She tore another strip of paper from the bottle just as the door swung open again, and this time it was her. Erin in jeans, a leather jacket, hair loose. Jamie’s breath caught before she could stop it.
Not a date. Just drinks. Just friends.
Her stomach did a slow, traitorous flip anyway.
Thirteen
Jamie saw her the second the door swung open: jeans, leather jacket, hair loose. Erin caught the way her eyes went wide before she tried to cover it with a sip of beer.
Erin’s own mouth curved without her permission. She crossed the bar, boots steady on the worn floorboards, and slid into the chair across from her. Up close, she noticed the pile of damp paper scraps pushed off to the side of Jamie’s glass.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” Erin said, nodding at the mess. “That label didn’t stand a chance, huh?”
Jamie groaned, balling the shredded pieces into her fist. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Erin leaned her chin into her hand, smirking just enough to tease. “Jamie Garrison, fearless on camera, undone by a beer bottle. Who would’ve thought?”
Jamie narrowed her eyes at her, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
The waitress came by, and Erin ordered a beer, giving herself a moment to breathe. Out of uniform, across from Jamie like this, it felt different. Easier in some ways, harder in others. She hadn’t decided which.
Erin set her beer on the table, fingers loose around the glass. Jamie was still worrying at the shredded label on her bottle, like it might unravel into a script if she pulled long enough.
“So,” Jamie said finally, dragging the word out, “is this your Thursday night routine? Brief the press, terrify reporters, then charm them into buyingyou a drink?”
Erin raised an eyebrow. “Charm them?”
Jamie flushed, backpedaling fast. “I meant… you know, the way you get up there. That voice. It’s…” She waved her hand vaguely. “Commanding.”
Erin leaned forward just enough to watch Jamie squirm. “You like commanding?”
Jamie’s mouth opened, then closed again, her words apparently gone missing. She tried to cover it with a sip of beer, but her ears were already pink.
“Relax,” Erin said, letting a grin slip. “I’m teasing you.”
Jamie groaned into the bottle. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Erin countered, sitting back again, steady and self-assured, “you’re still here.”
That got Jamie to glance up, cheeks warm, lips pressed tight against a smile she didn’t want to show. Erin took another drink, pretending not to notice.
For a moment, the noise of the bar filled in around them: laughter from the next table, the clink of glasses, a burst of bass from the jukebox. Erin tilted her head, watching Jamie pick at the scraps of paper. “You settling in okay? To Boston, I mean.”
Jamie blinked, caught off guard by the shift. “Oh. Uh, yeah, I think so. Still learning my way around. Still feel like the new kid most days.”
Erin’s mouth softened. “You don’t sound like it when you’re working. You walk into a scene like you own the place.”
Jamie snorted. “Please. Half the time I’m just praying no one notices I’m winging it.”
Erin smiled, and this time it wasn’t sharp or teasing. “Well, you fake it really well.”
Jamie froze for half a beat, then blurted before she could stop herself, “I’ve never faked it.”
The words hung there. Her eyes went wide, like she was already trying to grab them back out of the air. “Oh my god. I mean… work. At work. I’ve never faked it at work.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m just gonna shut up now.”
Erin bit back a laugh, shaking her head. “That’s one way to make an impression.”
Jamie peeked through her fingers, mortified. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”
