Page 53 of Still the One

She does the same to me.

All the while, I can see the expression on her face. That dark sparkle lighting up her eyes. The fullness of her lips. That barely-there freckle on the side of her mouth. The ferocity with which she wants me. What it has done to her for me to say yes, that I will try. We’ve taken the next step. Because I don’t want to lose her. I want her in my life. Despite the fear that resides in my flesh, lurks under my skin. If the past few weeks have taught me anything it’s that what I believed was a choice, isn’t a matter of choosing at all.

Jamie slips a finger inside me, and I have to catch my breath. But I keep looking at her. The shape of her mouth changes with the effort she’s exerting. Two can play at that game, I think, and push a finger high inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” she says on a sigh. She puts her other hand on my shoulder, holding onto it, as though she needs the support—as though she’s already getting there.

Her finger slips out of me and circles my clit. She wants me right there with her. All I have to do is look at her face and surrender to her touch. Two things I never thought I’d do again, and look at me now. The unpredictability of life isn’t just shocking. It can be astounding as well. And hot. Jamie is so hot with her face contorted like that, with her desire on full display.

Does she feel as vulnerable as I do with the walls around my heart quickly crumbling? I’m letting my guard down all the way. I’m letting go of the last ounce of protection against her, and all my senses are on high alert. Every small movement she makes feels big, overwhelming, and inevitable. A bit like this situation was inevitable. Like us, standing against this wall, unable to keep our hands to ourselves, so close despite years of hostility.

All I can do is let the last twenty years collapse in on themselves. Let all the tension in my muscles dissolve and give myself to her. Because Jamie’s doing exactly the same. She digs her fingertips deep into the flesh of my shoulder as she holds on, as she rides this swift but strong—and equally inevitable—climax with me.

“Hello to you, too,” Jamie says as she buttons up her jeans.

I shake my head while I try to straighten my clothes. Normally, after a week of non-stop work away from home, I take a few days to myself to recharge, but this time around, Jamie’s here.

“Remember Maui?” I say.

“I will never, ever forget Maui.”

I chuckle. “When I said you must have magic voodoo fingers?” I reach for her hand.

“Every single thing you said is etched into my memory.” Jamie always liked a touch of exaggeration to make a point.

I take her hand and study her long, strong fingers. A frisson of something runs up my spine again. Now that I’m letting myself feel everything, my body is like a live wire, the smallest touch causing a spark.

“Turns out I was right,” I say.

“Your fingers aren’t too bad either.” Jamie smiles at me with her entire face. Her eyes seem to catch all the light streaming through the windows and she beams it right back at me.

I’m so in love with her. It’s happening all over again. All the reasons I loved her are still there. I feel like a teenager in love for the first time. All I can do at the sight of her, at the soft sensation of her hand in mine, is utter a silly giggle.

“What’s going on with you?” Jamie asks, unable to suppress a smile—because she knows full well what’s going on.

“I’m going to take a long shower. Probably a cold one.”

“If it’s going to be cold, I’m not joining you.” She grins at me. “I will thoroughly wash my hands and prepare you a meal. How does that sound?”

“As long as you don’t ask me where anything is in the kitchen,” I joke.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She raises our joined hands and kisses the inside of my wrist.

“Make yourself at home,” I say. My apartment looks so different—so much more like a home—with Jamie in it.

“I will. Thank you.” Every word she says, makes me fall deeper in love with her. “I love you,” Jamie says, just like that.

Chapter 30

Jamie

I’ve made us a simple stir-fry of shrimp and vegetables with whatever condiments I could find in Mac’s swanky kitchen. Fresh sourdough I brought from home on the side. I may not be too crazy about the overall vibe of her apartment, but the kitchen is top-notch—and entirely wasted on someone like Mac who never cooks.

“Sandra said I had to fight for you.” To sit across from her, just the two of us, sharing a meal, feels as intimate as what we did out in the hallway earlier. “According to her, I was bailing on you again.”

“Poor San,” Mac says. “I don’t know how she has managed all these years, being a friend to us both.”

“I assume you and she didn’t discuss me all that much?” It’s impossible to look away from Mac. Her hair’s still wet from the shower and slicked back, kind of like her hairdo at Sandra’s wedding, when she looked to die for.

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