Page 18 of The Widower's Girlfriend
Closing the distance, I sweep my mouth across hers lightly, still wanting that permission. Her lips part and I take it for what it is: a green light. I dive in, delighting in her breathy moans, the greedy way she grabs my suit jacket in her fists. Pulling her into me completely, I spin us around, slamming my own back against the wall, careful to never lose contact with her lips. I want to consume her until she agrees to love me forever, which even I know is way too soon, so I give her the space to step back at any time.
I don’t trust myself, too overcome with a raging river of emotion crashing through my body to trust my actions. I never imagined I’d be here again, so lost in her, I don’t know what to do or how to proceed. All I know is I want this. Maybe even forever. I’ve gone from frozen in my emotions to red hot, feeling everything all at once. It’s a lot to take in.
A bright light pierces my consciousness, the back of my brain trying to get my body to step back and assess. Then a guitar runs through chords at a decibel only possible with big speakers. The screech of a microphone finally pulls us both away, Jemma stepping back and whipping around.
Unfortunately, neither one of us can tell what’s going on since a spotlight is pointed in our direction, blinding us. I look left and see a small stage with people and instruments. A flood of people enter the open garden area from the other side, and that’s when I see the tall tables scattered around and the band starts playing in earnest.
It’s a reception. And Jemma and I are at the front of it.
And now everyone’s craning their necks, trying to see who’s standing by the stage and why we’re in the spotlight. I raise my arm to block the light, which provides me with a glimpse of the conference organizer who shook my hand so heartily just this morning. Judging by his shocked expression, he saw us a few moments earlier when we were lip-locked.
Guilt immediately slams into me. I want to hide, run away, deny everything. At that thought I’m also bombarded with a hefty dose of self-loathing I’ve never felt before.
“Walker.” Jemma tugs on my arm, trying to pull us back. We should at least get out of the ring of light aimed at the band. I know this, yet here I stay, stunned how easy a lie can get out of hand.
I look over at Jemma to register the concern on her face. She’s gone pale and I want to hide her away to protect her, but I don’t have that luxury right now. “I gotta say something.”
Her head jerks in a semblance of a nod even as she backs away from me. “Okay.”
“Stay here, don’t leave. Okay?” She can’t leave me now. This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but now that it’s out there, I have to address it.
Another head jerk, her eyes round with fright. I don’t have confidence in her answer, but I have to make the leap.
I turn from her and hop up on the stage. The band comes to a halt in the middle of a song, surprised to see me there, but recovering quickly as they realize the crowd is distracted by something. That something is me.
A microphone is front and center, just waiting for me to take it and speak my truth. For someone who’s bared their innermost feelings journal style in an online blog for the world to read, this is a thousand times harder. Maybe because I’m scrambling to keep up with the changes myself.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I only had one speech prepared for you this weekend, but I think I have a few more things to say if you’ll indulge me.”
There’s some muttering in the audience but the crowd moves closer to the stage, interested in what I have to say. No one has thrown food at me yet, so there’s that. I clear my throat and continue, trying to keep looking out at the audience but also trying to keep an eye on Jemma’s whereabouts. She’s off to the side, out of the light, looking like she wants to run away, but thankfully hasn’t.
I look back out at the crowd and take a deep breath. “I’ve done you a disservice.”
12
Jemma
I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m still over here trying to process what Walker just told me before the bright light blinded us. I’m in awe he said he’s into me and wants to date for real. Let me tell you, the single, lonely woman inside of me is jumping up and down squealing at a decibel that causes severe headaches. The more sensible, plan-things-out-at-all-costs side of me is flashing around a large, red stop sign, trying to be the voice of reason amidst all the squealing.
Now Walker’s up on a stage, addressing the mass of people scattered across the lawn. I’m still trying to wrap my head around Walker being a semi-celebrity and whether that’s something I want in my life. Him jumping up on a stage the minute after he professes to have feelings for me is rubbing me the wrong way.
All the warmth I felt in his embrace, all the passion he showed me in the kiss, has grown cold. My mind is all over the place trying to catch up to everything happening. One minute I’m about to do bodily harm to Amy, then I’m being kissed out of my mind, and then Walker’s got a microphone in his face in front of a hundred people. What I really need to do is focus on what Walker’s saying so I don’t fall further behind.
“...know all about the death of my late wife and how I was able to process all that grief. But I left out a huge component. Because I just didn’t know. Moving on and beginning to date again isn’t something I’ve experienced and therefore couldn’t talk to you about. Then that beautiful blonde over there”—Walker gestures to me and I freeze, feeling too many pairs of eyes on me—“swooped in with her broken suitcase and animated conversations.”
He pauses and stares at me. Something about his hot gaze pulls me in and makes me forget about everyone watching, like he’s now talking just to me. “I don’t know how things will turn out or where we’re headed, but I do know I want to find out. Melissa died. And it was tragic and she changed my life forever. But I didn’t die.” He looks back out at the crowd. “I have a whole life to live and part of honoring her is starting to feel again, like she’d want me to. I’m ready.”
Walker places the microphone back in the stand and walks toward me, hopping down and pulling me with him. A smattering of applause comes from the crowd, but Walker doesn’t seem to hear it or care about their reaction. Instead, he tightens his grip on my hand and leads me back into the hotel and into a small, empty ballroom adjacent to the lobby.
I’m out of breath, both nervous and excited. I’ve never had someone profess to have feelings for me in front of a crowd, in the spotlight and over the loud speaker. It’s overwhelming, but then again, everything’s been overwhelming since Walker helped me with my suitcase yesterday. I think that’s just his style, his way of confronting life.
His kiss is bold too, the one he gives me the second the ballroom door shuts and we’re finally, blessedly alone. I attempt to reach up and thread my fingers through his thick hair, but I’m pulled back. Breaking away from him, I look down and see the flowy sleeve of my blouse is caught in the door.
Way to ruin a perfectly romantic kiss.
Walker chuckles and opens the door enough that I can pull my blouse free.
“I’m going to have to watch out for you. You wind up in some interesting situations.” Walker’s smiling at me like I’m adorable, his eyes soft and teasing.
