Now, I know I wanted Jameson to be someone he wasn’t. I wanted more edge, more fire and passion, more of that consuming intensity that made me feel alive anddesired. I wanted him to look at me the way his brother looked at me across crowded rooms—with heat and hunger and barely contained want.
I wanted Patterson and could never have him.
“It’s dinner. I promise you won’t regret it. And don’t worry; I’ll be on my very best behavior. Come on,” he begs with a chuckle.
“Okay, okay, fine,” I tell him.
“Yeah?” he asks with relief in his voice that sounds genuine. “You won’t regret it. I’ve missed you, Ken Doll.”
“Do not call me that,” I tell him. “That nickname you gave me died with our relationship.”
“I’ve really missed talking to you.” His voice drops lower. “You were my best friend.”
“Honestly, losing our friendship was the hardest thing to get over,” I say.
We were incredible friends and genuinely enjoyed spending time together, even if the spark wasn’t always present. Jameson made me feel safe and never pushed me outside of my comfort zone. Part of me craved chaos instead of calm.
We talk for another fifteen minutes about nothing important. He mentions his nonprofit work in Boston, and I briefly chat about my commission for the Angels. And we even discuss the weather, for fuck’s sake. When we hang up, I sit on my couch and wait for something to hit me.
Nostalgia. Longing. Regret. Anything.
Instead, I feel nothing, completely indifferent, like I had a conversation with a stranger. I thought he was the love of my life, my future, and talking to him changed nothing.
Laughter bursts out of me because this is proof that I’m over him, completely.
Exactly seven hours later, Addison drags me to a wine bar in the West Village that’s trying too hard with its exposed brick, Edison bulbs, and a chalkboard menu with things I can’t pronounce. She orders for both of us because she knows I’ll point at something random and hope for the best, even though I usually strike out.
“You’ve been weird lately,” she says after the server leaves. “Distant. Distracted. What’s going on?”
“Super busy with the commission.” I trace my finger along my glass. “Trying to stay ahead of schedule.”
“Mm-hmm.” She doesn’t believe me. “And the bags under your eyes? The fact that you’ve checked your phone six times since we sat down?”
“I’m expecting an email from the owner about the charity auction,” I tell her. It’s not a lie.
“On a Saturday night?”
“He’s dedicated.”
Addison studies me with those blue eyes that see too much. I hate how she can read me better than anyone, which is exactly why I have to be careful.
“You know what you need?” She leans back in her chair with a knowing look. “A good romp.”
I gulp down my wine. “Excuse me?”
“I’m serious. You’re wound tighter than I’ve ever seen you, and I’ve known you for years.” She swirls her glass like she’s delivering life-changing wisdom. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“That long, huh?” She whistles low. “Keke, no wonder you look like you’re about to snap. Not getting laid will eat you alive.”
“Who says I’m not?”
“Please. I can practically see the tension radiating off you.” She takes a long sip. “You know how I complete large commissions? I find someone to burn off the stress with. The best ideas I’ve ever had come to me right after incredible, mind-blowing sex.”
I think about Patterson’s hands on my hips, his thigh between mine, his voice in my ear, telling me to beg. My face heats, and I pray she doesn’t notice.
“You’ve mentioned this before,” I manage to get out before I drink more wine. Guess I’m getting drunk tonight.
