Page 21 of In a Pickle

“Sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t what I was trying to say at all. I was actually trying to say the opposite — that I thought you were a really cool girl.”

She frowned. “Thanks, but I’m curious: why didn’t you ever talk to me?” she asked. “I mean, it’s not like I ever talked to you, either, so I guess I’m not one to judge. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you even knew who I was until the last day of high school.”

He winced. “No excuses. I regret a lot of things about high school. The choice of girls I hung out with — or didn’t hang out with — is one of my big regrets.”

He leaned closer to her, and her heart hammered. “Hopefully, I’m making up for it now.”

She nodded and tried to keep her voice from shaking and betraying her hammering heart. “You are. You’re more than making up for it.”

He brushed his hand softly down her cheek. “May I kiss you?”

She was sure he could feel her pulse now. It was jackhammering everywhere. She wanted him to kiss her so badlyshe thought she might crawl out of her skin. She managed a “yes,” this time unable to keep her voice from shaking.

Without hesitation, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss began chastely, but gradually, James began teasing her mouth with his tongue, a silent question, letting her decide if she wanted to take the kiss further. She parted her lips, eagerly letting him in, and his tongue reached in to tangle with hers. She felt the low, guttural sound in the back of his throat as he kissed her harder, deeper. One hand went to her neck, tangling in her hair, as the other gently touched down the curve of her jaw. She sighed in pleasure and grabbed for him, wanting to eliminate any shred of space between them.

Too soon, he pulled back. After a couple of final light kisses to her ear and throat, he leaned back to look at her, awe clear in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t try anything with you tonight.”

“Why?” she asked, genuinely curious. “It was just a kiss. And I wanted it.”

“You’re too damn beautiful,” he surprised her by saying. “And just… too damn good for me. And knowing you haven’t always been treated the best, I wanted to be a gentleman, to show you how you deserve to be treated.”

“You have,” she hastened to reassure him. “You’ve been a perfect gentleman. Please. I wanted to kiss you. I want to do more, if I’m honest.”

He growled and shifted in his seat. “God, don’t tell me that. I do, too. You have no idea how much I do. But not tonight. I need to take things slowly. If not for you, then just for me, okay?”

“Of course it’s okay,” she said.

He took her hand and kissed it gently. “I really want to see you again. May I?”

She smiled. “Definitely.”

Chapter 15: James

Mid-day Sunday, James was giddy. Three days after the unequivocal success that was their first date, and after nonstop text conversations, he was finally hanging out with Liana again. Well, he’d actually seen her every morning for coffee at Panther Coffee, but he was finally having another official date. He’d neglected his gala-planning duties to prepare for the day.

He parked on the street in front of Deb’s townhouse. He’d never been to Liana’s house in high school, but Liana had told him in one of their never-ending text exchanges that her parents had divorced when she was 12, and she and her mom had moved to a townhouse in Pine Heights so that they’d be in the school district where her mom taught history. James hadn’t had Liana’s mom as a teacher; he vaguely recalled Mary Grace complaining that she was a tough grader, but knowing Mary Grace, anyone who didn’t give her straight As was on her shit list. James decided not to let Mary Grace’s opinion of Liana’s mom influence his own opinion. Deb seemed perfectly pleasant during pickleball class.

James knocked on Deb’s front door, and Liana answered, her legs looking far too good in black leggings. James had told Liana to dress for “extreme comfort.”

“What does that mean?” she’d asked.

“Loungewear,” he’d replied. “Bunny slippers encouraged.”

While she’d apparently opted for sneakers — he couldn’t blame her for not wanting to wear bunny slippers on a date — she looked both comfortable and fuckable in her spandex leggings and black tank top.

“Did I dress appropriately?” she asked him. “I honestly had no idea what that ‘bunny slippers’ comment meant.”

“You look perfect,” he replied. “And that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

As they walked to the car this time, he rushed to open the car door for her, and she thanked him, looking somewhat bemused, as if she were biting back a comment about how it was the 21st century and she could open her own damn car door.

Getting into his car seat, he pointed to the two cups on the center console. “Panther Coffee. They’re both black coffees, one iced and one hot. Which would you like?”

“Which one is for you?” she asked.

“Whichever one you don’t want,” he said. “Oh, and they’re both decaf. I figured that since it’s the afternoon, you’ve already had your one allotted cup for the day.”

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