie says with a lighthearted laugh. His eyes meet mine, and I see a confident sparkle in them. “I have a problem with eye contact.”
“In that you want me to keep my eyes closed?”
“No, I want them open. It helps to ground me, believe it or not. I want to be in every moment with you, and know you’re feeling the same as me. I need to know that you feel it all.”
The temperature in the room seems to have risen a good ten degrees. “I ca — I can do that. You may have to remind me to keep them open on occasion, though. I imagine I’ll close them when something feels really good. Or if I’m about to … to …”
“To come?” he supplies, his eyes suddenly hooded. “How do you feel about dirty talk? Or any conversation at all during sex?”
Holy hell. “I’ve never experienced it, so I don’t know if I’m for or against it.”
