"Oh, good! Our order just arrived," Desni announces after checking the notification on her phone. She heads to the front door while I grab our wine glasses and the bottle of Pinot Noir we picked out before heading into my living room.
It was Sunday night, and for Desni and I, this meant takeout food and Sunday reality TV night during the winter. This week has been a doozy, so falling into someone else's reality felt like a fitting opportunity to escape from the decisions I had looming over my head. I left the dinner Wednesday without dinner nor an answer as to whether I would entertain the proposal that Jameson and his team presented to me. The sight of Jameson initially sparked a resounding 'no' in my mind. But after he nearly clenched my soul with that kiss, I was left with stars in my eyes and a whirlwind of uncertainty and indecision, the weight of the proposal hanging heavy in the air.
I could probably say the stars were from the lustful feelings rushing back into my veins when our lips collided unexpectedly. I hadn't even planned to entertain the sporadic throbs of my center that kept plaguing me since Valentine's whenever Jameson would cross my mind. I had just shunned them away as I did the thoughts of his smile, his hands, his lips—ugh. The fact that was important for me to remember when those moments came was that he was a wolf in sheep's clothes in my eyes. Or was he? That's where the indecisiveness came into play, and my heart and mind were in constant battle. He seemed shocked at the news and relentlessly apologetic, and I can't forget his genuine interest in wanting to know about my non-profit when I first mentioned it. I was confused about my feelings for Jameson.
The aroma of the Thai food reached me before Desni and the brown takeout bag in her hand. The juices of our order had begun to seep through the bag, a sign that it would be just as delicious as it smelled. Helping Desni, I laid out some extra napkins before she placed and ripped open the bag on my glass table. Before I could dig into my plate of Shrimp Pad Thai, my phone rang, showing an unknown number. I stare at the phone, eyebrows bunched. Unknown callers are normally sent to voicemail on regular occasions, but something tugged at my gut for me to answer.
On the fourth ring, I answered, "Hello?"
"I didn't think you would answer."
"Who am I speaking with?" I asked even though I knew who exactly was on the other line. I couldn't forget that voice.
"Umm, it's Jameson. Belafonte," he confirms, his nervousness apparent in his voice. He quickly continues, "But before you hang up, please consider giving me at least five minutes of your time."
Desni is side-eyeing me now, with her cheeks stuffed with noodles, trying to figure out who called me. I was mentally and physically stuck in the dead of this phone call, trying to decide what to say or do next. I hadn't expected to have to come ear-to-ear with my current problem.
"Kennedy?" Jameson's voice breaks the silence.
"I'm going to take this call in the other room," I say to Desni. I hastily get up from my couch and go to the sitting room in front of my home. I sit in a chair by the window, turning my attention to the call, and say curtly, "What can I do for you, Jameson?"
"I'm sorry to interrupt you and, uh, your date?" His assumption comes out as a question, raising my eyebrow at his fishing.
"I don't think you're privy to that information," I answer, playing into his assumption.
He lets out a short laugh. "You're right."
"So, what business do you have calling me? I don't think I ever gave you my contact information."
"You once said if I wanted to reach you, I'd find a way," he says, reminding me of the words.
His response elicits a smirk, and I am glad I was speaking to him over the phone and not in person. So that I can remain stoic. I respond dryly, "So, you have. You're down to about four minutes, however."
He pauses, I'm sure taken back by my lack of sway in demeanor. Well, at least for him to see. He clears his throat and responds, "Got it. So listen, I felt I needed to call you and apologize again for the whole grant situation. If you can take my word, I didn't know who or what it affected when I made the decision. I don't get the details. I only get and understand the facts of what I'm voting for. Although my decision will not always appease everyone, I would've never decided so freely to do so, knowing that it would affect your cause. I don't know what it is about you, but I would have found another way. And…"
He pauses, and I'm on the edge and filled with angst for what he would say next. My emotions are up and down all over again.
"And?" I ask, my angst taking the front seat.
"And, perhaps I should apologize for overstepping…kissing you the other night. It was out of character for me, despite what you may think."
My kitty began to throb again at the thought of the kiss. The mere thought of it made my girl sputter and moisten. And then remembering how he devoured my lips as if he had been longing and wanting me just as badly as I had been wanting since that fated night. I quietly shuddered as my arousal took over my body, and I accepted his apology.
"I accept your apology."
