Page 12 of Jamison's Story
“You’re welcome, baby, but if you really want to thank me, how about you put some clothes on, so I don’t feel like tearing the detective’s head off his shoulders when he gets here, because that shirt is a little thin,” he states, and my cheeks flood with color seeing that the sunlight coming through the window is turning it almost see-through.
“I will,” I manage weakly, covering my face with my hands again.
“I don’t mind seeing you like this at all, angel, but other men aren’t allowed to, unless you want them blinded.”
“Stop it,” I groan, but a laugh bubbles out on top of it, and he presses a kiss to my forehead, sending little shivers through me.
“I’m going to get dressed and start breakfast, you can stay in bed until it’s ready,” he says, kissing my forehead again, before the bed dips as he moves to stand. I miss his hold the second he’s off it but seeing him in nothing except a pair of shorts that are doing little to hide part of him I regret not getting to feel this morning, sends heat racing through my veins.
“Do you have to get dressed?” I ask, flushing more at the way his eyes darken as he looks back to me.
“Unfortunately yes, I only have so much self-control, baby, so behave,” he adds, and I smile as he leaves the room, resting back on the bed until I know I need to get up and help. Jamison shouldn’t have to make breakfast on his own on top of everything else he’s doing to help me.
I pull on a pair of capri leggings, topping it with a short-sleeve tunic before joining him in the kitchen. A little moan falls from my lips when I see him breaking up sausage in a pan. There are tortillas on the counter along with eggs and cheese, and I can’t stop from smiling.
“Are you making breakfast burritos or tacos?” I ask pulling his attention over to me.
“Burritos, yeah,” he answers letting the meat brown more as he grabs a bag from the corner and starts pulling out onions, peppers, and tomatoes. He looks around before putting them on the table. The only cabinet in the kitchen is the one with the sink. Even the coffee pot is on a little side table. I’m pretty sure it’s a TV-tray type table that Nick bought to use in the living room for when he didn’t want to eat at the actual table.
I move to the back room, grabbing the card table and taking it back to the kitchen, setting it up as Jamison is heading towards the kitchen table with a cutting board. “This might work until the cabinets are in,” I suggest, setting it in the space next to the sink so it’s closer to the stove.
“Thanks baby,” he says, as he takes out a green pepper from the bag. “You okay with some peppers and onions in them? If not, I’ll set some of the egg mix aside and just add them into mine.”
“The more the better, tomatoes too,” I add with a grin. “If you have jalapenos as well, you should know I’m never leaving you.”
“Lucky for me, I do have them,” he teases, pulling me into his arms with a smile. “I’m never letting you leave me though, so it really doesn’t make a difference, does it?”
“No, but it definitely makes me want to give you a reward,” I counter, lifting up to press a kiss to his lips as he leans down towards me.
“Feel free to give as many of them as you’d like,” he states, before turning back to the table and cutting up slivers of peppers and onions, dicing up tomatoes, before taking out some fresh jalapenos and cutting them up as well.
“That smells so good,” I sigh as he adds them to the sausage.
“I take it you like spicy food?” he says, and I nod. “The rest of the family is mixed on it, but I love it.”
“The spicier the better I say,” I admit, watching him work as I sip on a cup of coffee, adding in the creamer Jamison brought with him with a grin. “Nick hates it, doesn’t understand how I can begin to eat things with hot sauce and peppers. Then again, he’s the one that said the regular buffalo wings at Roscoe’s were too spicy, couldn’t even eat one, while I’d asked for their Hot Mama sauce on the side for mine when we got some to share.”
“You know, I don’t think we’ve ever gone anywhere except a burger place or the bar when we’ve gotten together,” Jamison says, turning to look at me and that’s not at all surprising.
“Neither he nor Nanci like spicy things so if we did go out somewhere, it was usually a diner or a burger joint.”
“Interesting what you learn about people from their family,” Jamison says, and I can’t stop the little snort that hits, which sends his brow upwards my way.
“I…last night when I asked what your parents though about your sister and Serena, Anya and Kayla’s preferences,” I begin, seeing the confusion on his face grow more. “Did you ever meet Nick’s ‘roommate’ Tim?” I ask, wondering if my brother ever told him the reason he was already headed to State before our parents died.
“A couple times,” he says, his brow lifting higher, “why?”
“Did you ever go to Nick’s apartment?” I ask instead of answering just yet.
“I stopped by once to pick him up when his car was in the shop our…junior year,” he answers me. “It was on my way to a job from the condo our parents bought in Belleview. From Presley it’s only thirty miles, but our house is on the opposite side of town from Presley so it would have taken us at least an hour to make the drive one way every day. Why?”
“Did it really seem big enough to have two bedrooms?” My brow rises a hint watching him, relaxing when it all seems to start making sense from the look on his face.
“Your parents didn’t approve?” he asks, seeming perfectly fine with the idea that my brother’s roommate was actually his boyfriend.
“I didn’t fully understand it at the time. A few weeks before they died, I remember them getting into this huge argument with Nick. They’d come home to find his friend Carl and him in his room. Apparently they were kissing, and my dad completely lost it. They were constantly arguing from then until they died,” I admit, my fingers tightening around the handle of the cup. “Nick’s blamed himself for the accident, which I think is why he hasn’t really come out to the world even more than him being worried that it would affect his job. That companies that usually referred people to him would stop.”
“Because a lot of construction guys are testosterone fueled apes and bigots,” Jamison suggests, and I nod. “It doesn’t matter to me either way, baby. As long as he’s a good brother to you, he can see and sleep with whoever he wants…as long as it’s none of my sisters.”