The Forest for the Trees

Ya know, I may come across as a dumb ass sometimes, but I'm not completely inept. I know life isn't perfect - I've been tellin' ya that from the beginning of this little tale, remember? And I know that fairy tales are for little girls and crazy people. But above everything else I know, I know this: I am tired, and in desperate need of some time off. I've been a little foggy in the brain since that stupid thing that never should have happened with you-know-who. And I know that this time away from everything else is exactly what Jamie and I need to reconnect and keep filling in the gaps of our future. The past is just that. Ancient history.

"I can't believe you actually got me three whole days off," Jamie sighs as I shut the front door of my dark, musty home. I hate coming home from a long road trip to find that my mom hasn't had a chance to come over and air things out. Now, don't get me wrong, I get that she's busy and has a life of her own. I just hate how depressing that closed up smell can be.

Which is why I love the fact that Jamie immediately crosses through the entry and begins ripping curtains back, flooding the living room and kitchen with streams of fading late. She props the back door open and reaches over the sink to let some of the evening air into the kitchen. I love the fact that she belongs here. That it feels like she really does belong in my life.

Tatum lived here for three years, ya know? She got her mail here, and all of her shit was here. She was here when I wasn't, doing whatever she was doing without me. She was a resident. And yet, somehow, she always felt like a house guest when I was home. She would ask if it was okay that she took a swim, or left my side for thirty seconds. She expected me to take care of meals and tell her when it was okay to change the channel on the television. I loved that girl with my life, but she just never really felt like she . . . like she fit here, ya know?

I never noticed that until Jamie started hangin' out here, though. I mean, from those first couple of weeks that she stayed with me back in the day, when she was still with that ass monkey, Josh, she just seemed to belong here. And, technically, she doesn't even live here. I mean, she has her own place in Connecticut. She only stays here if I'm here, but she's already managed to leave her mark. In six months, she's painted rooms, rearranged furniture, and learned where everything is in my kitchen. She's managed to leave flowers in every room, without making them look all girlie, and she knows more about running my washing machine and my TiVo than I do. Jamie just fits.

I'm not sure she realizes that I'm watching her until she spins in the middle of the kitchen floor and takes a deep, cleansing breath. Now that she's sure nothing is out of place, nobody's been here without our knowledge, and everything's going to be okay, she visibly relaxes. Moving to the refrigerator, she opens the door and studies the contents. "You want anything?" she asks over her shoulder.

Slipping my arms around her waist, I bend to rest my chin on her shoulder and press my chest to her back. I can feel her breath hitch, and it's like heaven. Truly. Even the way the refrigerator casts a glow over her makes her seem angelic. "Yes," I whisper, capturing her earlobe between my teeth.

She giggles, one of the most beautiful sounds she makes. It's like this innocent, musical sound that I can't get enough of. Turning in my arms, she kicks the fridge door shut and winds her arms around my neck, her eyes twinkling. "Ooh, let me guess," she says playfully. "You wanna start a load of laundry while I cook dinner?"

The laughter that follows lights her features like a light bulb and I can't help but smile with her, releasing her hips to tuck her hair behind her ears. "No," I correct her, resting my index finger on her lips when she pouts. "All I want right now is my bed, and a warm body beside me," I inform her, watching her eyes drift close and then open again.

"Any warm body in particular?" Oh, let me tell ya, kids: There is nothing in this world sexier than coy, flirtatious Jamie. She doesn't really seem to have the time to come out that often when we're working, but when we're home? It's a wonder I get any sleep at all.

I let my eyes drift over her body, covered only in a short, denim skirt and one of my white tee shirts. "Only one on my mind," I smirk, my gaze never quite making it back to her face.

Without waiting for her response, I sweep her off of her feet and fling her over my shoulder. I have been fantasizing for weeks about sleep in my own bed. But right now sleep, and dinner, and laundry, and every other damn thing can wait until tomorrow. Right now, I just want Jamie.

---

I really don't know how I got the reputation for being a ladies' man. I mean, I know that was the ploy with Evolution or whatever, but anyone who knows me for real? Knows that I don't get that whole 'player' lifestyle. I mean, I know it seems to be some kind of status thing with the other fellas in the locker room, but for me? Rackin' up a body count is nowhere nearly as fulfilling as laying in a dimly lit room with a woman who just proved, beyond a shadow of any doubt, that she knows everything it takes to make you tick. No one will ever convince me that sex with a random is in the same universe as really great sex with a girl you really, really know.