"Thanks," he says, releasing a deep breath. I wondered if the breath was from the relief of my acceptance or if he was as aroused as I was from the mention of our lip lock.
"I can't blame it all on you…the kiss…" my mouth admits before my brain can register. My love-struck heart takes over and continues as I softly say, "I was an active participant."
Jameson's side of the call grew quiet, and I silently cursed myself for speaking too much, but what did I expect? I was a ball of mixed feelings about Jameson. I wanted him. I didn't. I despised him. I didn't. I was curious about him. That was the only thing my mind and heart agreed on.
"So it wasn't just me that felt the pull?" he asks, his voice rumbling in a way that made my insides tingle.
"Perhaps," I say, my brain trying harder to regain control.
He softly chuckles and proceeds to intensify the tingling sensation. "Good. Because, while I do apologize for overstepping, I don't regret feeling your lips against mine again."
"Well," I say softly. My breath seeps through my lips as I run my index finger along the line of my exposed clavicle. This fire between us was going to be hard to extinguish. I didn't know if I wanted to extinguish it…yet, but I needed to point this conversation in another direction. "Perhaps we should move past those thoughts and discuss this matchmaking thing we were meeting about."
"Right, that," he drags out. "It wasn't my idea…the whole matchmaking thing. The picture of us came out, and my team went into damage control. Not that you are the problem….it's me."
I could hear the solemness in Jameson's voice when he considered himself the problem. Although I fed into the story that he was a playboy, if I was to be fair, he's single, and his personal life doesn't make him a bad person. "You're not a problem. You're a single man. Unfortunately, you're a single man in a very public position."
"Yeah, that part," he groans.
I scrunch my eyebrows. "Do you not want to be in your position?"
"No, it's not that," he responds quickly. "I love what I do and what I plan to do. It's just hell being scrutinized based on my decisions concerning my personal life and hearing it from everyone. The blogs. My team. My father."
"I see, which is why Harrison reached out to Blaire about setting you up to date someone consistently," I say, sympathizing and connecting the dots.
"Correct," he admits. "We met with my father last weekend, and Harrison bought it up amidst the scolding. They both had their hands in my personal life; I thought I could keep some control by saying who I wanted to match with. I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. I just thought you should know how this came up."
I listened to Jameson explain it all, taking in that the most powerful man in Regency was being puppeteered by his own flesh and blood. It made me grow a soft spot for him and understand his dilemma. It also made me realize that he didn't even go through Blaire's extensive database; he named me the one he trusted to fake date him.
"Why me?" I questioned him, following my inner thoughts.
"Why not?" He countered.
"No, seriously. You have many options, whether you're a playboy or not. Why me? We spent one evening together."
"Do you remember that evening?"
"Of course I do," I answer slowly, growing flush at the thought for a moment, but then ask, "So you chose me because you made me cum?"
Jameson bursts into laughter. "Of course not, although I thoroughly enjoyed it," I smirked and rolled my eyes, quietly agreeing with the enjoyment. He settled out of his laughter and responded, "But seriously, you were different. You didn't fawn over me; hell, you debated me the majority of the time. You didn't celebrate my celebrity, and, although humbling…I was intrigued. You intrigue me with your witty banter; you are smart, and I can't deny you are gorgeous. There was something there I couldn't deny. I know you felt it, too."
He made his last statement matter of factly, and I sat there holding back my blush from my damn self. He was right; I felt the spark and experienced it the whole night, and it was surprising to hear he felt the same thing. I felt guilty for questioning his motives due to his name's reputation. Something was tugging at my heart to believe that he was sincere. I was tired of playing the tough cookie.
"You're right. I can't deny the attraction."
Our lines grew silent again.
"So, that's why," Jameson says after a moment. "I'm intrigued, and I have something to prove to you…that I am a good guy. Perhaps you'd give me a year to prove it…a few dates in exchange for helping me clean up my reputation. Obviously, after everything, you don't owe me anything. I can't change what happened with the grant, but I do hope you'd consider."
Does he not know about the payment for the arrangement? I questioned myself but decided not to say anything about it. Instead, I took a peek at my phone and saw that we had spent thirty minutes on the call. I said, "I'm going to think about it, Jameson. I have to get back to my guest, but… I'll think about it."
"Oh, of course. Thanks for not hanging up on me," he says with a chuckle.
I chuckled. "Don't mention it."
