Jamie smiled. “So chivalrous. Just like your twelfth century namesake.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.” I blushed and looked away. I’d laid it on too thick and was beginning to wish I hadn’t.
Jamie touched my cheek. “You’re a good man, William Marshall.”
I swallowed. I was far from being a good man, but I couldn’t burst his bubble now.
Jamie pulled what looked like a receipt out of his pocket. Taking a pencil out of the jam jar of oddments on the table, he began to write. I closed my eyes, having a pretty good idea what he was doing. Why was he making this harder? Couldn’t he just leave with a “thanks for the f**k?”
“If you ever want to do this again, then…” He replaced the pencil in the jar. “Well, you have my number.”
Did he know I wouldn’t call him? That made me feel even worse.
