Never (Never, #1) (26)

Hook and I watch him duck into a shop. Hook watches the shop for a minute, then turns back to me, something processing behind his eyes, but it dissipates when he looks at me.

He walks a few paces faster than I do, and I wonder if he does this so I’ll stare after him.

He’s wearing dark trousers that don’t fit very well, but somehow I mean that in a positive way, a white shirt with a navy jacket with big buttons, and high-top leather boots that are undone.

He looks back at me, smile cocked. “Ye get the punch in the gut around me, don’t ye?”

I scoff, indignant. “I do not.”

“Aye, you do.” He smirks, eyes all lit up. “I ken ye do. You buckle a wee bit whenever ye see me.”

I stare at him, wide-eyed, shaking my head. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I?” He tilts his head playfully, and maybe, just maybe, I’m not kicked in the gut, just perhaps a little bit flicked or something, but that doesn’t really count.

“Well.” I take a huffy breath and put my hands on my hips as I stare up at him. “You feel a punch in the gut when you see me too.”

“No.” He shrugs indifferently as he shakes his head, and I feel my cheeks flush again but differently. My face falls a little.

He lets it hang there—the awkwardness, the disappointment that shouldn’t be there but nevertheless is disastrously evident on my face—and then he leans in towards me. His face is close enough to mine that I can feel his breath. His eyes flicker to my mouth, and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

“That’s no’ where I feel it,” he whispers. He takes out a flask and has a swig before he offers it to me.

“Well, so—” I shake my head at him as I glare over. Swallow. “Where do you feel it then?”

He lifts his eyebrows playfully.

“Ah!” I stomp my foot, annoyed to have fallen into that trap. “You’re disgusting.” I walk quickly down the street, shaking my head at him. “Filthy! You’re deplorable even! I can’t believe—”

He grabs my wrist and spins me around so we’re toe-to-toe. “That yer attracted to me?”

“No!” I yank my hand away from him, smacking him with it. “That I’m even…spending time with you!”

“Aye.” He nods, conceding as he swallows. “But y’are attracted to me.”

“I…” I scoff, shaking my head.

“Look at ye!” Jamison beams, all smug. “Yer lost for words.”

I scoff again, reach into his internal coat pocket, and grab his flask. I yank off the lid and take a big sip, and he stares down at me, eyebrows up, but I think perhaps a little impressed. I rather like the feeling of impressing him, and maybe my brain runs through a few hypothetical scenarios where I might be able to impress him again.* I screw the lid back on extra tight and hand it back to him.

Our hands brush as I do, and for a sliver of a second, the smug look on his face is knocked off, and he’s looking over at me with a face that looks like my heart feels—caught off guard and a tiny bit afraid. It’s just for a moment, but I see it before he blinks it away and he’s back to smug all over again.

“Did that help?” He gestures to his flask. “Do ye feel more in control of yerself around me now?”

I give him my biggest eye roll and walk past him.

I hear him laugh and then he’s next to me again. “D?nnae worry. I have that effect on many a girl.”

My chin drops to my chest a bit. “How many girls?”

His eyebrows go tall. “Many,” he overenunciates.

I make a sound at the back of my throat. Jamison Hook is probably the most annoying man I’ve ever met, but let’s be sure about this: he is terribly manly.

He flicks his eyes over at me, amused. “Sure, but how’d sex come up anyway?” He takes another swig from his flask.

“Well,” I sigh. “Peter said for me to sleep with him—”

Jamison chokes on his rum.

“Not like that!” I clarify quickly, shaking my head, though I did enjoy how his hearing that made him react. That makes me feel a good bit better. I peer up at him, and our eyes catch, and my heart trips a little.

“What way then?” he asks, shaking his head as he squashes away a smile. Always squashing smiles… I wonder if it’s a pirate thing? Are they not supposed to be happy?

“In his hammock. With him.”

“A hammock.” He eyes me. “Yer sleeping in a hammock?”

“Mmm—” I purse my lips, considering this. “it’s a cross between a hammock and a nest.”

I can see him trying to imagine it, but to his credit, it’s hard to picture.

“Do ye enjoy that?” he asks.

I shrug.

“Well.” He gives me a look. “I hae a bed, should ye ever care to use it.”

I roll my eyes and walk ahead of him.

“I’m just being a gentleman,” he calls after me.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” I say without looking back at him.

And he goes “hah,” and I feel quite pleased with myself.

Jamison leans back against a wall, head tilted as he watches me, brows a little furrowed. “Are ye at all equipped to be giving them thon lesson?”