Page 31 of Trashy Foreplay

“Well, it’s been five weeks since you moved here. That’s about five weeks too long.”

He’s poking fun at me, but I can’t get past the fact that he remembers the exact amount of time I’ve been in Seattle.

After he pays for the berries, he pops one into his mouth. “Walk with me for a while? I’ll share.” He holds the container toward me, and I pick up a berry, my fingers trembling the slightest bit. We step onto the brick street and meander around the various food carts on the sidewalk.

“How are you liking Seattle so far?”

“I’m loving it. I think I could really call this place home.” Peeking at him from the corner of my eye, I reach for another berry, and my arm brushes his, skin to skin. Even with the breeze, it’s too warm out to blame the eruption of gooseflesh on the weather. We walk in companionable silence for a while, popping berries every few steps. “Where are we going?”

“Where do you wanna go?”

Sliding the fruit between my lips, I try to shrug with nonchalance, but I’m sure I fail. Or maybe he doesn’t notice how nervous I am, since his attention is on my mouth.

“You been to the waterfront yet?” he asks, and my heart skips a beat because I don’t think I’m imagining the uneven quality of his voice.

“I haven’t.”

“You’re racking up the felonies today.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s criminal,” he reminds me. “You might call Seattle home now, but that doesn’t mean you should skip the tourist experience.” He tilts his head toward Elliot Bay. “Want to check it out?”

“Sure.” I’ll do anything he asks if it means I get to spend more time with him. I shove the fact that he has a wife to the back of my mind. I’m convinced my good friend Denial lives in that area of my brain.

The sidewalk is busy. Even so, we stroll toward the waterfront closer than is necessary. Closer than is appropriate. Before long, a Ferris wheel looms ahead of us.

He gestures toward the giant ride. “You up for it?”

I glance at the monstrous wheel. This whole encounter feels like it’s straddling the line we’re trying hard not to cross, but I can’t bring myself to break away from him. Being near Cash is so intoxicating, it’s addictive.

With a nod, I let him usher me through the tide of bodies to the ticket booth, where I lose the battle of trying to pay for myself. He insists, and we shuffle into the short line. As we wait for the next gondola, his presence behind me sends a palpable wave of heat over my backside.

I convince myself the warmth flushing my skin is from the sun, but as we board, I know I’m fooling myself. Not even the summer heat could light me up like this. A flutter of excitement goes off deep in my belly as I slide onto the bench. He scoots in beside me, and though we have the gondola to ourselves, he chooses to remain at my side.

Maybe he’s worried I’ll have a panic attack. Or maybe he can’t fight this uphill battle any more than I can. The need to be near him is inescapable.

Fuck. The only thing scary about this ride is the fact that we’re confined in a private setting, utterly alone.

“You should see the view at nighttime,” he says.

“I bet it’s spectacular.”

As the gondola moves a few feet forward, he rests an arm along the back of the bench, and his hand lingers next to mine where I’m holding onto the seat. We aren’t even touching, but no one’s nearness has ever affected me like his does. As the ride sends us higher, I’m taken back to our brief time on the plane, and suddenly, I wish hehadkissed me. At least then I could have tasted him under the umbrella of anonymity. But that ship has sailed, and it hurts something fierce to know we’ll never get that chance again.

“Wow,” I say, leaning toward the glass doors. I peek at the ground and watch the movement of people shrinking in size as we climb skyward. To my left, I spy the Space Needle, but the rest of the Seattle skyline stands like a panoramic picture in front of us.

Cash looks over my shoulder, his chest brushing against my back. “So, you’re afraid to fly but not afraid of heights?”

The scent of his aftershave fills my senses, and I catch myself swaying into him. My pinky twitches toward his hand, and not even the sight of his wedding band has the power to shatter this moment between us. Will he touch me the way he did on the plane if I tell him Iamscared? But I’m not a liar by nature, and there’s no way I’m going to lie to him.

“Probably lacks logic, but no. I love heights.”

He inches his hand closer to mine. “What is it about planes that scare you so much?”

“The unknown, maybe?”

“I think it’s perfectly logical, Jules. Planes are pretty much at the mercy of chance, the skill of the pilots, and even Mother Nature. You never know when a flock of birds will take out an engine.”

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