“No.” She stepped back. “Because you make decisions based on your own insecurities, your own reasons, without once thinking about what the other person may want. I feel sorry for you.”
“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve had enough sex, money, and fame to last a lifetime. The last thing you should feel is sorry. You know nothing, Pris. You’re eighteen, for crying out loud! You haven’t even lived!” My voice took on a desperate tone. “You haven’t suffered. You haven’t—” I smacked the counter with my hand. “You’ve lived in Seaside, Oregon for your entire life. You know nothing of the horrors of life.”
“Wow, you’ve done it,” she whispered, her voice hollow.
“What?”
“Made me hate you.” Her eyes blurred with tears. “Night, Jaymeson. It seems I have a life to experience, considering I’ve never even lived or suffered. Great advice. How about I stay in my small town with my small-town boyfriend and my sad pathetic existence? Will that make you happy? Maybe Smith will help me experience some of those things — even if it’s heartache, apparently it would still make you happier than you are now.”
“But—”
“Go to bed, Jaymeson.”
The last thing I heard was the bedroom door slamming. It may as well have slammed in my face; I swear I felt the wind from it.
Good. Let her hate me. I’d take her hate over her shattered heart any day.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Priscilla
I made it as far as the bedroom door before I fell onto the bed and burst into tears. What was wrong with me? Was I that terrible of a prospect that we only ever got as far as the abrupt first kiss and I was pushed away?
Again.
A girl can only take so much rejection before her heart starts to wilt. Mine was dead. It felt dead. I hated that he did the right thing. Jamie Jaymeson, whore of the year, was trying to protect my virtue. Imagine that.
He had no idea how my body responded to him. With Smith it was like getting a nice hug from a family member. Ugh. I hated that I felt that way.
With Jaymeson? It was like touching a hot stove — and liking it.
My body burned everywhere he touched. I didn’t even understand the feelings that were racing around my head, around my heart, just everywhere.
I sniffled as a few escaped tears hit the pillow, and pretended to sleep when I heard the door crack open.
Light filtered into the room.
I froze.
And then muscular arms wrapped around my body, and Jaymeson whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry, love.”
I hated that having him near calmed me immediately, almost as much as I hated how clueless he must be about how I felt. Because the last thing I needed to be reminded of was how it felt to be in his arms — when he was pushing me into someone else’s.
****
“Are you sure you’re okay taking over the last few boxes?” Stella asked, filing her polished pointer finger. Today the color was red; tomorrow it would probably be orange. She claimed she hated keeping up with clothes trends — so she used polish as a way to express herself.
“Yeah.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “I’ve only got four more boxes and then I’ll go grab us some lunch. How does that sound?”
“Great.” She beamed, setting down her nail file and opening her desk, “Here’s a twenty.”
“Stella—”
“Take it or I won’t eat.” She dangled the money in front of my face.
I snatched it and rolled my eyes.
“And don’t roll your eyes at the elderly.”
“You’re seventy-two, that’s hardly elderly.”
It was Stella’s turn to roll her eyes. “Hurry back, sweetie.”
“Will do!” I waved goodbye and walked outside to my car. It was my first day working without Jaymeson.
This morning he’d acted like nothing happened, while I had stared at the countertop and almost erupted into flames.
His hands had been all over me.
His mouth too.
In that same kitchen.
How could he eat? I’d barely choked down the eggs he cooked before making up some lame excuse about showering and drying my hair.
And he’d let me leave. No hug, no nothing. The only highlight of my day had been that Jamie Hudson had been constantly messaging me. He’d even told me some funny stories about on-set catastrophes. I liked him. He made me laugh. He reminded me a lot of Jaymeson, and it wasn’t just the same first name. They both called me love.
When I asked him about it, he said that’s what his grandma used to call him, so it just stuck.
Made sense.
The drive to The Goodwill took three minutes. I got out of the car and rang the bell on the back door.
No one came. Grinding my teeth, I marched over to the front doors and walked in. The bell chimed but I still didn’t see anyone.
“Hello?”
I walked around to the front counter, just as a figure with a pirate patch popped up and held out a sword.
“Holy crap!” I shouted.
“Ahoy matey, where be yur bootey?”
“Jaymeson?” I croaked.
“It’s Captain Jack Sparrow, and I be wantin’ me treasure!”
Leave it to Jaymeson to make a Goodwill costume look so hot I wanted to launch myself over the counter and attack him.
“You’re sure working hard.” I pushed his sword away and leaned on the counter. “Playing pretend, are we?”