novelxo Passenger Princess: Chapter 33
The dress works.
Okay, it doesn’t work in the sense that he grabs my hand and drags me back into a room, fucking me until we both can’t see straight, but when I step out of my room in the floor-length champagne dress covered in sparkles with its nonexistent back and plunging neck, meaning I can’t wear a real bra with it and the slit that nearly goes to my hip, I do catch Jaime closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as if praying to some unseen god.
I won’t deny that I also prayed to whatever god was watching over Jaime’s outfit choices, thanking her for putting him in the perfectly fitted suit, black on black with dark dress shoes, every inch of him a dream.
When we walk into the ballroom, Jaime leads us to a large round table with familiar faces seated at it. Atlas Oaks as well as Stella and Willa Stone are all seated around it, and I smile.
I can’t help but turn to Jaime and put a hand on his arm, putting on a mask of faux nerves. “Do you think it’s okay if I say hello to them? I know I’m not on their approved list, but…”
He rolls his eyes and groans before putting his hand to my lower back, his hand warm on my bare skin, before pushing me toward them.
‘Hey, guys! Look, I made it past security this time without any kind of issue.’ I turn to Jaime, then to Stella. ‘Does this mean I’ve made it?’
‘Jesus,’ Jaime grumbles under his breath.
“Oh, I like you,” Wes says, putting an arm around my shoulder and tugging me in for a side hug.
“Well, good, at least someone will. Jaime hates me, so—”
“I don’t hate you,’ Jaime says with a huff.
I look at him with a loving gaze before continuing. “Oh, yes, I forgot. He’s in love with me and hates himself for it.”
“I’m not in love with you,” he says through gritted teeth, and I nod solemnly, looking at Wes.
“He’s in denial. It’s really hard on him.”
“Jesus fuck, woman,’ Jaime groans.
“I wish,” I say under my breath, and he looks to the ceiling, praying to another silent god.
“I thought we were over this shit?” he asks.
“All bets are off, big guy.’
He looks at me, and it could be in my head, but I see the wheels turning like he’s starting to understand what I’m saying and isn’t sure how he wants to play it.
Tough luck.
“Oh my god, it’s like a TV show,” Stella says under her breath, her husband pulling her in close.
“Never thought I’d see the day he met his match,” Reed says, watching Jaime and me just a foot apart, me looking up at him and him looking down at me. “Much less a five-foot princess.” Finally, I break my stare down with Jaime.
“A queen, thank you very much.”
Reed smiles wide before bowing. “I’m so sorry, your highness.
“I’ll accept it, I suppose.”
“Okay, you’re sitting with us,” Willa Stone says, coming over to me, putting an arm through mine and tugging me to where Stella is sitting. “And we must talk about this dress and how I can get myself one.”
And then I spend the next hour sitting with iconic songwriter Stella Greene and pop star Willa Stone talking about dresses and makeup and adventures, and I wonder the entire time how I got here.
And not once do I not feel Jaime’s eyes burning on me.
The music and dancing start after dinner, and during that time, I watch people get up and move to the dance floor, but I stay seated, occasionally chatting with the Atlas Oaks boys or Stella and Willa as they go out to mingle and return. This event has been fabulous since it’s, for once, not centered around me, meaning I’m just here to make an appearance, not have the spotlight on me.
But when one of my favorite songs comes on and the band plays the opening notes, I gasp and start to sway a bit, watching couples come together on the dance floor.
‘What?’ Jaime asks, looking around like a threat is going to jump from around the corner.
“I just…I love this song,” I mumble, then turn to him, eyes wide, lips pouting. “Can we please dance?”
“Absolutely not,” he says instantly, and I deepen my pout at him.
“Come on, Jaime. Please? I’m bored! Everyone is dancing!”
“I’m sitting right here,” Beckett, the Atlas Oaks drummer, says from the other side of the table.
“Do you want to dance with me?” I ask, turning my attention to him.
He smiles wide and opens his mouth, then stops. Even over the music, I hear the chair scraping as Jaime stands, pushing back his chair and grabbing my hand.
“Fine. One. One dance.”
“Yippee!” I say, grabbing his hand and nearly skipping as he leads me onto the dance floor.
“Did you just say yippee?”
“Yeah, I’m excited. You should try it, feeling emotion every once in a while.” That has him rolling his eyes.
“I feel emotion,’ he grumbles. ‘I felt emotion in Georgia.”
A chill runs through me that doesn’t leave me the least bit cold. I rack my brain for what to say next, but then he stops in a semi-clear spot on the dance floor, taking my hands and putting them on his shoulders and gently placing his hands awkwardly on my waist. A small laugh leaves my lips as I look up at him.
“God, what is this, middle school? Are we leaving room for Jesus?”
“What?”
“I dated a guy in high school who went to Catholic school, and that’s what they said at the dances. We needed a foot between us to leave space for Jesus. It was to discourage grinding, though half of the kids were sneaking out to fool with their dates anyway, so it didn’t work too well.”
“Huh. Well, yeah. Professionalism, remember?”
