First-Time Caller

Chapter 23

K issing Lucie was a mistake.

Not because I regret it, but because I am fundamentally unable to think about anything else.

I step into the studio and my eyes dart to my chair, remembering the way she rolled her hips on mine. I go to fill up my coffee mug and I taste her on my tongue. I slip on my headphones and I catch a whiff of her perfume. Or whatever it is that makes her smell the way she does. Daisies and something metallic. Fresh air.

Lucie fills up this room like a ghost, and kissing her did not calm the attraction like I had hoped. It poured gasoline all over it and I’m walking around with a wildfire in my chest.

I scrub roughly at my jaw and Maggie pokes her head in through the door. “Okay?” she asks. “Ready for the show?”

I nod, staring hard at my computer screen in front of me, trying not to think about Lucie’s mouth on my neck. “Fine,” I mumble.

She steps farther into the studio, the door closing behind her. “You sure?”

I grunt. She sighs.

“Forget I asked, then, you grump.” She tucks her hair behind her ears and crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back against the doorframe. “I wanted to talk to you about Lucie’s exit plan before she gets here.”

My hand freezes over my keypad. “Exit plan?”

Maggie nods. “Yeah. She said she was done with the dating experiment, right? She’ll probably want to get back to her life at some point.”

“Yeah,” I say slowly. Maybe it’s stupid, but I haven’t thought about Lucie’s last day. Not once. I stare unseeingly at my computer screen and Maggie snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“What?” I flinch.

Her eyes narrow. “Pull it together.”

“I am together.”

“More together. Why are you being cagey right now?” She pushes off the doorframe. “Do you want her out of here sooner? Is that what this is?”

I almost laugh in her face. I want the exact opposite. I want Lucie in the chair next to mine. I want her husky laughter and her secret smiles. I don’t want to discuss an exit plan because I don’t want to go back to the way things were. Me, alone in this booth. Struggling to believe in a single thing.

“Ratings are up,” Maggie goes on, oblivious to my mental collapse. “The podcast is charting. I’d like to keep Lucie around for a little bit longer, but people are falling in love with you again. That’s what I was hoping for.”

I blink. “What?”

“It’s like Lucie pressed restart on that storm cloud above your head. I could hear it the first time you talked to her.”

“I—” I don’t know what to say. “I’m feeling a little manipulated here, Mags.”

Maggie shrugs, unrepentant. She pulls a stick of gum out of her pocket and pops it in her mouth. “For the good of the show, my friend.” She gestures at the booth around me. “And look at you. You’re happy to be here. I’ve got retro Aiden back. I haven’t heard you mumbling under your breath once this past month.”

She’s about to. “You could have just told me that was the plan.”

“If I told you that was the plan, you would have dragged your feet the entire time and probably been rude to Lucie. This was a two-for-one special. Lucie gets everything she deserves, and you get less grumpy. Win-win.”

I drag my hand over my face. “But you want an exit plan for her? Even though everything is going to plan?”

Maggie nods. “Every plan has an end. And you were right. She’s not going to find the person she’s looking for over the radio. We’ve given her the tools she needs to succeed. Now it’s time for that cute little bird to fly the nest.” She snaps her gum and her face softens. “I don’t want to take up more of her time. She’s a busy woman, Aiden.”

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Plus, that dipshit from Orion has finally backed off.” Something cold and calculating flashes behind her eyes. I never want to be on the wrong side of Maggie, that’s for damn sure. “I’ve sent Cooper West back to the hellhole from whence he came.”

“Who is Cooper West?”

“A spoiled root vegetable that’s been reincarnated as a human. He’s the most arrogant, self-serving man I’ve ever met.”

I blink, confused. “Okay?”

“But it’s fine, because he’s afraid of me now.”

“He should be,” I tell her. “Most reasonable people are.”

Maggie rolls her eyes and slips her phone out of her back pocket. She flicks open her screen and starts to scroll. I’ve been dismissed.

“You’ll talk to her?” she asks, half paying attention. “Figure out how she wants to close out?”

I nod some more. It feels like my head is going to roll right off my shoulders. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her.”

Jackson appears in the doorway behind Maggie, a fierce frown on his face and something . . . brown . . . and wet . . . sliding down the front of his shirt. Maggie takes two steps backward, bumping into the filing cabinet, her phone clattering to the floor.

“What the hell happened to you?” She points at his shirt. “What the hell is that?”

“Delilah Stewart happened to me,” he manages through clenched teeth. His hands are covered and he’s holding them at his sides like a scarecrow. “She’s a danger to society. Aiden, do you have any extra clothes here?”

