Jamie
Oh dear God. Distracted for thirty seconds and Ricky answered the door. Jamie was too far away to stop it, but he crossed the kitchen and swept Ricky back with one arm before he could come up with anything worse. “I am so sorry,” he told Jo, even though he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes. “We don’t let Ricky out in public.”
“Hey!” Ricky protested from behind him, but he did at least allow Jamie to get out onto the stoop and shut the door without trying to escape the house.
“Seriously sorry,” Jamie repeated. It was an old joke, and one they all used as frequently as any group of middle schoolers, but somehow it was different when someone said it to Jo.
“Is he a restaurant owner or a theater major?” she wanted to know, and okay, at least she shifted and her voice wasn’t quite even, either, so thanks, Ricky.
And she was insightful. “Ricky’s actually a prof in the theater department at NMU. Chase is the restaurant guy.” He’d never been good at small talk.
Her mouth twitched, but then she said it: “So both of them eat your meat on a regular basis?”
God. He dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was going to say you don’t have to stay for game night, but you’d fit right in.” The observation was accurate, but the idea was a bad one. Wasn’t it?
“Um.” She cleared her throat. “I just brought you the copies.”
“Oh, we always make too much food.” He shrugged and crossed his arms. “And plenty of drinks, but Trevor and Mitch always make a nonalcoholic punch, so.”
So. He wanted to spend time with her, but maybe tonight wasn’t the best night.
The corner of her mouth twitched this time, maybe toward a smile, and why was he so obsessed with her lips? “Do we all get to eat your meat, or is that a paid experience only?”
Jamie groaned and gestured toward the street. “Okay, yeah, you’re not staying.”
“Too late.” She grinned at him, eyes sparkling. “Ricky already invited me.”
What was the proper response here? Did he caution her they were all coupled off and mostly gay? Should he let her know how much—or how little—they knew about her? Ricky’d already greeted her by name, so she had to know there was something going on there, but …
The front door opened and this time it was Chase, small and blonde and neat and serious. “I hear I’m supposed to apologize for my husband,” he offered, focused on Jo because Jamie of course knew exactly what kind of a person Ricky was.
“Is that something you have to do often?” Jo asked politely, like this was a normal cocktail party conversation.
Chase sighed. “Unfortunately. Chase Walker.”
“Jo Lewis.” She shook his hand.
He tilted his head back toward the house. “Are you staying, or did Ricky drive you away?”
Jo looked at Jamie first, like maybe he had the final say in this after all, but he just gestured for her to follow Chase.
She left her shoes and her backpack by the door without prompting. It might’ve been habit, or it might’ve been how even Chase, in his suit pants and vest if not the jacket, was in his sock feet. They went to the right, into the kitchen and dining room area, which was probably obvious considering both the light and the laughter. They were missing a few people, though, so Chase just introduced Jo to Trevor and Mitch and asked what he could get her to drink, like he was the host instead of Jamie. Ricky insisted on Chase coming to these things to get him away from the restaurant, but he couldn’t help his ingrained service tendencies.
“Okay, so.” Ricky suddenly appeared at Jamie’s elbow, cup topped off with something that was quite alcoholic. “Do I keep Cards Against Humanity on the table, or …?”
Jamie sighed heavily. Ricky had the talent of making everyone around him rise to his level of the dramatic. “You’re on thin ice.”
“We didn’t bring that one,” Ricky replied deadpan.
Right. Okay. There was Jo, who’d come here asking him about the Milwaukee Millennium Murderer, talking with Mitch about his computer startup and Trevor about his greenhouse. Jo, in his house, in her sock feet, wearing a different dress and a different hoodie today, just casually existing in his mundane space.
Right. Okay.
Jo was new, so he wasn’t the only one paying so much attention to her. She had her drink, but then there was also the food, and shuffling of plates as everyone got the food, and sitting around the dining room table so they could pick a game, which meant Jo ended up between Jamie and Chase. It could’ve been worse, Jamie supposed, but Ricky was across from Chase, and that seemed like a better position to grab her attention than here at her right shoulder. He hadn’t planned to sit next to Jo. He was just the last to go through the appetizers, and that was the open chair.
Mitch got out Monopoly and started setting everything up as Jamie caught some sort of laughter about how many mini quiches Jo had on her plate. “My mom’s all about the cold cereal!” she protested, also laughing, and her hoodie was draped on the back of her chair so Jamie could see exactly how low her sundress was cut in front.
Whoa, down boy. Was this how most people felt all the time?
“Not everyone thinks breakfast can be dinner food,” Ricky informed her, glaring at Chase in case anyone wondered who might disagree with him.
Chase just shrugged. “Eat breakfast at breakfast time. There are so many other options.”
“Is chicken and waffles breakfast?” Jo challenged him, accepting a stack of paper bills from Trevor.
Jamie snorted before he could stop himself and knew he was blushing when she turned to look at him. “There’s a reason the Rusty Barrel doesn’t serve it.”
“Because some people just don’t respect southern cooking,” Trevor clarified, rolling his eyes. “Jo, we’re all creatures of habit, so you’re limited in your token selection.”
Jamie was always the top hat, Mitch the race car, Ricky the horse and rider, Chase the shoe, and Trevor the dog. Those were already in position, so Jo considered the rest. “You’re missing people, right?” she asked. “So are the rest of these spoken for?”
“Nobody takes the wheelbarrow.” Trevor moved that to the board and put the battleship and canon back in the box.
“Trevor’s always the banker,” Mitch said sotto voce, “because he’s the one least likely to rob the place.”
Trevor shrugged. “Least likely still doesn’t mean never. Youngest goes first.” Okay, and that simple declaration made Jamie take a quick drink, because it was one thing to be utterly distracted by Jo and another entirely to have to confront the math.
“That’s usually me,” Ricky sighed.
Jo frowned. “I bet we’re close.”
He raised a challenging eyebrow. “I’m thirty-four.”
“When’s your birthday?” she shot right back.
Wait, Jo was thirty-four? Jamie realized he was sharing a surprised look with Mitch and quickly looked away.
Ricky squared his shoulders. “August.”
Jo held out her hand, palm up. “September first.”
“No way!” Ricky protested as laughter broke out. “That’s why you made me go first! You were always going to pick a date after!”
“My wallet’s out there in my backpack,” she pointed out as Trevor passed over the dice.
Ricky closed his hand over hers before she could roll. “Nuh-uh. I’m calling your bluff.”
Mitch’s sigh was far more weary than dramatic. “Ricky …”
Ricky still had her hand to make sure she didn’t drop the dice, so Jo smirked over her shoulder at Jamie. “Grab my bag?”
He was up before he could wonder if maybe he shouldn’t do it just because she asked him.
Chapter Nine – coming October 9
