Jocking Jameson: Face-Off Legacy #4 Page 3

  I open the door for Shannon, and when I step inside, the scent of brewed coffee and pastries baking fill my nostrils.

  “Yum.” Shannon licks her lips. “Smells so good in here.”

  I place my hand on her shoulder and guide her toward the line forming in front of the counter. “I bet you’re used to this, working at the bakery.”

  “Yeah, I love working at Rizzo’s. Mrs. R lets me make anything I want.”

  Shannon works part-time at an Italian bakery in South Philly. She can cook her ass off. A few times I’ve run into her on campus, and she let me taste some of the cookies and cakes she brought home with her.

  “If you’re so good at baking, then how come you didn’t go to cooking school instead?”

  It would’ve been a lot cheaper than paying the hefty tuition at Strickland University.

  She shrugs, staring up at the menu board posted on the wall behind the counter. “I don’t know. I thought about it. But my real dream is to own a bakery. I figured I should learn how to run a business first.”

  “The food industry has the highest turnover rate. Most of those businesses fail.” She frowns, and now I feel like shit for telling her the truth. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a downer. It’s just that I read—”

  She presses her index finger to my lips to silence me. “Shhh… you think too much, Jamie.”

  I clutch her hand, rubbing my thumb along her soft skin, and she slowly removes her finger from my mouth. Our eyes meet, the fire behind her green irises blazing. She has that look, the one my father mentioned at the conference over the summer, and it scares the shit out of me.

  An awkward beat passes between us. She’s right about me overthinking. My brain does most of the talking for me. Well, technically, it does all of the talking for me if you want to get scientific. Oh my God, what’s wrong with me? I really do need to get out of my head. I live there so often, it’s hard to reel it back.

  After I order for us and we take a seat by the window, I peel back the paper covering my breakfast sandwich while watching Shannon as she sips her cappuccino. She’s gorgeous, and the more I stare at her, I wonder why I waited this long to get closer to her. No one has ever made me feel this… comfortable. Around Shannon, I can be myself. I never have to hide from her. The walls I resurrected around others come down when I’m with her. And that scares me.

  Shannon picks at a chocolate muffin, stuffing bits into her mouth. She stares out the window to my right, her eyes so big and bright they illuminate her face.

  “Remind me to grab a scone for Killian before we leave,” I say.

  Her eyes find mine, a smile crossing her lips. “He’ll haunt me if I forget.” She chuckles, taking another sip from the mug. “Killian sits next to me in my Financial Management class. He reminds me so much of my little brother who’s always annoying me.”

  “He probably likes you,” I confess. “Guys do stupid shit when they like girls.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t say that. I like Killian but not in that way.”

  “How come I’ve never seen you with anyone on campus?”

  Shannon gives me a confused look. “I’m with you right now. On campus.”

  I laugh it off. “You know what I mean. With a guy.”

  “Oh.” She tips the mug to her lips to avoid my question. “Umm…”

  “You don’t have to answer if it’s personal.”

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t know. I just never really connected with anyone at this school. I don’t have a lot in common with people who have enough money to buy every house on the block where I live.”

  “What about me?”

  She chuckles, reaching across the table to cover my hand with hers. “You’re different, Jamie. No one at Strick U is like you.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  She squeezes my hand, her long nails painted a dark shade of pink sliding along my skin. “It’s a very good thing. Some of the students here are so… vapid.”

  I laugh. “Interesting word choice.”

  Shannon shrugs, holding up her hands with a cute smile tugging at her plump lips that I can’t stop thinking about. “I don’t know how else to describe some of these people. It’s like they have so much money they think the money can talk for them and that they don’t have to offer anything of any value. But you’re not like them. I’m never bored when I’m with you.”

  I wink. “Good to know. At least I’m not vapid.”

  She laughs, moving her hand back to the other side of the table, and I already miss her warmth.

  “Want to know something that’s completely ridiculous?” she asks. I lean forward, holding her gaze, and she continues, “I have to dance on a bar this weekend for money.”

  “You?” I point a finger at her. “I can’t see you dancing for money.”

  “It’s true. All of the sororities on campus are part of this dance competition at The Sixth Floor. Abby takes this shit seriously. She uses the pretense that the money goes to charity as an excuse to embarrass us all.”

  Abby Gale is the president of Kappa Delta and the coldest most miserable bitch I’ve ever met. She puts Cece to shame, and that’s saying a lot.

  “I’m sure she does.” I stuff the last of my sandwich into my mouth. “At least it’s for charity.”

  “You know the Greeks.” She sighs. “We have a philanthropic quota to meet. We’ve won the award every year. Abby takes pride in that fact.” A quick pause passes between us before she adds, “When is your next home game?”

  I smirk. “Why? You gonna come watch me play for once?”

  She snorts. “I’ve seen you play before.”

  “When?” I challenge.

  “I saw you score against Penn State last year.”

  My mind drifts back to that game, and I’m surprised she still remembers when I almost forgot. We barely won that game. The last second flick of my wrist saved our team.

