Page 38 of Somewhere Along The Line
But why did James keep it?
A quick glance around confirms there’s barely enough stuff in this house for one person to survive—certainly nothing extra to donate. I rifle through memories of our prior conversations, looking for any mention of the name of the organization where I work.
Does he know I work for Hope First?I can’t imagine that he is holding onto the flier because it’s tied to me… but I also can’t ignore the possibility. I push the thought away as he comes up behind me, taking my coat and pointing me to the couch.
“It’s uh… a work in progress, as you can see.” He gestures to the space, all clean lines and empty shelves.
“Did you move in here recently?” I ask, trying to keep things light as we settle into our respective sides of the sofa, the leather dipping under each of us.
“About five years ago, actually.” He confesses this with a wince like he’s embarrassed for me to see him here. He can’t hide behind his usual armor of a put-together appearance. I delight in the knowledge that he is, in fact, human.
“It’s a wonderful home! I mean it. This place has loads of potential. If you want, I could connect you to Sami, or rather, re-connect you. She’s an artist and specializes in home decor. She’s the one who got me into painting, actually.”
He adjusts his position, his legs spilling wide as he settles deep into the seat of the couch, turning towards me. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need you to blow smoke up my ass about how lovely and homey my house is when we both know it’s not. It’s fine for now. For me, I mean. Let’s start with the task at hand, yeah?”
James is flustered having me here on his couch, and I can’t help but take the opportunity to make it worse. “Noted. No kindness for the rest of the night, and I’ll keep myself away from your ass as well.”
This might be my new favorite thing, poking James with something suggestive to see how he responds. He runs his hand down his face and gives his head a slight shake like he can’t believe this is his life right now.
It’s a good look for him.
Gathering his resolve, he stands. His energy shifts as he heads toward the kitchen, losing the nerves and picking up something authoritative. He returns with a stool and sets it opposite his spot on the sofa. A mischievous new gleam sparks in his eyes.
“So, she’s here to play.” He smirks as he settles himself back into the divot in the leather he left a minute before. Gesturing to the stool, he doesn’t break eye contact. “Sit.”
“Why do I get the stool and you get the couch? The stool is hard and cold! You could at least grab me a pillow,” I say in protest, while still uncrossing my legs as I prepare to change locations.
“Being on the stand won’t be comfortable and the purpose of this exercise is to let you practice. Like I said, sit.”
The confidence in his voice makes me suddenly aware of the pressure gathering between my legs.
I do as I’m told and now we’re facing each other, two feet between my shins and his, our eyes locked.
“Atta girl,” he praises with a nod.
So, he’s here to play too.
My skin prickles with a heat I try to ignore.
I study this Bossy James with purpose, certain this is my new favorite iteration of him. I've met Corporate James, Gracious James, Protective James, even Angry James. But Bossy James is something else entirely.
So much of the time, James seems to slip into roles, putting on the persona someone needs at the moment, his behavior informed from the outside in. This though, whatever this is, is coming from the inside out.
“And now we do what, exactly? You ask me questions and I answer them?” This was the plan, after all, to do a practice examination before a possible trial. James and I both know that banking on me being an articulate person in real time is too much of a risk.
“I’ll ask you some questions, yes. The lawyer could ask you all sorts of things on the stand, but I don’t think the specific questions matter. The goal isn’t to flesh out your answers, it’s to practice managing your nerves.”
He looks determined, a glint in his blue eyes that makes my heart flutter.
I wish he was closer.
“Gotcha. You must assume, then, that you can make me nervous?” The line I’m walking is paper-thin and we both know it.
“I don’t assume.” James gives a cocky smile. “I’m sure of it.” His eyes dart down to my mouth and linger a second before meeting up with mine. “What’s your name?”
“Piper Paulson.”
“Good. And where were you at 7:26 a.m. on September 28th?”