I ended the call with him with more clarity but a big decision to make. When I returned to the living room, Desni swung her head in my direction, her eyes bugged out. "Damn, you missed half of our show, girl! And it's good tonight, too."
"Ugh, I know," I sigh, sitting back on the couch beside her. I grab my now lukewarm plate and say, "I'll have to re-watch the beginning tomorrow or something."
A commercial segment began to play on the TV, giving Desni the perfect segue to nosily ask, "So, what was that all about? You taking calls in the other room now?"
I was ready to spill it all to Desni. I needed someone's thoughts on all the happenings and she was the right one to ask. She knew me like no other, and our friendship spanned back to childhood. So, I gave her the run down, from the missing pieces from Valentine's Day, losing the grant, the matchmaking proposal dinner, the kiss, and now the call. By the time I finished my soap opera, Desni's eyes were ballooned out, and her face looked like my story was just as good as our Sunday reality TV lineup.
Desni reaches for the remote and mutes the arguing happening on TV. "Girl, the show can wait. I feel like I need to make some popcorn for all of this."
I roll my eyes at her and chuckle silently. "It has been an eventful week, but Des, I am so torn on what I should do."
"I can see why from the outside looking in," Desni agrees, tucking her legs under herself and turning to look at me. "But I can tell you like him."
"Girl," I sigh as the image of Jameson clouds my mind. "I do. But he vetoed my grant for the sake of some housing project."
"He didn't veto your grant, Kennedy. He reallocated money for several grants. It sucks, I know. But he didn't do it, knowing that you would be affected. He even apologized… twice at that. Give him some grace."
"Well, aren't you, team Mayor," I say to her plea of his case.
"I'm team Kennedy getting some action in her dry life," Desni jokes.
I throw a pillow at her and laugh. "My life is as dry as yours!"
"Nuh-uh," Desni sings, shaking her head. "I'm still soaking from my spontaneous hook-up Valentine's night."
I burst into laughter. "I bet. You finally got a piece of your high school crush."
She throws the pillow back at me, and I block it, laughing hysterically as she joins in.
"Girl, whatever," Desni says, settling out of her laughter. "But, for real, I mean, why not go along with this thing? You don't have anything stopping you but your ego. That man didn't mean to interfere with your grant."
"You're right," I agree, grabbing my wine glass and sipping. "Besides, I'll be able to find a building with the money I'll get when I accept."
"Biittch, you left that out!" Desni grabs her wine glass and sips before asking for more details. "He offered you some coin to go through with this?"
I bit the side of my lip and answered, "Not him. His business partner, Harrison. He stopped me while I was leaving the restaurant and said that if I accepted, I'd be entitled to $100 thousand, fifty of it sent to me after I signed on the dotted line. For some reason, I don't think Jameson knows about it."
"Woooow," Desni drags out. "And the plot thickens."
"Tell me about it. This whole thing has me messed up. I'm low-key mad at him and don't trust him, but I'm drawn to him and curious about this thing between us."
We sit in a thoughtful silence until Desni asks, "So, let me ask you. Would you still consider the offer if the money was not involved?"
I ponder her question for a long pause before admitting, "I would. It's the conversation we had tonight. In everything he said, I really felt he was genuine, just like I felt on Valentine's Day."
"Well, Ken, it sounds like you know what you'll do."
I looked to Desni, whose expression showed she was giddy about things more than I was. She knew me well. At first, not even the money swayed me to give him the time or day. But after the conversation with Jameson tonight, I was too far invested in exploring all the what-ifs. What would happen if I gave him a year? I found Jameson far from a weirdo, so I couldn't imagine this going left. What if it goes right? Like, really right. What if what we say we feel is right and real?
We finished our night watching the second reality show that made up our Sunday tradition. After Desni helped me clean up and headed home, I got settled in my room with the proposal of dating Regency's mayor on my mind. It was a little after ten, technically too late to discuss business, but I knew I didn't want to give myself any more time to overthink and change my decision. I pulled my phone out and tapped the last number in my call log to start a text thread.
Kennedy: I'm intrigued, too. I'm in.
Watching my blue bubble pop up, I sat, almost hoping he'd respond immediately. He didn't. In fact, after plugging his contact information in my phone and spending fifteen minutes scrolling my phone with anticipation, there was still nothing. A little disappointed, I reluctantly got comfortable in bed and went to sleep. However, when I woke up the following morning, I received a text notification in the wee hours.
Jameson: The best news yet, gorgeous.