  Digging my elbows to the table, I lean forward. “You should come next weekend.”

  She finishes off her cappuccino and sets the cup on the saucer with a loud clang. “I will if you come to watch me dance this weekend.”

  I stretch my hand across the table, waiting for her to shake it. “Deal.”

  “You’re a weird one, Jamie.” She shakes my hand. “But I like you.“

  I like her, too. A lot, actually.

  “Same,” I mutter.

  Shannon pulls her hand back, and her gaze intensifies. I feel like this weekend was the first time I saw her, like really noticed her. How did she fly so far under my radar when she was right in front of me the entire time? Because I was too obsessed with Cece. She’s an addiction I’ve never been able to kick. From the moment I met Cece, I was done. But now… there’s hope. Maybe Shannon can help me move on from her.

  “When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?”

  Her question takes me by surprise. “Umm… not sure. Why?”

  “I want to cook for you.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.” Smiling, she taps her long nails on the table. “By the looks of your house, I think your teammates could use a decent meal, too.”

  I laugh. “What makes you say that?”

  “Your living room was a wreck and had old beer bottles and bags of open Doritos on the table. It’s a full-blown bachelor pad.”

  I do my best to keep the house from falling down and constantly have to clean up after everyone. Preston helps a lot, and his bitching at everyone all the time doesn’t hurt. We’re like the parents of the team. Kinda sad when I think about it.

  “You sure you want to cook for my entire house? Do you have any idea how much food you will need to make?”

  “I worked for a catering company in high school.” She winks at me. “I have an idea.”

  “You really don’t have to do that, Shan. We can make do with what we have.”

  “Jamie,” she groans. “I know you
well enough to know that you’re going to pay for Jordan’s dress, even though it’s my responsibility. So, let me do this for you. Okay?”

  “Fine,” I concede. “But let me buy the food.”

  She frowns. “Fine. I’ll text you a list.”

  “What are you making for us?”

  She bites the inside of her cheek, thinking it over. “Do you like surprises?”

  “I don’t dislike them.”

  “Then it will be a surprise. Is Thursday night okay? I have to work first and then I can come over.”

  “Yeah. We have hockey practice in the afternoon. Everyone should be home after that.”

  “Good.” Shannon smiles so wide it reaches up to her green irises. “You can help me cook.”

  The one thing I can’t do…

  Chapter Four

  Shannon

  Kneading the dough in my hands, I consider the menu for Thursday. I still can’t believe I offered to cook dinner for half of the men’s ice hockey team. What was I thinking? Around Jamie, I find it hard to gather my thoughts. He makes my mind race to the point I can’t concentrate.

  “How come you’re not using the stand mixer?” Mrs. Rizzo says from behind me.

  “I like doing it by hand. It relaxes me.”

  She steps next to me, taking a large handful of dough from the stainless steel bowl on the table in front of me. “My Antonio said the same thing. He’d stand here for hours listening to Italian folk songs while he made the bread.” Her gaze falls on me, and I can see the concern on her withered face. “What has you so worried, child?”

  “Nothing… everything. I don’t know, Mrs. R. I have a lot going on at school. Between my coursework, my sorority, and the boy I like—”

  “A boy?” Her voice reaches a higher octave. “What’s his name?”

  “Jameson… well, he goes by Jamie. I’ve known him for years.”

  “Is this boy a friend?”

  “Sort of. We were acquaintances up until this weekend when we kissed. And now, we’re something else. I’m not sure what, though.”

  “Men are complicated.” She drops the dough to the wooden board and grabs a rolling pin. “But if he’s the right one, he’ll make your life easier. That’s how you’ll know he’s the one.”

  I chuckle. “The one? Mrs. R, we’re barely friends.”

  She hums a tune under her breath as she works with the dough. “Lovers?”

  I shrug. “No, not yet.”

  “Pay attention to how he treats you. A lot of men will say things you want to hear, but a man who deserves your time and attention will show you with his actions.”

  I smile at her. “You always give the best advice, Mrs. R. How did you get so wise?”

  A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Age and experience. My Antonio taught me a lot of things over the years. I had to kiss a few frogs before I found my prince.”

  “Mr. R was a good man,” I offer.

  She turns her head away from me for a second before meeting my gaze with a hint of tears in her dark eyes. “He was. I miss him every day. The bakery isn’t the same without him around.”

  Seeing the pain on her face, I want to wrap my arms around her and squeeze the life from her. Mr. Rizzo hired me at the beginning of my senior year of high school. He passed away from cancer last year. We both miss him. He was like a grandfather to me—a kind man who would do anything for anyone.

  His smiling face and the beautiful Italian songs he used to hum are just a few of the things missing around here. She’s right about it not being the same without him. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose the love of your life. Mrs. Rizzo puts on a strong front, but I know she’s hurting on the inside.

  “You can leave early,” Mrs. Rizzo says. “I can finish up here.”

  I glance up at the clock on the wall across the room. “I still have another fifteen minutes.”

  She cups my shoulder. “Go ahead. You have two buses to catch, a little brother to tuck into bed, and I’m sure plenty of homework.”

