He rolls off of me, gently pulling my tank back up. “Last night was too much. It would have gone too far and I just … can’t. After you left, I promised myself that I wouldn’t get carried away again. And I already have. I’m already not thinking, I’m already practically ripping your top off and rationalizing it to myself,” he says.
“I loved that,” I whisper. “I want you to not think.”
He closes his eyes and exhales. “Let me be with you just like this for a while first,” he says. “Please.”
I agree, because there’s not much else I can do. A part of me would like to prod further, because my guess is that this is somehow related to the age difference, but then he turns toward me and captures my mouth, and I can’t quite think well enough to form the question.
Chapter 35
The next day I wake and for once there’s no worry and no regret. I can savor everything that happened without worrying that it won’t happen again. A smile spreads over my face, and I would squeal if it wouldn’t wake Ginny. He likes me. After all this time. My mother can make her bad decisions, my father can forget I exist, Ginny can continue to veer unpredictably between sweet and spiteful. James Campbell has finally chosen me.
It’s early, and I’ll feel it later, but right now I’m too excited to go back to sleep.
Downstairs, Max is already up and showered and the coffee is brewed.
“When do you sleep?” I laugh.
He just grins. “Life’s too good to waste it sleeping.”
“So who did you not ‘waste it sleeping’ with last night?”
“If I knew her name that wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”
I look at him curiously. In a way, his sleeping around doesn’t really seem to line up with everything else I know about him. Sure, he wants to have a good time, but he doesn’t have shallow friendships, and despite his jokes he’s actually been a good friend to both Ginny and me. “You seem like the kind of guy who would want a relationship, Max,” I tell him. “Is it really such a terrifying idea to you?”
“No,” he says. “But a relationship wouldn’t really work for me.”
“Why not?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I lead a pretty unsettled life,” he says. “Am I going to meet some girl in Colorado and then spend the six months I’m down here waiting for the next winter? Or vice versa?”
“Maybe you’d meet someone who wanted to migrate with you.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not the kind of girl I’d want to be with long-term. The girls I’m attracted to are more goal-driven than that.”
I laugh. “So your type is someone more like Ginny?”
“No,” he says, looking slightly panicked. “That’s not even vaguely what I just said.”
I take my coffee out onto the deck. It’s my favorite time to be outside, a slight breeze in the air and just warm enough without being hot. You can actually smell the heat seeping through the pines, the world rising. I hear the door slide open behind me and turn to find James.
“Hey there,” he grins. That smile of his does things to me. The day is just getting started and I think I may be spending it every bit as worked up as I did yesterday. He sits, turning his chair just enough that he can see me while sitting beside me. “I missed you this morning.”
“I snuck back upstairs in the middle of the night. You never know what time Max is getting home.”
He nods. “I know. It just would have been nice to have you there.”
I smile. “If Max wasn’t sitting in the kitchen I’d suggest we go there right now.”
His eyes darken. “Max just left.”
“Ginny won’t be up for hours,” I reply.
He pulls me to my feet. With a quick glance inside, he puts his hand at the small of my back and hurries me to his room. The second we’re inside and the door is shut, he presses me to the wall. “This is better,” he whispers against my mouth. “Good morning.”
He kisses me sweetly, and then his lips part, as do mine, and we meet each other. Slowly at first, our breath mingling, tongues gliding. But then he leans into me, all weight and heat, and something is triggered. There’s a low hum in my throat – a sound of desire, of aquiescence — and he is suddenly kissing me harder, his hands digging into my skin as if he can’t grip me tightly enough. He scoops me up and throws me on the mattress, and then he is above me, consuming me, pressing me into the bed with his weight.
“Take off your shirt,” I demand.
He hesitates for just a moment and then pulls it off, throwing it onto the floor behind him. I place my palms flat against his stomach, watch the way his eyes flutter shut, as if he’s being absolved. He flips us, so that I’m on top, and this time it’s my turn to taste his neck, to run my tongue along every line of definition in his chest. To go lower, pressing light kisses over his stomach as I slide, until my chest is pressed against his erection, my fingers at his waist.
“Fuck,” he winces. “Stop. Stop.”
I am sorely tempted to continue, but I give in, though not without intentionally grazing him with the flat of my hand. I can wait. His restraint is already failing.
Chapter 36
Friday night at the bar is insane, as always. It doesn’t begin to clear out until 1 a.m., at which point most of the patrons are so tanked that they become twice as difficult to manage. Particularly the six guys I’ve been waiting on since my shift began. They are currently on their 9th pitcher of beer, and Kristy and I have placed a small wager on which one will be first to fall off his barstool.
It’s always a fine line, with male customers. Remaining friendly enough to get a tip while making your lack of interest clear. But the more they have to drink, the less they seem to care about my interest level. Their behavior is less of a problem for me, it would seem, than it is for James. He’s been watching all night, his face growing tighter with every round they order. No matter how busy the bar gets, when I’m at their table I feel his eyes on me.
One of them drapes an arm around my waist. “We took a vote and we all agreed that you’ve got the nicest ass any of us have ever seen,” he says. “That alone deserves a huge tip.”
I disengage his hand. “So what I hear you saying is that I can get away with crappy service for the rest of the night.”
They laugh and one of them suggests I’ve already provided fairly crappy service, which I don’t doubt.
I turn toward the bar with their drink order — they’ve moved on from pitchers to Jack and Coke, never the wisest progression — and James is making his angry face, staring them — and me — down.
“What did they just say to you?” he demands.
I roll my eyes. “Nothing.”
“The next time they say ‘nothing’ to you they’re going to find themselves launched from the bar.”
“Don’t do that,” I sigh. “Those guys have a $200 tab, and I’ve earned that tip.”
“Then make sure they keep their hands to themselves.”
I go back to the table and deliver the drinks. When I set the final one down, the guy who put his arm around me before pulls me toward him, trying to drag me into his lap. “You know who you look just like?” he is saying as I attempt to push away. And then James’s hand is on my wrist, moving me behind him with a look on his face that would make a sober man run.