I'd been about to ask what do you do but something had stopped me. Just a creeping suspicion, the threat of discomfort if I let the words spill out of my mouth. This man, "James," was a good guy. Fun. Friendly.
And that was what bothered me. I wasn't scared of asking a question he would then refuse to answer. Something in me shied away from the question because I knew he'd answer. That thread of familiarity we'd already woven promised to grow into intimacy with not much encouragement. If I asked him anything about his life, about the kind of shit that mattered, he'd tell me.
And that was why I didn't want to know his real name. Names were the tip of the intimacy iceberg.
Chapter Five
James sipped his tea, maintaining that two-handed grip until the last drop was gone. He drank tea like he sucked cock.
Everything was done with enthusiasm. The offer for me to wander round his place, observe his soft furnishings and other framed photographs. Rinsing out his mug straight after drinking from it. "I operate an empty sink policy. I don't leave dishes to sit overnight. I can't lie awake in bed thinking about things I've left half-done."
"Speaking of bed..." I winked.
"I'm very glad you didn't take the easy way out and accuse me of being anal."
"As if. My jokes aren't that cheap. There's no value in the punch lines if they're handed to you on a plate. Especially when a guy confesses to lying awake at night thinking about dirty dishes and other chores?"
"No chores tonight, though."
"And hopefully no simply lying awake." Very little sleep, I hoped. None of it down to stress keeping either of us awake.
He left Homer Simpson upturned on the draining board and heaved out a deep breath, an exhalation to punctuate the pleasantries of before and move us on to whatever came after. After a moment he looked at me as he leaned on the countertop with both hands, his head turned to the side.
I noticed the quick down-up of his eyes before they met mine. And there it was. The hesitation, the silent wondering, okay, what now? The "what now" was pretty damn obvious; the real question was who would make the first move.
Scarlett Parrish There was no need for either of us to be embarrassed as such, especially with what we'd already been up to that evening, so maybe we were both hesitant to shake off that polite friendliness and move to the good stuff.
God knew why. I'd already acknowledged my fear of damn polite friendliness.
"Here." I whispered the word, and it still managed to sound like a command. Even as I lifted my hand, let it hover in midair, he dipped his head. I thought for a moment he wanted me to stroke his hair, run my hand down the back of his neck, but he'd taken a moment to stare at his feet, brace himself and look up at me again.
James stepped closer and that fleeting thought I'd just had returned.
He suppressed a shudder when I took his earlobe between my finger and thumb, my other fingertips brushing his neck. Barely suppressed, because I still felt something; tightly corded tension under the skin like he was trying not to let go. Or preparing to do so. The softness of his hair surprised me; any cold air from outside which might have settled on him had long since gone and I wanted to know what his skin felt like. On every part of him. For now, though, I settled for curving my palm around his neck, letting the tips of my fingers waver slightly as skin met skin.
Tension bled out of him, like he'd been waiting for me to do that all night, and it was only one hand. My hand.
"So," he began, what I thought was caution making him lower his eyes before looking up at me again through his eyelashes. "Are you gonna kiss me any time tonight, or what?"
We both burst out laughing, a sharp sound against the white noise of the kitchen. In the corner, the fridge hummed, and outside, a car door slammed, its echo muted by distance.
He licked his lips and I didn't notice until the split second before my mouth was on his. It made for an awkward kiss in a way, muffled laughter and his whispered suggestion that we "Try again?"
"I don't have a problem with you licking your lips in the middle of me kissing you." My free hand, the one not on his neck, felt redundant then, like the last thing it should be doing was hanging by my side, not mirroring its opposite number.
"I'm..." James's pause came at the exact moment my other hand came into contact with the curve of his neck. I was glad he had his hair cut short, although it was true longer hair gave one something more substantial to pull.
I'd had mine cut as soon as Sean and I had split. Kept it that way.
There was still enough to pull, though. Just.
"I'm, uh, not the kind of guy to tongue kiss on a first date."
"Damn, well that's no fun." I leaned in to kiss him again, and paused.
Couldn't work out what was wrong. I shrugged, throwing off the words first date, all too suggestive of a second and possibly a third, and immediately felt lighter.
The guy really knew how to kiss. Tentative at first, making my fingers twitch against the side of his neck when he deepened the kiss. I didn't know how to describe the sound that came from the back of his throat. Like the first syllable of something unsaid, before he realized we were in the middle of one of the hottest kisses I'd ever experienced. Not loud enough to be a moan, it wasn't quiet enough to be a simple desire for breath.
Reluctantly, I pulled away. Not far, only enough to allow both of us to catch our
