Page 52 of Somewhere Along The Line
Driving home after our tryst in the parking lot, the cold leather of his passenger seat raises goosebumps on my uncovered legs. My mind works overtime, spinning through the memories of the evening and wondering when and how things went so far off course.
James, on the other hand, is not spiraling. A happy hum leaves his lips as he rests his right hand comfortably on my thigh, occasionally tracing his fingers on my bare skin where my dress stops. It seems he’s been able to manage what I have not—enjoying the fun of this arrangement without getting invested.
“What’cha thinking about, Pipes?” His curious blue eyes scan my face before the light turns green, drawing his attention back to the road.
“Currently? I’m thinking about what Mr. Goldstone said at the end of the night.” I swallow hard, not knowing where I’m going with this but needing to address it. “About us being a good example for the women I serve.”
He nods slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the windshield. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know what to say, really.” (This is the most honest phrase I’ve ever spoken to the man.) “It just has me thinking.”
James gives my leg a quick squeeze, the warmth of his fingers sweeping away the lingering goosebumps.
“You’re a pro at thinking,” he says softly, and I’m not sure if it’s a compliment, an observation, or a subtle dig at my anxiety. “Do you want to hear what I think?”
I keep my face turned toward the window as I nod.
“I think you threw a great party, raised a ton of money, and impressed everyone in the room. Don’t let an offhand comment overshadow all the good you did tonight. Mr. Goldstone might not have gotten every detail right, but youarea fantastic role model, and those familiesarelucky to have you.”
Somehow, James ignores the elephant in the room—the part we’ve yet to say aloud—about how this charade has gone beyond the train, beyond the police station and the threat of a trial to bleed into our real lives.
Or maybe it’s just my life andmy career? Whatever is happening between us isn’t impacting James’ job; he keeps me compartmentalized. And yet I’ve failed at that. Twice now.
“Thank you,” I offer weakly. “Though I guess the exchange with Mr. Goldstone is evidence our fauxmance passes the stranger test. Seems we’ve become very convincing.”
I don’t tell him it’s because I’m not pretending anymore. I want him to tell me it’s not a fauxmance.
“Seems we have.” A small smirk graces his mouth as he pulls up to the house in front of mine. I reach to open the door before turning back to give a last “Thank you.”
He responds with his usual, “Of course.”
Not knowing what to say next, “I’ll text you!” spills out of my mouth as I wave goodbye. What will we text about now that the gala is over and a trial is still up in the air? Hell if I know.
“I’ll be waiting,” he replies as he mirrors my wave and then pulls into the street.
Waiting for what? Another half-baked reason for us to keep seeing each other that we both know is a farce?
I don’t think I have it in me.
It’s nearly ten o’clock when I walk through the door to find Sami waiting for me in the living room.
“How’d it go, lovey?!” She releases a squeal as she rushes over for a hug that almost knocks me down.
“It was perfect!” I exclaim, trying to reactivate my excitement from the event to cover my messy feelings about James. “It went off without a hitch. The speakers were compelling, we sold every auction item, and it looks like we exceeded our donation goal, though the official count will happen Monday.”
“Ah, I’m just so proud of you! Could not be prouder. Want some champagne?” Sami walks around the couch to grab a bottle off the coffee table. Three-quarters of it is already gone. “I can grab you a glass!”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” I flop myself onto the sofa and peel my stilettos from my feet. The relief feelsalmostas lovely as the orgasm earlier. “Want to guess who showed up for the fundraiser?”
“Let me think…” Sami taps her finger to her lips like she’s pondering, “Beyonce?”
Cue my rolled eyes.
“I mean… Ann Patchett?”
And again.
“Okay I’ve got it. George W. Bush!”