I roll my eyes, then step closer, moving until my arms wrap around his neck, looking up at him with a sly smile. “Yeah, it was real professional when you pressed me against a wall, your hands on my tits, and kissed me until I saw stars.”
“Ava…” he says, starting to let go and shaking his head. ‘This was a shit idea.”
“No, no, come on. I’ll be good,” I whisper, sincerity lacing in the words. “Just a dance. A real dance that won’t look like I’m forcing you into it.” I give him big puppy dog eyes, and it only takes a moment before he gives in, before his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me into him tight.
“This is so unprofessional.”
“If anyone calls you out on it, I’ll be sure to tell the world it was my idea and I forced you into it. I’ll tell them all about how you can’t stand me and are barely enduring me.” He shakes his head, irritation on his face as his arm around my waist loosens. ”What? What did I do wrong this time?”
“I think I’ve made it crystal fucking clear by now that I don’t hate you, Ava. I feel the furthest thing from it.”
“Well, you always look so annoyed dealing with me,” I say as we sway to the song, a crooning voice and slow instruments swirling around me. I’ve had a single glass of champagne, yet somehow, at this moment, I feel completely inebriated. “Gives a girl a complex, you know.”
Time passes as we sway, and then his hand presses on my back, forcing my body to glue tightly to his as he stares into my eyes.
“I’m annoyed with myself most of the time. Annoyed that I let you get to me. I’m obsessed with you, Ava. I’ve told you as much. You tell me all the time that I’m into you, that I like you. You spend every day fucking with me, flirting with me, telling me I’m in love with you, and then any time I do something marginally nice, you act surprised as fuck.”
“Because I’m just fucking with you, Jaime. I don’t actually think—”
“Don’t lie to me, and don’t lie to yourself, Ava.” He lifts one hand, brushing my long, loose curls over my shoulder and down my back, rough fingertips grazing my neck as he does.
I don’t speak for long moments as we sway, unsure how to respond, especially with his body so close to mine in a way that fits too right.
“You’re quiet,’ he says eventually.
“Hmm,” I say, not answering his unspoken question.
“You gonna tell me why?”
I let out a deep soul sigh. This was fun when it was an idea in a hotel room while getting ready, when a small, daydreamy part of me thought he’d see me and make grand confessions of how into me he was, how he wanted to throw away all threads of professionalism and try this thing that’s been burning between us since the beginning.
But now that it just seems to be more of the same—the same confusion, the same mixed signals—I’m tired. I’m tired and confused and so scared that I’m going to get hurt.
“Just trying to understand what’s going on here.”
“What?” Finally, his head tips down to look at me.
“What’s going on here, Jaime? Me and you. One minute you’re doing everything in your power to avoid me, then you’re slow dancing with me and telling me you’re obsessed with me. One minute you’re kissing me like it’s what you need to function, and the next you’re telling me I’m just a job to you. I don’t mind the flirting because I do it right back, and I don’t mind you wanting to keep lines clear because I can respect that. But these mixed signals are getting old.”
“Ava, I—”
My body stops swaying, looking up at him, and when his face goes just a bit soft, I know. I know he sees it there, because I let him see it. The hurt and the confusion hiding under the mask of confidence I always wear.
I shake my head at him.
“I deserve a man who, when he looks at me, when he says he wants me, he means it. He knows it to his bones. I deserve a man who is decisive. I don’t deserve this whiplash you’ve been giving me. I don’t deserve someone who kisses me like he’s going to change my life, then ignores me and treats me like any old job. I deserve the world, and if you’re not willing to give it to me, I need to know now.’
He doesn’t answer, but I keep staring at him. His jaw is tight, and he’s too fucking handsome for his own good. Right in front of me and somehow miles away,
“So what’s it going to be, big guy?”
I wait for an answer.
I wait, and I wait as people sway around us, and with each moment, with each note of the romantic song, my gut falls and falls.
It’s in that moment I realize I fucked up.
I fucked up so huge because somehow, someway, I’ve started to fall for this big stupid idiot.
And I’m just a job to him.
As abrupt as the realization, the song ends, and Jaime steps back like that was the only reason he was holding me in the first place.
“I have to use the bathroom,” he says.
“I’m sure you do,” I whisper back, turning toward the table where Beckett is still sitting, now with Wes, a glass in hand, one leg kicked out as he watches us intently, a small smile playing on his lips, but I know there’s none on mine, not at all.
Jaime leads me back to the table we’re seated at with a firm hand at my back, but not in any way other than the touch of a bodyguard on his subject.
“Can you keep an eye on her?” Jaime asks his friend, and without even pausing, he walks off toward the exit.
I watch him even though I don’t want to, and I don’t miss how he doesn’t even look back at me.
“So, has he admitted he’s head over heels in love with you yet?” a voice says, snapping my attention to Wes, watching me with a smile.
“What?”
His smile grows with my attention on him. He sits up and turns toward me, puts his forearms on the table, and shakes his head.
“So that’s gonna be a no. He’s too thick-skulled for his own goddamn good.”