The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(91)

Jamie jokingly nodded his agreement, and then his expression turned serious again. "No, I mean...a lot. I've been thinking about you a lot."

I looked into his eyes as I tried to reciprocate the sweet sentiment. I tried so hard to open my mouth and tell him I had thought about him, too. But with that would come so many other truths. Like, "I thought about you because I don't want you to know what I do." "I thought about you because I'm deathly afraid that you'll find out and never want to see me again." And of course the new one: "I thought about you because every two minutes I think about leaving it all behind... the job, the money, the cheaters, the quest, the skepticism... all of it... for you."

But all I managed to say was, "No, it's not weird."

And it wasn't weird. It was exactly what I wanted to hear. And at the same time, exactly what I didn't want to hear. How much easier would my life be if Jamie didn't even exist? If I hadn't met him? Or if he simply had decided that there could be no future with a girl who ate all the Apple Jacks?

He leaned in and kissed me. It was just as amazing as I remembered. Maybe even more. The sound of his radio playing from the open convertible mixed with the sound of the next jet plane a few miles out. It felt like we were kissing forever, yet when it was over, I only wanted more.

"I thought about you, too," I heard myself say as he pulled away and laid his head back down on the hood of the car. I didn't know where it came from or if anything remotely like it would ever come out again. But it felt good to say it, regardless.

He looked at me and smiled. Then he kissed me again. This time he pressed his body close to mine, and I felt as though the incredible warmth radiating off of it and passing effortlessly through his clothes could melt me in an instant.

There were no stars out that night, not that there ever are in this city. Too much smog, too many bright lights. But for some reason, tonight, I didn't really miss them.



AT THE end of the night, Jamie walked me back to my front door.

"Thanks for hanging out with me again tonight," he said softly, brushing his lips against mine.

I closed my eyes and allowed the numbness to invade my entire body once again.

"I like you," he whispered as he pulled his face away just enough to look into my eyes.

I swallowed hard. "You shouldn't," I heard myself say softly aloud. I had hoped the thought was only in my head, but evidently it had escaped.

"And why is that?" he asked, delicately kissing my neck.

Because I'm not who you think I am, I thought. Because I'm a fraud.

Thankfully those thoughts stayed in my head.

And then I said the only thing I could think of, the only thing that came to mind. "Do you want to come in?"

I saw him hesitate, and out of sheer panic I added, "Like for a drink or something." It was funny. I suddenly realized I never say the words "Do you want to come in?" On all my assignments I make it a strict rule that the subject has to initiate. He has to invite. I only follow. I don't lead.

And now I was on the other end. Dying for him to come inside. No longer nervous or apprehensive about letting him walk into my house, into my life, but instead wanting nothing more than to entrap him inside and never let him leave.

"I don't think I should," he said, almost pained. As if he obviously wanted to but something was holding him back. "Unless you have some Macallan twenty-five-year-old Scotch."

I laughed, relieved that he had made a joke and successfully managed to cover up his blatant rejection of me.

"Do you honestly think a twenty-eight-year-old girl would have aged Scotch in her apartment?"

"Ah! So that's how old you are," Jamie said with a bright smile that lit up his whole face. "You're way too young for me."

"I know," I said playfully. "I'm practically paying your social security."

"Ooh, that's hot." He kissed me again, and then buried his head in my neck.

I reached around and rested my hand on the back of his head. His dark brown hair felt soft on my skin as I gently ran my fingers through it.

Was he going to say anything else? Or was he just going to leave it at "I don't think I should"? Obviously a response like that warranted an explanation. But I didn't want to bring it up again. Why should I? I was the one who just got rejected, a feeling I certainly wasn't all that familiar with. And not sure I liked very much.

He pulled his head up. "I really like you, Jen. I just think we should take this slow."

Slow? I repeated the word in my head, although I hadn't the faintest idea what it meant. When had any guy ever wanted to take things slow? In my world, men had sex (or thought they would have sex) after two hours of flirting... maybe three. Some of them only waited thirty minutes. My version of taking things slow was making out for twenty minutes before he tries to remove my pants.

But I knew that my world was far from the norm. So I said, "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."

Jamie nodded and smiled, seemingly relieved. "I don't want to rush into anything. And honestly?" He touched my face again. "Not to sound presumptuous, but I kind of have the feeling that I might be around awhile."

I couldn't resist a girlish grin. "Really?" I asked him, amused. "Is that what you think?"