“I’ve got a couple of T-shirts, yeah.” His left eye is twitching. I reach under my desk for my duffel bag and pull out a faded old EAT BERTHA’S MUSSELS T-shirt I got at a block party a couple of years ago. I drape it carefully around his neck so it doesn’t touch any of . . . whatever that is. “Did she attack you?”

“Her potluck did,” Jackson grumbles. He holds his hands farther away from his body. “Maggie, can you manage the doors for me? I think I’m leaving a trail of chocolate pudding down the hall.”

She snatches up her phone and gives him a wide berth as she slides past him, holding open the door to the booth. “You better not be.”

He sighs. “It really can’t be helped.”

I watch them disappear down the hallway, Maggie becoming increasingly distressed about the carpets. Footsteps sound behind me and Lucie appears at my shoulder, fifteen minutes earlier than usual. I’ve started setting my clock to Lucie, I guess.

She stands next to me and arches an eyebrow at the smears of chocolate pudding along the walls. It looks like the set of a horror movie. “Do I want to know?”

“I’m not even sure I could explain it if you asked.” I lean up against the small square of pudding-free wall outside the booth. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and her hair is down, a soft beanie tugged over her ears. I stare at her and my heart feels like it’s somewhere in my throat. A smile tugs at her mouth, growing the longer I look at her.

“What?” she asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just like looking at you,” I murmur quietly.

Her smile pulls wider and she ducks her face, trying to hide it. But I still see it. I still see her.

“You’re early tonight,” I point out, doing my best to keep everything in the lines we’ve established for each other. I had a plan. Not a very good one, apparently, but a plan nonetheless. I would kiss Lucie. I would scratch that itch and move on from this little fixation. But now she’s standing in front of me and all I want to do is thread my fingers through hers. Rest my chin on top of her head and wrap both of my arms tight around her shoulders.

I’m still itchy.

The plan did not work.

“I’m early.” Lucie looks back up at me, tilting her head to the side. She clamps her teeth down on her bottom lip and I am fixated on the plush pink of her mouth. “Do you want me to . . . I could go make us some coffee?” She glances at the pudding on the walls again with a frown. “Maybe grab some paper towels?”

“No. No, you don’t need to go anywhere.” I need to ask her about how she wants to leave the show, but I can’t find the words. I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about her leaving. I like her exactly where she is.

I stare at her some more.

She squints her eyes, studying my face. “Are you all right?”

I’m not all right. I’m a mess and I’m not doing what I said I would do. I look in the direction Maggie and Jackson disappeared to and then grip her hand in mine, striding the opposite way. There’s a tiny supply closet that Hughie calls his meditation suite right by the entrance. I make my way to it while Lucie hurries to match my strides.

“Aiden, what—” She stumbles and I slow down. She bumps into my back and steadies herself with one arm around my torso. A backward hug.

“What are you doing?” she asks with a puff of laughter, right against the back of my neck.

“I need to talk to you,” I tell her, elbowing my way through the door of the closet, dragging her in after me. She lets out a little squeak and tumbles into laughter again as the door swings shut behind us, cloaking us in darkness. I can’t really see, but I can feel the curve of her body beneath my hands. I can feel every one of her exhales.

“In the closet?” she asks, a smile in her voice. “You needed to talk to me in the closet?”

I can’t believe I ever thought I could kiss her once and not want to kiss her again. My conversation with Maggie has me feeling prickly and urgent. Lucie’s time here is moving too fast. I have no guarantee I’ll ever see her again when she steps outside those doors.

I press closer, backing her up against the metal shelf that holds printer paper and ink cartridges and a basket of incense for . . . whatever it is that Hughie does in here.

“Yeah, I need to talk to you in a closet. There’s not an inch of privacy in this place.”

“What do you need privacy for?” she breathes.

I cup my hand around the back of her neck and squeeze. A breath shudders out of her.

“For talking to you,” I say.

“This doesn’t feel like talking.”

“We’re having a conversation,” I mumble. My fingers squeeze again. “Words are happening.”

“Not many of them.”

There’s a ticking clock hanging over my head. Exit plan is scratching like a record player that won’t stop skipping. I don’t want Lucie to slip through my fingers. It doesn’t matter that she’s never been mine to hold. I can’t stop myself from wanting her.

In my head, I say something coordinated and controlled. I tell her how I feel because I know how I feel and I approach this situation like a mature adult. I set realistic expectations. I keep to the plan.

