“I know we’re all thinking it right now,” he says. “So I’m just going to say it. Unless you’re looking for something serious, and you’re willing to follow through on being there for this girl, then don’t bother.”
“He’s right,” adds Renee. “She’s done playing games, so don’t go into this expecting to someday break her heart.” She gets to her feet and turns to head back inside but stops and glances briefly back at me. “Take care of her. She deserves the world and more.”
9
JAMI
It’s a little after ten when I finally stumble through the door of my apartment, emotionally exhausted but too giddy to sleep. I go to the fridge for a chilled bottle of water and chug half of it before going to the bedroom to change into pajamas, a ratty t-shirt, and a pair of high school shorts that somehow still fit, if even just barely. I plop down on my cozy couch, yank the blanket over my bare legs, grab the remote, and click on the TV to catch up on one of my favorite shows.
As the TV plays in the background, I reach for my phone to check it, unable to rid myself of the hope that maybe, just maybe, Ely has reached out. A text, a call, anything at all.
There’s nothing. Zilch. And why should there be? It’s late, and he probably assumes I’m already in bed.
I curse myself for not getting his number before leaving. The ball is in his court now, and if he decides he’s not interested in me, I don’t have another chance. Not that I would want to push something like that on him anyway. If he’s not interested, he’s not interested. Right?
Realizing that I just can’t focus on the characters in front of me, I switch off the TV and gather up my phone to head to the bedroom for sleep. I’m just about to switch off the living room lights when my phone lights up and begins to buzz. I don’t recognize the number, and I almost don’t answer it.
But what if it’s Ely?
“Hello?”
“Is it too soon to call?” a voice asks on the other end of the line. “Jake said to play it cool, but I’m getting a bit too old for that.”
I smile, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from letting out a hysterical giggle. My limbs tingle and a rush of satisfaction envelopes me. God, he sounds so sexy, and for a moment that feels like it goes on forever, I imagine laying in his arms, curling into the warmth of his body until every concern melts away. He has that effect on me, it seems because just being around the man makes everything better.
“I like a man who knows what he wants,” I tell him, resisting the urge to moan aloud at the thought of being near him. “High school is over. I’m glad you called. I regretted leaving earlier. I almost had them turn around and take me back to the party.”
“That’s a relief,” says Ely. “Because I was pretty sure I might never see you again.”
“We would have run into each other, I’m sure. You’d be surprised how small Denver really is when we all work in the same general field.”
“If I saw you every day, it still wouldn’t be enough,” Ely says softly, and a ball of fire smolders in the pit of my stomach, threatening to spill out with uncontrolled glee.
“Hey, um … do you want to come over?” I ask and then mentally kick myself for being so forward. A phone call is one thing, but an invitation to my house this late at night is a whole other ballgame, and I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. I’m looking for more than just a booty call, but despite my doubt, I keep speaking, word vomit tumbling from my mouth. “We can have a drink and watch a movie or something.”
“Like Netflix and Chill?” Ely jokes, and I actually giggle this time.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Something like that,” Ely says, and I can almost hear him grin on the other end of the phone. “Yeah. Yes, Jami, I would love to come over. Text me your address.”
It doesn’t take Ely long to get to my apartment, and when he knocks on the door, I double-check my face in the small vanity mirror hanging near the entrance, making sure I don’t have a booger hanging from one nostril or a trail of leaky mascara down my face. I feel jittery for some reason, much more like a lust-struck teenager than a grown-ass adult, and I can’t figure out if that’s a good or bad thing.
I guess it’s whatever kind of thing I make it, really.
I pull my hair into a bun at the top of my head and go to open the front door for Ely, peeking out first to make sure it’s the Sergeant at my door and not some violent thug.
“I have wine,” he calls through the closed door, and my heart pitter-patters against my ribcage. I take a deep breath and swing the door open, stepping back to let Ely through.
“Hi,” I say, which is the most intelligent thing I can think of to say right now.
“Hi, back,” says Ely with a grin. He hands me a bottle of fancy rosé and shrugs off his jacket, which I step forward to grab for him and hang on a hook near the door. When I turn back around to look at him, my eyes travel automatically to the muscles under his shirt, the ones that strain against the fabric, beckoning me in, and drawing me to him.
I clear my throat and focus my attention on going to the kitchen for a couple of wine glasses. If I stare too hard at this man, I’ll internally combust undoubtedly.
“Here, let me help.”
I don’t realize Ely is behind me until his hand touches the small of my back. My body quivers, reacting to him, and I almost drop the fancy bottle on the kitchen floor. Instead, I take a breath and step out of the way, watching with infatuation as Ely pops the cork on the wine and pours us both a glass. He picks one up and hands it to me, then takes a sip of his own.