  Yes to all of this. I have so many things to do when I get home. Strickland University is ten minutes from the bakery located in South Philadelphia. But I live in the Northeast, which requires two buses to get home from campus.

  “Are you sure?”

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Yes, of course. You work hard, Shannon. Take a few minutes for yourself. You can use it.”

  I pull the apron over my head, drop it onto the table, and slap a kiss on Mrs. Rizzo’s cheek. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow after school.”

  She smiles in response.

  * * *

  After riding two buses and walking six blocks in the cold, I push open the front door. The scent of clean linen mixed with berries—my mom’s favorite candles—fills my nostrils. She has four different mason jars burning in the living room, one at each corner of the room.

  I sneeze a few times before she peeks up from the book in her hand. “Hey, honey.” My mom drops the book on the coffee table. “How was work?”

  I shift the bag on my shoulder to redistribute the weight and force a smile. “Same old, same old.”

  Wondering where Cameron and my dad are hiding, I look around the living room and into the dining room. “Where’s Dad and Cam?”

  “Upstairs. Cameron couldn’t wait until you got home.” Relaxing against the couch cushion, she sighs. “He begged your dad to play that video game with him.”

  I laugh. “I guess I better give Dad a break then.”

  She smiles. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. His favorite show is about to start. Let him know, would you?”

  When I reach the top landing, I’m surprised to hear my dad and younger brother laughing and yelling at the game. My dad hates video games. He didn’t even want to buy the gaming console for Cameron when he asked for it for Christmas last year. Dad is convinced technology rots your brain. If he had it his way, Cameron would only play outside like my dad did when he was a kid. And now, he likes video games?

  I step into Cameron’s bedroom, surprised to find my dad clutching the controller in both hands, his eyes full of excitement. This is interesting.

  “Hey, guys,” I say to get their attention. “Who’s winning?”

  “The mages,” Cameron says, his eyes focused on the flat screen hung on the wall across from his bed. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, clicking the buttons. “They keep stealing artifacts from us.”

  “Dad, your show is about to start.”

  He glances over at me for a split second. “Okay, tell your mom I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  I attempt to leave the room when Cameron yells over the sound of blades clashing. “Don’t go. You have to take Dad’s place. We’re on level fifteen already.”

  Dropping my bag on the floor, I sink to the mattress next to my dad and brother. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

  A few minutes pass where I exchange the same conversation with my dad as I did with my mom.

  Every day is the same—go to work and school, come home and play games with Cameron, do homework, and repeat. Throw in the weekend frat party or sorority event, and that’s my life. Nothing ever changes. I can’t wait until the day I can open my own bakery. That’s my dream.

  My parents think my ideas are crazy. I guess when you work for the same trucking company for most of your life, it’s hard to grasp the concept of working for yourself. Dad is a truck driver. Mom answers the phones at the main office. They met when they were in their early twenties and have been together ever since.

  Cameron groans when Game Over flashes across the screen in red letters. Even my dad mutters something under his breath, annoyed.

  He hands me the controller and gets up from the bed. “Now I can see why you two are so addicted to this game.” Dad fixes his gaze on Cameron. “One more hour and then time for bed, buddy.”

  Cameron peeks up at him from beneath his light brows and smiles. “Can I stay up until ten?”

 
; Dad considers his request. “Nine-thirty but not a second later.”

  Cameron throws his hands in the air, his face illuminated by the broad grin tugging at his mouth. “Thanks, Dad.”

  After my dad disappears into the hallway, Cameron slides over to where I’m sitting on the edge of his bed. “You ready to play, sissy?”

  Though Cameron is ten-years-old, he still acts like a baby sometimes, starting with his nickname for me. He couldn’t say sister when he was younger. Shannon was even harder for him to say. That’s how I ended up with ‘sissy.’

  “Yeah, kid.” I nudge him in the arm with my elbow. “Do you want to play on the same team or against each other?”

  “Same team,” he beams. “I was crushing it with Dad… until we lost the Sword of Balthazar.”

  I gasp. “What do you mean you lost it? We need it to advance to the next level.”

  “Why do you think Dad is letting me stay up late? He’s the one who lost it.”

  I laugh. “Way to con your way into staying up past your bedtime.”

  He shrugs, clicking a button on the remote to start the game. “He owes me one.”

  “It took us three days to get the sword last time. Don’t even think we’re gonna find it again before you go to bed.”

  Beyond exhausted, I want nothing more than to sleep for days. I rode four buses to get to and from school, attended five classes and a chapter meeting for my sorority, and worked at the bakery today. All I do is work. And then I come home without a second to relax before Cameron wants to play Mage Wars.

  Cameron will not go to sleep unless I play with him before bed. He’s obsessed with this new role-playing video game where you choose a character who has magic, and as the levels progress, you have to earn enough points to collect weapons, spells, and magical artifacts to beat the mages at the end of the boards.

  Before we start, my cell phone dings, and I reach into my pocket to retrieve it. My heart rate speeds up when I see Jamie’s name on the screen.