Page 61 of Whiskey & Honey
When Piper told me she wanted to spend the day apart, I was pissed. We’ve just had two amazing nights together and she has to see how great we are together. Instead, she opts to spend her day grocery shopping and cooking. I did manage to sneak a few items onto her shopping list, which I consider a positive sign that she plans on having me over enough to keep my preferred coffee creamer in her refrigerator.
I woke early enough to run to the store and prepare a breakfast for Piper. This also meant I had to cancel breakfast with Jameson. I didn’t bail on the run, but there was no doubt in my mind who I wanted to share breakfast with. By the time I had Piper drop me at my truck I was already running late.
I pull into the parking lot at the end of the running trails to see Jameson talking up a brunette with a large, and scary-looking, dog. As I lock up my truck I turn to see that he’s in the early stages of his usual pickup lines.
Currently Jameson is leaning on the nearest structure, in this case a trash can, while combing his hand through his short blond hair like it’s wet from the shower. From a male perspective, it’s less natural and more like he’s in distress. According to Jameson the ladies find it sexy and he’ll usually have a number before he has to move on to the next step in the pickup – showing his abs.
I can guarantee that at this point in the conversation he’s likely thrown out a plethora of compliments while downplaying his own attributes. If I’m reading her body language correctly, the brunette is buying everything he’s selling.
As I approach I notice she is holding his phone, presumably giving him her phone number. I clear my throat as he takes her hand in his and places a kiss to her knuckles. I cannot believe this shit works.
“Oh hey, buddy. I didn’t think you were going to make it. Thankfully Celeste here was keeping me company.”
Offering a smile to Celeste, I ignore Jameson’s dig.
“Sorry, I had a few stops to make. Are we doing this?”
“Don’t mind my friend, Celeste. He’s not always a jerk. Say hello, Ben.”
He’s right, I’m not a jerk and that did sound a little harsh.
“He’s right, I apologize. Hello, Celeste, it’s nice to meet you,” I say, offering my hand, which she takes.
“It was nice to meet you as well. Ben, is it?” The purr in her voice evident. “I’ll let you gentlemen get your run in. Call me soon, Jameson.”
Neither of us answer as she turns and walks toward the other end of the park. I start stretching, but Jameson seems more interested in the excessive wiggle she offers him.
“Hey, put your tongue away. You may catch a fly.”
“Screw you. Where have you been? I could have been here all day waiting for you.”
“Yeah it looks like you were suffering. Do you find women everywhere you go?”
“Nah, not everywhere. Old man Connors doesn’t have any ladies working at the gas station,” he replies as he turns toward our preferred running trail.
We take off at an easy pace, but as the trail widens we each pick it up a little. This is what I needed. When I’m running I can always let go of things that bother me and the tension begins to lessen with each strike of my foot to the dirt. Tension is not an accurate word. Frustration. I’m frustrated with keeping Piper a secret. I know it was my suggestion to be friends with some benefits for a few weeks and ease her into us being something more. I regret that. I don’t want to wait. This weekend has shown me what we can be and it’s pretty fucking great. I don’t think we are giving my sister enough credit. Honestly if I didn’t think it would scare Piper away completely I’d just tell Ash myself.
I make it to the end of the trail before Jameson and take a long drink of my water as he comes around the bend. Stopping with his hands clasped over his head, he takes a few long breaths before speaking.
“Are you training for the Olympics and I missed it?”
“What?” I strangle out between breaths.
“Dude, you were running like you were on a mission. You pissed at something?”
“What? No.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s go grab a beer and you can tell me all about it,” he says, turning and beginning our return to the parking lot. This time he sets the pace and it’s less intense than mine.
When we make it back to the parking lot I remind him that it is only ten in the morning and perhaps a little early for a beer. He in turn reminds me that it is in fact Sunday and it’s perfectly acceptable to drink with brunch.
“Brunch? Since when do you brunch?”
“Ben, brunch is a perfectly respectable meal.”
“Uh, yeah it is, but I wouldn’t think of you as someone that brunches.”
“Screw you. Fine, let’s go eat but not brunch because that would obviously be unmanly. That better, Bentley?”