The Stopover (The Miles High Club, #1)(127)

“Alan can come and get us, you know?” He looks at the long line of people. “We don’t have to catch the bus.”

I glare at him, unimpressed. Spoiled brat.

He smiles. “You’re still gorgeous when you’re angry . . . you know that?” he says loudly, and other people in the bus line begin to look over.

Red steam shoots from my ears at him making a scene. “Jameson, go the fuck home,” I whisper angrily.

“No.” He folds his arms in front of him like a petulant teenager. “I’m not leaving without you.”

People around us are all watching. I take out my Kindle and open it . . . anything to block him out.

“What are you reading?”

I remain silent as I pretend to read.

Damn him . . . he thinks he can turn up here and demand to see me . . . he can kiss my ass.

“I’m reading a good book at the moment,” he continues.

I keep reading.

“It’s called . . .” He pauses as he thinks for a moment. “It’s called ‘how to get your girl back after a midlife crisis.’”

The girls behind me snicker.

I twist my lips to try and hide my amusement. Don’t get fucking cute now, asshole.

“Chapter one is called ‘bus duty,’” he continues.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Yes, it says to follow her to the bus stop and keep talking aimlessly until she gets sick of the sound of your voice and has to talk to you . . . even if that first word is shut up . . . that’s something, right?”

I flick the page of my Kindle over as I stop myself from playing into his hands and saying the words shut up. The girls behind me snicker again. I glare at my Kindle. I won’t be surprised if the screen breaks under the pressure.

“What does chapter two say?” the girl behind me asks as the bus arrives and pulls to a stop. I jump on.

“Get on the bus,” I hear him say from behind me.

I walk on and take a window seat at the back, and he comes and sits beside me.

Are you kidding me?

“This is a great seat,” he whispers. “I like it.”

“Stop talking to me,” I growl.

“I can’t. You see, I’ve finally worked it out. And I need you to listen to me so that we can sort this mess out.”

I stare out the window.

“I mean, how can we fix this if you won’t speak to me?”

“We won’t. That’s the point,” I mutter dryly.

“Don’t say that, FB.”

I glare at him as a glow of red covers the sky . . . don’t fight; don’t give him the satisfaction.

He smiles sweetly, totally oblivious to my rage. “It’s so good to see you.”

I roll my eyes and look back out the window . . . don’t talk to him . . . not one word . . . don’t give in to him.

“God . . . I’ve missed you, Em,” he whispers.

Something inside of me breaks.

“You don’t get to say that,” I snap.

“But it’s true.”

“Shut up, Jameson. The time for talking is over.” The bus pulls up to my stop, and I get up and brush past him. He runs after me as I storm up the pavement.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

I keep walking.

“I’ll wait out here all night.”

I keep walking.

“Em, come on,” he sighs.

I keep walking.

“How can you be so cold?” he demands.

I turn like the devil himself. “Don’t you dare call me cold, you hypocrite. You’re the only fucking cold one here.”

“There she is.” He smiles as if proud of himself for getting me to say something.

My face falls at my own weakness. “Jameson,” I whisper.

“Babe.” He grabs my two hands in his. “Please talk to me. I miss you, and I know you miss me too. I need to make this right between us; we can make it through this.”

Tears well in my eyes at his touch, and I’m angry with myself for letting him get this close. “I can’t.” I brush past him.

“Please, Em,” he calls from behind me. “I’ll beg.”

I keep walking.

“Do you want me to get on my knees right here? Because I will.”

I keep walking, and he runs up behind me. “Tell me how to make this right? Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

I turn to him. “Move on . . . I have.”

His face falls. “Okay . . . I deserved that.”

“I didn’t.” I push through tears as I brush past him and keep walking.

“I know, Em,” he calls. “I’m so sorry. That guy . . . that guy was crazy to let you go. I was out of my fucking head.”

I get to my building, and he comes up behind me as I open the door with my key. He slides his arm around my waist from behind and pulls me close. “Please,” he murmurs into my hair. “I love you.”

I close my eyes in pain at the feel of his touch . . . I miss him.

I pull out of his grip. “Don’t touch me,” I spit. “What makes you think you can come back here and say that?”

His eyes search mine. “Because you love me . . . and two wrongs don’t make a right. If you don’t let me make this right between us out of stubbornness, which is a real possibility . . .” He pauses as he tries to get the wording right. “We will both regret it forever; you know we will.”