Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Well, we will see,” she replies. “Keep your phone on you. I’ll talk to you later.”“Bye!”
I hang up, and Jameson chuckles. “Wow, she’s a feisty one, now isn’t she?”
“She’s awesome,” I reply. “She actually got me the job at Jaguars.”
“Ah, I see.” Jameson nods. “Now I hate her.”
“Hey!” I reply, slapping him playfully on the knee, causing him to laugh. “You know, there aren’t a lot of options around here for broke girls who need to support their alcoholic mothers.”
“I know, I know, I’m just giving you a hard time,” Jameson replies, standing. “How about some breakfast? I’m not a bad cook, you know.”
I stand too and shake my head. “Nope. I’m not letting you do anything else for me today.”
“You’re not?” He smirks, cocking his head to the side.
“Okay. Well, at least not this morning…” I reply, pulling back my statement a bit. “We’re going out. My treat. Becky’s Diner. Still remember where it is? Or have you been gone for too long, Mister Millionaire?”
Jameson grins, shaking his head as he walks over to me. “Mister Millionaire? So that’s how it’s gonna be? I don’t even have a name now? I guess I’ll just return those clothes in the other room and the ones you have on now–”
“No, no, never mind,” I say quickly, laughing as I stuff my phone into my back pocket and slipping into my shoes. “Forget what I said, Jameson. Let’s go!”
Chapter 8
Iris
Ican’t even remember how many times Jameson and I went to Becky’s before he disappeared. It was our little hangout spot when we wanted to get away, even if we just barely ordered anything because we didn’t really have any money back in those days.
A hot chocolate for me and a Sprite and fries for Jameson. That was our typical order. Of course Jameson would always let me bum a few fries if I wanted to. That was the kind of guy he was. I guess he’s simply stepped his game up now from little plates of deep-fried potatoes to entire rooms filled with girls’ clothing. He’s a giver. A provider, and a wonderful spirit all the way down to his core.
Somehow the town where I’ve lived my entire life looks different through the window of his Porsche as he drives us to Becky’s. I know there’s really nothing going on and it’s just something messing with my head, but that doesn’t change how I feel as I sit beside him, his hand on my thigh, lifting up only occasionally so he can shift gears.
Of course Jameson didn’t buy an automatic. There’s no way a guy like him ever would. And to be honest, I’m glad he didn’t. I like watching him push in the clutch and maneuver the stick from one gear to the other. It’s not something I could do myself. Maybe that’s why it turns me on. Or maybe it’s just because it’s something not every man can do these days. Jameson is capable in so many ways, and this is just another blatant example of that.
I feel bitten by nostalgia as we pull into the parking lot, so I can’t even imagine what Jameson is feeling as we step out of his car and walk up to the front door.
“Wow,” he says, glancing up at the big, weathered, Becky’s Diner sign. “Feels just like yesterday, doesn’t it?”
“Kinda,” I reply with a smile. “But kinda not.”
He gives me an understanding look and holds the door for me. I step inside and glance around. When I realize that our favorite booth in the back-right corner is actually free, I quickly skip over to it. Jameson slides in in front of me, and I feel like I’ve been transported back in time.
“Place looks just the same, doesn’t it?” he asks, glancing around.
“Everything except you, handsome man,” I tease, eying him up and down. “Where are your greasy jeans and ripped up T-shirt?”
“Oh, I left those at the house,” he chuckles. “Do I look out of place, you think?”
“Definitely.” I nod.
“I could break out the ripped T-shirts and grease up my jeans. That’s probably fashionable right now out in Los Angeles or something.”
“Oh, like you don’t know,” I tease some more.
“Los Angeles fashion?” he asks, acting as if he’s about to throw up. “Oh, right. Me and all my celebrity friends out there.”
We both laugh as our waitress comes over with a couple of waters and menus and sets them down on the table.
“Hey, guys. My name’s Tanya, I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I get you started with anything? Need some time to look at the menus?”
“I don’t need any time,” I reply, my eyes smiling directly at Jameson, who is doing the same right back at me.
“Nope.” He grins. “I think I’ll have the two eggs combo with bacon and toast, and she’ll have the buttermilk pancakes with bacon and two eggs.”