Until Jameson had taken me out for coffee, I had never considered myself the jealous type.
I'd spend most of my high school career without a boyfriend however, and now that I'd scored a Hawthorne, I couldn't quite blame the girls for flirting. Or the guys. As we waited in line, I feigned immunity to the stares. Very few were for me; despite being relatively pretty, there was nothing special about me when standing next to Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.
I simply paled in comparison.
"Wishing we stayed home?" Jameson murmured to me as a girl intentionally brushed his arm on her way out.
It still seemed strange to me that we technically lived together. Sure, we didn't share a room, but without any context, people would assume we did. Jameson obviously didn't care. I tried not to either.
"No," I said quietly.
"Liar. You hate the attention."
"It isn't my attention," I pointed out, glaring at a nearby woman who was way too old for my Jamie. "It's yours."
Smirking, he pulled an arm around my waist. "Nonsense. Want to kiss me?"
"If I did, the cashier might murder me." I nodded towards the barista a few feet ahead — a lady in her twenties draped in pearls and faux confidence. She was a few inches taller than me and showing far less skin than I was, but her venomous stare made up for it.
"You're a drama queen, you know that?"
I bit back my laugh and nestled myself into his warm arms. "And what does that make you?"
"Hot," he decided. "Or sexy. Take your pick."
"Neither," I teased in return.
If I'd answered honestly, I would've said both.
But Jameson didn't need to know that.
Especially with three dozen customers drooling over him — plus the entire staff.
As we neared the counter to order, the barista pinned her eyes on Jameson. He didn't return her hungry expression, but rather tightened his arm around my waist and whispered, "Sure you don't want that kiss?"
"Not if I don't want to be murdered, no."
"It would be a good way to die."
Hiding a laugh behind my hand, I forced myself to study the neat array of cups behind the bar. I hadn't been to a cafe in months, possibly years. Considering my lack of wealth growing up, coffee had been a luxury, along with anything else not considered a necessity. But every once and awhile Libby and I would sneak off to spend our spare pennies on the caffeine.
Now, I was dating a guy who could surely buy me the most expensive latte on their menu without a second glance. Arrogant, handsome, and rich. Three traits I never thought I would get in a guy.
Lucky me, I guessed.
"Heiress," Jamie murmured into my ear. "Do you know what you want?"
"No," I admitted, nerves fluttering in me. Pleasant smells assaulted my nose, and though they made my mouth water I couldn't pinpoint what any one of them was. "I haven't had coffee in months."
"Serious?" His brows stretched towards the arched ceiling. "How have you lived the past year?"
"I haven't."
He smirked. "Fair."
"How about we just share one?" I suggested.
The barista drummed her fingers on the counter, clearly impatient and annoyed at our public display of affection. Jameson nodded in agreement and rattled off an order with so many words my head bounced. She asked for a name, and Jameson smirked as he provided my name instead of his. Surely she'd been hoping to learn his.
Jealousy painted her features as she handed him a coffee and two straws. "To stay or to go?"
"To go." Jameson winked at her, then waggled his eyebrows at me. "We like our privacy, don't we?"
Laughing, I took his hand and enjoyed the barista's flush of embarrassment. "Yeah. We do."
