“Thanks for making this easier on me,” I say with sarcasm.
He stares at me long and hard. Kingston and Stella know better than anyone how hard it was for me when I returned home from New York. The postpartum depression that plagued me after I had Palmer. How much I missed Jamison. I can’t fault King for having bad feelings toward him, especially when he doesn’t have the good memories that I do. Like that time Jamison showed up on my doorstep when he got into the MLS.
Ten
Sedona
Twenty-one years old
It was my last year of school and my first year in my own apartment, and the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom were all one room. Small but efficient. It was enough for me.
On the way home, I stop to pick up pizza because I have an article to write for the paper. It’s an ongoing series about hot places to visit in the city on a budget. Last week, I scoped out numerous coffee houses that were good places to study. I rated them, and although I have most of the research done, I’ve been procrastinating writing the actual article.
Just as I sit down with my laptop and pizza at my dining table for two, a knock sounds on the door. A few years ago, it would have startled me since I’m not expecting anyone, but I’ve come to enjoy New York. I don’t fear the unknown of big cities anymore.
I rise on my tiptoes to peer through my peephole, and all that’s there is a bouquet of ranunculus—the peach and apricot ones I love so much. Only a few people know they’re my favorite.
“Who is it?” I ask, my eyes not straying from the peephole.
“Flower delivery,” a man says in a muffled voice.
I’d wonder how he got buzzed into the building, but sadly I know the answer. Too many times, I’ve seen people allow others to come into the building without even asking them what they’re doing there.
I unlock the door and swing it open. The man holding the flowers lowers them, but he didn’t have to for me to know who he is. I memorized those hands years ago, lying on a blanket under the stars in Lake Starlight.
“Jamie!” I say, my heart floating out of my chest and right into his capable hands as if no time has passed. But it’s been four years since I’ve laid eyes on him in person and not through a television screen.
“Surprise!” he says, his smile wide and welcoming, his arms open and inviting.
It doesn’t take but a second before I’m rushing into his arms, wrapping my own around his shoulders and allowing him to lift me off the ground.
“You still smell so damn good, lass,” he says, his accent making my skin tingle.
“Like sweat and pizza?” I laugh, inhaling him and the familiar scent that is Jamison.
“No. You smell delicious.”
Tingles scatter along my flesh. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He lowers me and hands me the flowers.
It’s then I see the suitcase and duffel bag at his feet. “What are you doing here?”
“Hear me out,” he says, grabbing his luggage and stepping inside my apartment that suddenly feels the homiest it has since I moved in.
I drag him by his hand to the couch. His lips look delectable, his body harder than when I last saw it. Watching his games and seeing pictures of him on Instagram, I noticed how he’s morphed into manhood with thicker muscles, wider shoulders, and steel calves, but those pictures didn’t prepare me for Jamison Ferguson live and in person.
“I got a position on the New York Storm.”
“A US team? You’re not playing in Scotland anymore?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to say anything until it was for sure. I had this whole idea to surprise you.” He bites the side of his lips, and I know him well enough to know that he wants my reassurance that it was the right decision.
“I’m so happy you’re here.” I throw myself at him, and he positions me so I’m over his lap. Such a familiar place.
After we said goodbye our senior year, we promised visits that never happened. Although there were calls and text messages exchanged, we were both so busy, maintaining a relationship was impossible, especially with him being in a different time zone and traveling so much. We decided not to do a long distance relationship. It was an incredibly hard realization to come to, and I felt the loss of him for a very long time. I’ve never seen him in a picture with a woman that would suggest he moved on, and I’ve never asked because I don’t really want to know. I’ve gone on a few dates, but nothing ever felt like this, like it does right now.
“Am I… I mean, is there someone…”
I smash my lips to his, answering his question. His hand slides to the back of my head, keeping me there as his tongue glides effortlessly into my mouth. God, I missed this… him… us. It always feels so right when we’re together. He draws our kiss to a close and I shift so that I’m straddling him.
“That’s a no, I take it.” He grins.
I nod, my gaze falling to his lips. His fingers run along the skin between my shirt and yoga pants, goose bumps skittering along their path. “So you’re here permanently now?”
He nods. “Except for traveling for games. New York City is my new home.”
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath. He tucks a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from my ponytail behind my ear, then he pulls out the elastic band. My long dark strands fall down over one of my shoulders.
“Yer so gorgeous. My imaginings of what this moment would be weren’t even close to what I’m feeling right now.”
“I know what you mean.” My body hums for his touch. For the exploration of his lips and his fingertips over my flesh. My core aches to feel him inside me.
His hands slide higher up my back and I sink down farther into his lap, feeling how hard he is under his track pants. “Yer so soft.”
“You’re so hard,” I say, my fingers gliding down the row of abs I feel beneath his T-shirt.
“Are we moving too fast?” he asks, his hands inching up along my sides, waiting patiently to touch my breasts.
“I don’t think so.” I grab the hem of his shirt and pull up. His hands leave my body briefly so I can shed the fabric from his body.
And I was right. A rippled, lean, muscular body resides underneath the thin fabric. I lick my lips.
“Like what you see, lass?” he asks, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
I nod. “You’ve grown up.”
He takes the hem of my shirt between his thumb and forefinger and raises it off my chest.
“I should shower,” I say.
He shakes his head, relieving me of my sports bra, which isn’t exactly the sexiest undergarment ever. But his eyes are fixated on my breasts and his tongue slides out and over his bottom lip, so he must like what he sees.
The hunger smoldering in his eyes eats away any reservations of what it will be like now that we’re adults. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t think I’d be having sex with my ex today, but it’s not too fast. Not for us. He was my first and only. Although I’m out of practice, he’s Jamie.
He kisses my collarbone, his lips moving up my neck, across my jaw. I grind down on his length, my hips on autopilot—like in high school, when we’d dry hump after everyone was in bed or out of the house.