Page 44 of Unspoken Confessions
16
Nick
I’d just basically spilled my life story and guts to Jameson.
What the fuck was I thinking?!
Oh, my God, I was so embarrassed.
Seriously, I was about to cry and I was trying really damn hard to hold the fucking tears back.
I had no doubt that he saw them shining in my eyes, and with the way he was looking at me, I almost didn’t care that I was giving him nearly the worst of me. He wasn’t running away and he didn’t look as if he wanted to. Which only made the urge to cry so much stronger.
He wrapped his hand around my wrist. It was strange but something about it felt so right. He didn’t try to hold my hand. He didn’t give me a firm, reassuring squeeze on my shoulder. He didn’t even lay his hand on my leg just to let me know he was there and silently sending me strength like he had before. This move did something to me. It was the most… God, I couldn’t even think of a word to describe all the things it did to me. It warmed me in a way that made me feel like everything was going to be okay. It grounded me like a tether latching on so I wouldn’t float away. It wrapped around me with the feeling of being inside a cocoon, shielding me from the world while I sat here completely exposed.
Then I sighed. A great, big sigh as I let go of a lot of things that weighed me down.
I was, at least for the moment, alright.
“Thank you,” I whispered but it was hard to meet his eyes. I knew that if I did, I’d lose it, and I wasn’t quite ready to do that.
We sat there for a long moment like this. The silence buzzed like static but it didn’t make my skin crawl.
Eventually, he slowly rose to his feet. His hand didn’t fall away, instead, he gripped me a little firmer as he tugged me to my feet as well. Then he led me to my desk and around to where my chair was. With a tilt of his head, I knew he was telling me to sit. I did because I kind of liked whatever this was. He had a plan and I was itching to know what it was, no doubt that it would be the thing I needed the most. He let me go once I was seated.
Surprisingly, he reached for one of the scripts sitting in the only bin that was full. He picked up the script on the top, his brows furrowing a bit as he read the title. Then he set it down in front of me as his gaze shifted to meet mine.
That one brow rose and I realized I’d been studying him closely. I’d been watching his every move, taking in every single thing about his features. His lips quirked up on one side telling me he liked my eyes on him. I couldn’t have been sure, but I might have blushed a bit.
With a heavy finger, he pressed down on the script. He wanted me to read it. It didn’t matter what it was or the fact that he knew nothing about it. That wasn’t what this was about at all. He didn’t say the words but I could understand so clearly what he was trying to do. I could read it in his eyes.
This was about giving me back my space. My sanctuary. Which, yes, if I let myself think about it I would not want to be in this room. I hadn’t had a moment to really process and I had a feeling it would hit me tonight when I was alone in my bed. I actually would rather it be that way.
But as it was, I was now forced to see. Forced to realize what I wanted to deny. What I wanted to ignore and run from.
This room wasn’t safe anymore. But before I could sink down into that hole, Jameson was giving me the chance to take it back. No, he was telling me to do it. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t let me walk out of this room without at least trying.
And, well, that did something else to me.
Damn him.
I did not need this in my life right now. And according to certain people, I couldn’t ever have something like this. So why did I want to open my mouth and say the things I kept hidden deep inside? Why did I want to tell Jameson that I was grateful for him? That I appreciated everything he did for me. And that even though he was kind of an asshole at times, I wanted more of him in my life.
I cleared my throat and forced myself to look away from him. He removed his finger and I got situated just right in my chair. As he walked away, I flipped open the script, certain that it wouldn’t be the next project I’d consider, but positive that diving into something familiar would set my world right again.
As right as it could be, anyway.
He left the room and I wanted to call out to him and ask him to stay. I held it back, though it was hard.
Somehow, he sensed that I’d needed him because it wasn’t ten minutes later that he was walking back into the room. Trapped between his hard body and bulging arm were three bottles of water. In his other hand, a bowl which I realized held a dried fruit and nut mix when he set it down on the desk above the script. Then he placed two bottles of water above it before digging in his pocket, pulling out a banana, and softly setting it down right under the bowl in a way that made the whole picture look like a smiley face. It had a big nose and little, beady eyes, but that wasn’t the point.
I closely studied it all for a few beats. When I looked up at him, he was walking over to the couch. He sat down, placing the third bottle of water beside him. I nearly laughed the way it took up the space next to him looking as if it were almost another being sitting there.
I sent him a smile, which he softly returned, then I dove into the script.
Hours must have gone by.
I wasn’t used to having someone in here while I worked but with him, it wasn’t strange. He didn’t fidget or try to talk— of course, he wouldn’t. He didn’t huff like he was bored. He barely made any noise and what little there had been, hadn’t been enough to pull me out of reading. Though if it had, I wouldn’t have been too mad because I wasn’t feeling a single thing about this script. But I kept going because I knew in the end I would feel better.
