Free Fall for Me by JC Emery Page B

hot, crazy, complex, difficult, swoon-worthy, gorgeous man with a pretty, awful girlfriend who doesn’t want me, or at least not enough to actually be with me.
    Claire and I move around the dining table toward the living room where she breaks off from me and darts toward the kitchen. The living and dining are open concept with the kitchen half tucked away around a corner. There are close to ten people here. Claire and two of her friends who’ve always been nice to me, a few of my friends from high school—you know, the ones I actually like and haven’t blocked on Facebook because of their petty bullshit—my cousins on my mom’s side, and of course Hennessey and Royal. It’s a small gathering, which suits me just fine. We only have four bedrooms, but thankfully not everybody is staying the night, or we’d run out of room. Even if we did have the room, I don’t have many people. I guess it’s a curse of being a serious homebody who prefers hanging with her sister to meeting new people. I got lucky with Royal and, by extension, her brothers and parents. Everybody is paired up and talking amongst themselves. How lame is it that I can’t bring myself to talk to my own party guests?
    “I hope I’m not too late,” Jameson’s voice sounds from behind me. My body tenses and ignites in a crazy excitement that I can barely contain. The grin that finds its way to my face is shameless. For the first time all day it feels like a day to celebrate.
    “No, not at all.” I spin around and let my eyes travel up and down his solid frame. I try not to be too obvious as I survey the scene before me. No signs of Miss Cranky Pants.
    “When you invited me, you forgot to mention that it’s your birthday.”
    “That was intentional,” I say. He tilts his head to the side, and his blue-gray eyes ask questions he won’t verbalize. “There’s always that discomfort about gift-giving and the added pressure to show up for birthdays. I chose to skip the hassle.”
    “Well, your plan sucked because . . .” He leaves his sentence hanging midway through and digs into his front pocket. He pulls out a small rectangular velvet box and hands it to me.
    Slowly, I reach out and take the box in hand. It’s an unusual shape—neither a traditional ring box nor a traditional necklace box—but it’s definitely a jewelry box.
    “You didn’t have to.” I’m almost afraid to open it. If it’s a great gift, it’s only going to make it harder to deal with being so close to him and yet so far from being able to have him.
    “Yeah, I did.” His eyes are full of sincerity and his voice is steady. He eyeballs the box in a nervous way, but everything else about him is so assured and calm. I force myself to look away and refocus my attention back on the box in my hands. I open it to find a brilliant gold wishbone attached to a sturdy-looking but feminine chain. It’s beautiful.
    And he bought it for me.
    His friend.
    Jameson Hayes is a fucking asshole.
    “You don’t like it,” he says quietly.
    I don’t miss the disappointment in his voice. I could throw myself at him, wrap my arms around his neck, and never let go. I could climb him like he’s a goddamn tree and I’m a monkey in need of a banana. I could kiss him like my life depends on it—my heart certainly does—and I could regret never telling him any of this if I don’t say it right now. I could tell him every stupid fucking feeling I’m having and how much this beautiful gold necklace means to me. I could do all of this, but at the end of it, he still wouldn’t be mine. He would still be my friend—assuming I didn’t scare him off—and if he let me do all of this, he wouldn’t be the guy I think he is. He wouldn’t be the man I’ve built up in my head as being strong and courageous and worth every painful moment I spend away from him knowing he’s with her and every trying moment I spend with him knowing he’s not mine.
    I let the silence hang between us, as