Sure, you’d stayed over at Hawthorne House six times in the last week. But it was definitely not for Jameson Hawthorne, and it was strictly because it was convenient. Convenient for what, exactly? You couldn’t say.

Sure, you’d stolen a fair few of Jameson’s clothes in the last week. Only because they fit you.

No, you were not in love with Jameson Winchester Hawthorne. The jolts of jealousy that shoot through you every time his eyes land on another girl? Probably nothing.

No, you were not in love.

Your friends thought you were. Nash and Xander and Avery and Max and even Grayson had given opinions on the subject, and they thought you were.

Jameson knew better. He knew you were flighty. He was too. It was better not to have all of that complicated stuff, and it was better not to make any commitments. Jameson couldn’t trust himself.

Jameson was half-sitting, half-lying on his bed, watching you. You were standing in the doorway, as if not sure whether to come in or not.

He studies you for a few more moments. Then his signature Jameson Hawthorne smirk gets on his face. “Something on your mind, darling?”