"This is it, right here," I sigh as I pull Jamie's head onto my chest and stamp my cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside table. She burrows into my side and runs her fingertips over my stomach. Seriously? How could stumbling around in the dark for your pants, running away from whatever girl you've just bedded be better than this?

"Randy?" her soft voice whispers into my skin. I mumble to let her know that I heard her, mostly because every muscle in my body feels too numb for anything else. "Can I ask you something?"

I manage to raise my hand enough to stroke her soft, sweat-moistened locks. "Of course, Sweetheart." She could ask me anything right now. I really don't think I'd be able to lie if I wanted to.

When she clears her throat, she seems to shrink just a little bit. I know that's a weird way to explain it, but with Jamie, there's this physical reaction that she has to anxiety. Like when she's nervous about something, it affects her whole body and, even if I'm not looking at her face, I can tell. "The other night," she starts, and her voice cracks, like it's not used to being used to form words. At the moment, I can promise you that it's not. Mumbling and screeching and moaning, yes. Sentences, not so much. "With Tatum? How did it feel?"

Shit. Now, don't get me wrong. Things with Tatum are over. That kiss was a mistake, and we both know that. Which is why I chose not to tell Jamie about it. Because it meant nothing. And I know that Tatum wouldn't say anything, either. So I'm not exactly sure what Jamie's getting at right now, but I know the very question makes my heart beat a little faster. And her ear is pressed against my chest, so I know she hears it. Probably feels it against her cheek. Dammit.

"I just want you to be honest with me," she whispers, pulling away from my arms to rest on her elbow at my side.

Trailing my fingers over her back, I turn my head and let myself take in the sight of her cherubic face, framed by those golden curls. She's the most beautiful thing I can ever remember seeing. "James, it's over," I assure her with a nod. "If I felt anything the other night, that was it." Raising my head as far as I can, I manage to press a kiss to her chin. "I wanna be with you." And I mean it when I say it. I do wanna be with Jamie. Only Jamie.

The way she tilts her head back almost makes me think that she's trying to get away from me. "Are you sure?" she asks, her eyes narrowing. Like maybe she knows more than she's letting on. But she can't. That's impossible. Isn't it? "Cause the other night, when I got home, John was hiding out in our room," she drops the bombshell.

Fucking Cena. Of course he was in our room. Why wouldn't he be? Of course he would completely sabotage the best thing that has ever happened to me. "Was he drunk?" I bet his drunk ass couldn't resist the urge to fuck my life up as much as he's fucked his own up lately.

"He was hiding from Maria," Jamie explains, pulling away from my touch completely as she sits up in the bed and crosses her legs. She seems so broken. So hurt. "He said that she thinks getting you and Tatum back together will fix all of their problems. Hers and John's," she adds, her eyes begging me to tell her that it's not true. That Maria wouldn't be so conniving. And that, even if she were, that it would never work.

And she's right. It wouldn't. I mean, what happened between me and Tatum was an accidental mistake. None of Maria's scheming could ever make it happen again. Now all I have to do is make sure that Jamie knows that. Struggling to sit, I lean against the headboard and reach for another cigarette. I've been thinking that I would eventually tell Jamie about the kiss, when I was sure that she would believe it was ridiculous and laugh about it with me. Clearly, that's not going to happen now.

I just inhale deeply and exhale long. "Don't really matter what Maria, or anybody else, tries, James. I'm with you," I promise her, leaning over to drop a kiss on her still-pouty lips. "And that's where I plan on stayin'."

For a minute, I think she's going to argue with me. Instead, she just takes the cigarette from my hand and puffs on it herself. Blowing a thick, white plume of smoke into the air, she tilts her head to consider me one more time. "You're sure about this? Because if you want out, now's the time," she hands the cigarette back and flinches when my hand brushes hers, like I might actually take an out.

"Don't be ridiculous," I chuckle, reaching for her leg. Her skin is so smooth beneath my touch. "You known me long enough to know I ain't doin' shit I don't wanna do, right?"

She smiles hesitantly, and I know I've got her. Because she wants to be with me as much as I wanna be with her. It's not love yet, but it could be. And I'm not willing to miss out on the chance at finding out just because other people wanna plant doubts in her pretty little head. Or mine. And if Maria doesn't keep her mouth shut, I'ma shut it for her. And I don't fucking care who her husband is.