Page 79 of Somewhere Along The Line
I spin around to face the island, a balloon bouquet perched on the counter. It’s an arrangement from Shindigs—I spot Mr. Ellis’s handwriting on the front of the card.
“Wooooooow. Seems like someone was confident I’d end up in his house today! Is this for me?” I’m giving James a hard time and he knows it.
He walks into the kitchen and puts his hands on my hips, turning me so I’m backed into the counter. He’s blocking me in with both arms, trapping me under him with my spine against the cold granite edge.
“I hoped,” he says with a smile. “And if not, I figured I could take this thing and stomp on each balloon one by one. That was my backup plan.” His foot nudges mine to widen my stance so he can slide his leg between my thighs, leaning into me further.
It creates the kind of pressure my body always craves but is especially delicious right now. A shiver shimmies my shoulders.
“You knew I’d love it,” I whisper. “You were right.”
“I want to do everything you love, P. Like I said before, you’re not hard to figure out. Just takes paying attention.”
“I love your attention.”
James presses his weight into me, his pelvis flush against me. The stiff length of him is heavy against my leg. His nose nudges my lips before he sinks into an urgent kiss, the tenderness of our kiss at the park replaced by desire he needs to pursuenow.
I meet him there, my hands wrapping around his waist to squeeze his ass, to glide up his back, to rake my nails down in lines that will linger tomorrow.
He lifts me onto the counter, spreading my knees so that he can step between, keeping his weight pressed against me as we meet chest to chest. My longing grows needy. I want his fingers everywhere, his mouth everywhere. I also want him to take his time.
I want everything.
A ringtone cuts through the moment like a hot knife and James drops his head to my chest with a groan, his hands still tight on my thighs. He’s never wanted anything more than to ignore this phone call.
“It’s my dad,” he mutters, his breath warm through the fabric of my shirt. I need his mouth about two inches lower to the left or right, but we’re frozen while the phone rings.
With a groan, James peels himself away from me and grabs the phone from the opposite counter, accepting the FaceTime call a split-second before it times out.
“Yep?” James answers, his voice higher than usual and his breathing fast.
“Jamie! How did it go this morning? Please fill me in. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
Mr. Newhouse looks good from what I can tell, after I’ve slid off the counter and onto a more respectable barstool (unless you count the last time I was here).
“Wait, is that Piper back there? Hi Piper!”
“Yes, Piper is here. We’re catching up, can I call you back later?” James rakes a hand through his hair, trying to expel some of the tension that built and then stopped, a roller coaster swaying at the apex, filled with potential energy.
He pivots to face me, mouthing “Sorry” with a grimace as he lowers the phone to obscure his dad’s view.
“C’mon, let me say hi! I’ll only be a minute.”
James nods, heaving a sigh as he props the phone on the counter and steps behind me, tucking his head in the space between my neck and shoulder. Now we can both see his dad and he can see both of us. The stubble on his chin tickles my shoulder every time I breathe.
“Mr. Newhouse! How are you doing? I heard you moved?” I ask. James might want to rush this conversation along, but I don’t. I want to make a better second impression with his dad than I did the first.
“Piper, dear, I’m doing just fine. I’ve had a lot of fun exploring my new neighborhood! Hey, would you want to join us for dinner on Sunday? We’ll probably get together at my place now that the new table has arrived—”
“Dad!” James interrupts, trying desperately to redirect the conversation. “We’re taking things slow. You promised to honor that, remember? If things went well this morning? Having family dinner forty-eight hours after confessing our feelings doesn’t seem like the best idea.”
“Yes, I’d love to!” I squeal, ignoring James’s protests and speaking directly to his dad. “Tell me the time and what I can bring. I’ll skip the sausage balls this time. I can’t wait to see how the apartment is coming along!”
“See, J? It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
Hearing that familiar refrain in Mr. Newhouse’s voice fills me with warmth as I understand for the first time where James got it.
“I’ll see you two on Sunday then. Enjoycatching up.” Mr. Newhouse gives us an obnoxious wink before ending the call, clearly aware of our plans for the afternoon after reconciling this morning.
