Page 21 of Somewhere Along The Line
It’s a funny thing, James’s expression just now. He’s amused, but it’s not at my expense. He’s appraisingdown-the-rabbit-hole-Piperand appears to think it’s delightful and not terrifying. Huh.
“Listen,” James continues, “I feel strongly that neither of us will end up in prison. There is also no guarantee that this theft case will go to trial. Even if it does, they won’t ask us to state the nature of our relationship on the stand. Lawyers only care about details that can help them win. Our marriage, or lack thereof, wouldn’t be one of them.”
His tone projects confidence like he’s given this some thought and is comfortable with his answer.
“My suggestion is we not make waves,” he says. “We do what the officers ask us to do, and we let them believe what they want to believe. Their job isn't to suss out if we’re secretly hiding something. Their focus will be on finding today’s thief and recovering the stolen property. We can help them with that.” He taps his fingers on the top of his thighs as he waits for my thoughts.
James makes a good point. I may be overthinking this. My ability to catastrophize knows no bounds.
“Okay, I hear that, and you may be right. But I see two more risks you failed to mention and they’re worth discussing.”
His face lights up at the suggestion and he resumes his listening posture, his hands between his knees as he leans in with curious eyes.
“You’ve seen me when I’m nervous or under pressure. I panic, I talk too fast, I can’t control my limbs. The words spill out before I can put together complete sentences. Either that, or I freeze and hyperventilate. Is it really a smart idea to trust me tonot make wavesif this scenario escalates to a trial?”
It pains me to bare my faults like this, especially when he might agree I am an unpredictable mess.
“First, I do think you’re trustworthy. You made good on your promise to bring me sausage balls, remember? Second, we can consider today a dry run of Piper-under-pressure. So what if you showed me what you consider to be your worst attributes? I showed that I can handle you.”
My soul exits my body as the words come out of his mouth. I sit, slack-jawed, as James speaks, wishing I could scoot closer.
Wishing I could release some of this tension that’s been building in my center since he bumped into me in the foyer.
“So that was your first concern, yeah?”
I nod. He has no idea I want to crawl out of my skin, or rather, to crawl straight into his lap.
“What is your second concern?”
“You’re right that we should get to know each other, at least a bit, in case this thing goes beyond a station visit.”
A smile turns up at the corners of his mouth that lifts his cheeks slightly.
“But what if we agree to this and you realize, in a week or two, that I’m much, much more than you signed up for? What if you regret being stuck with me? By then, it’ll be too late.”
James tilts back in his seat, letting out a gruff laugh until he catches my expression and notes my concern. It’s like he can’t possibly conceptualize the scenario I just described.
“Not a fucking chance, Piper. I can promise you that.” He doesn’t break eye contact as he says it.
Well, okay then.
“So, we’re really doing this?” I ask, craving one more nudge of encouragement before this decision is finalized.
“Yes, we’re doing it, and it’s going to be fine.” He calls the waiter over and orders an Old Fashioned. I'm protective over this haunt of mine, and I wonder how he’ll rate his drink against The Velvet Stool. He motions for me to order, and I pause for a moment.
Is drinking a good idea when I’m feeling the way I am? James is so self-assured, like he knows exactly what he wants at all times, while I’m winging my whole life based on vibes and my available cash.
“I’ll have a glass of the house white,” I say, ignoring my conviction I’d make better decisions sober.
He gives a soft nod like he’s adding my drink order to his list. “Sister, social work, chardonnay.” He swivels his chair again to face mine. “Fear of public speaking. Convinced I’ll run. What else, Pipes?”
“Pipes?!” I screech. “You can’t be serious. I take it back; I want a fake divorce from this fake marriage. Where do I fake sign? Certainly, someone has a pen around here…” I lean to my left and right, making a show of looking for an escape route.
“Seems I hit a nerve?” James smiles, ducking his head so we’re at eye level and looking at me like he wants nothing more than to watch me explain myself.
“Ihatenicknames! Hate them with a passion. If I wanted someone to call me something other than Piper, I’d introduce myself that way.”
“Gotcha, so Pipes it is then.” He smirks and throws me a wink. I cannot stand this man, and I also cannot stand that I want to climb him like a tree.
