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“You want a coffee?” Coen asks.
“Sure.”
I stay quiet, sipping my coffee, because I need something to do with my hands. Jamie is leaning one hand on the counter, the other on his hip, and he won’t stop looking at me. Not glaring, just studying me carefully. Does he think I’m some kind of gold digger? I look away.
“We can get coffee on the way if you want to go now,” Jamie says.
“Sure. Groceries should be here by now. We can get a bite on the way.”
Jamie pushes off the counter and goes to the door, disappearing. I turn on Coen, my heart thumping.
“Do you want me to go now?” I whisper.
“No,” he says firmly. “Please stay.”
“I don’t think Jamie wants me here.”
“Trust me, if Jamie didn’t want you here, he’d be a lot more of an asshole. That’s just Jamie.”
I nod just as Jamie appears again with the groceries.
“I’m gonna get dressed,” I say, backing up into the safety of the bedroom. Immediately, I hear both men’s voices start up. They’re not arguing, but I don’t want to hear what they’re discussing, so I shut the door and grab my bag, tossing it on the bed.
I pull out my last clean pieces of clothing, a short denim skirt and a white cropped shirt. It only leaves a tiny sliver of waist bare, and it’s short, but not so short my ass will be out. I duck into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Even though we’re using condoms, I’m still a little messy after sex.
Loitering by the counter, I pick up my phone.
Should I text Serena?
Instead, I hit the call button and wait. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, long time, no call,” she says.
“It’s only been a couple days.” I roll my eyes.
“Where are you?”
“In Nashville, at Coen’s house,” I say, dropping my voice. “That’s not important. I met Jamie, and he is your type. You would eat him up.”
“Oooh, really? Send me a pic?”
“I’m not going out into the kitchen while they’re talking and taking a photo. Look him up online. I’m sure he has a Wikipedia page.”
“Oh, good idea.”
There’s a short silence. Then, I hear a soft oh my God.
“Okay, you weren’t joking,” she says.
“I was not.”
I jump out of my skin as someone knocks on the bathroom door. “Shit, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
I hang up in the nick of time as the door creaks open.
“Can I come in?” Coen asks.
I pull it the rest of the way, stepping aside so he can step in. His face is sober, and my heart drops to my toes. My fingers tighten on the phone.
