Page 74 of Wait for Him

But there is none of that man here. Not one fucking trace.

James is all long limbs and teeth and that ridiculous open grin, dark curls bouncing when he talks because his entire head participates in conversation. That pale streak of hair that cuts through the dark curls at his hairline, almost blond, sweeping back in an unruly wave.

My breath catches.

The relief hits so hard and so unexpectedly that tears fill my eyes before I can stop them. I blink quickly because bursting into tears while a fourteen-year-old hands me a bingo card feels like the kind of behavior that invites follow-up questions.

“Thank you,” I manage, and my voice cracks straight through the middle.

James's smile fades into concern. “Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”

God.

I want to reach up and push that wild curl away from his forehead. I want to kiss the top of his head and tell him things I have absolutely no right to tell him.

Instead, I grip my hands together under the table.

“I'm fine. Thank you, James.”

His brow furrows. “How...” He glances down at the card in his hand and then back at me. “How do you know my name?”

Shit.

For a second, something uneasy passes across his face, and I realize exactly how strange I must seem. Random woman crying at him, knows his name, staring like she's trying to memorize his bone structure.

Very normal behavior, Rosalie.

Because you're named after my father.

The answer sits behind my teeth.

“I'm a friend of your dad's.”

That puts him back on solid ground immediately. His whole face brightens again.

“Then you'd better win tonight.” He holds up his hand for a high five. “Dad will absolutely accuse me of rigging it if one of his friends loses.”

I laugh and meet his palm with mine.

The contact lasts less than a second, but it goes through me, anyway.

“Then I'll do my best.”

“Awesome.” He nods once, completely satisfied with the transaction, and moves on to the next table.

Nailed it.

To James, I'm just one of his father's friends who got weirdly emotional about bingo.

I watch him disappear into the crowd before I let myself breathe properly again.

When I look across the room, Samson is watching me from near the kitchen doors. His head is tilted slightly, a soft smile on his face, and I know from the look in his eyes that he saw the whole thing.

My mouth trembles.

I look away from him, but the tears come anyway.

This time, I let them.