But in reality, I push the soft poof-ball hat off her head and toss it on one of the shelves behind her. I drop my forehead to hers and say, “If you don’t want me to kiss you, tell me now.”

“I thought we said we weren’t going to do that again,” she breathes.

“I’m an idiot,” I tell her and she laughs. My nose bumps hers in the dark. “I thought once would be enough.”

“It wasn’t?”

I shake my head. It only took one second of seeing her in the hallway to realize what a monumentally stupid idea that was.

Lucie grips my sides, her palms pressed flat against my rib cage. “It wasn’t enough for me either.” She shifts and I wrap my arms around her like I wanted to, my hand moving up her spine in a firm stroke. “We should probably kiss each other some more. Maybe two times will be enough.”

“I don’t think two times will be enough,” I murmur.

“You’re right,” she breathes. Her mouth hovers right below mine in the dark. “Let’s make it three times.”

“Lucie.”

“Aiden.” She sighs, a smile at the edge of her voice. The sound rockets down my spine. “It’s okay. You’re not—you’re not misleading me or making me any promises. I’ve spent most of my life doing what everyone else needs, and I want—now I want to do something for me. You’ve been very clear about where you stand and I’m tired of overanalyzing every thought and feeling. I know what this is.”

“What is it?” I’d love to know because I don’t have a damn clue.

Her hands slip lower, resting on my waist. “Do you remember at the bar? When I told you that I never have any fun?” I nod. Her pinky edges up beneath my sweatshirt, cold against my skin. I shiver. “Maybe that’s what this could be. Two people having fun.”

“Fun,” I repeat.

She nods and her nose bumps against mine. “Yeah. That’s what I want.”

We slip tighter against each other, her chest crushed to mine. She breathes in every time I breathe out. Time slows to a crawl. Something sticky and heavy as I consider which path to take. One is significantly more complicated than the other, but it’s also the one that has Lucie.

There’s really not much to consider.

Lucie wants fun.

And I want to give her whatever she wants. I might not be able to give her the fairy tale, but I can give her this. I can give her fun.

“Okay,” I tell her.

“All right.”

“Good.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, hands tugging at my shirt. “Good.”

I smile and find her mouth with mine in the dark. I kiss her soft and sweet and slow and all the things I wasn’t capable of the other night. I swear I’ve never thought about kissing someone as much as I’ve thought about kissing Lucie.

I squeeze the back of her neck and tip her head back, dragging my mouth from hers to press kisses along her neck.

“I meant to ask,” she whispers with a gasping breath when I find a spot near her fluttering pulse that she seems to like. I drag my teeth against it and her nails dig half-moons into my chest through my shirt.

“What?” I mumble against her skin. I never want to leave this spot.

“The other night,” she continues, losing her train of thought when I nip at her neck again. A shiver rocks over her shoulders.

“When I called?”

She nods. “I should have asked what you wear to bed. I was thinking about it and . . .” She gets distracted when I hook two fingers in the collar of her sweater and tug it over her shoulder. I nose lightly at her bra strap and then press a kiss to it. She sighs and rolls her head to the side, giving me more room. “It doesn’t seem fair that you didn’t share,” she finishes lazily.

“It’s not fair how I’ve been unable to think about anything besides tiny shorts with a hole in the thigh.”

She laughs. “I never said my shorts are tiny.”

“Shh,” I whisper. “Don’t ruin my fantasy.”

“I think you need better fantasies.”

I lean forward and catch her mouth with mine again. I suck on her bottom lip, let my teeth nip at it. I like that she was thinking about me in her bed because I was doing the exact same thing three blocks away. I brush another kiss to her mouth and let my hands slip over the curve of her ass. “Did you think about me there? With you?”

She nods, a hitch in her breath. “I did,” she confesses in a whisper. I make a wounded sound and my knee slips between her thighs. The metal shelf behind her rattles. “You were wearing bunny-printed footie pajamas,” she finishes with a breathless laugh.

“I think you need better fantasies,” I echo with a grin.

“I don’t know. It seemed to work out for me just fine.”

She tilts her head so I can reach the spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. I try to shift our bodies so I’m not holding her caged against the shelf, but I only manage to tuck us tighter together. My thigh urges her legs farther apart, more of her weight resting against me, and she moans lightly.

We’re zero to six thousand in this tiny room. I only wanted to talk to her without someone inserting themselves between us, but now we’re rocking together against the metal shelf, my mouth busy sucking bruises against her skin.

“I wondered—” She presses out a sweet sigh and rocks her hips against my thigh, an unconscious motion, an afterthought, chasing the friction. She stops herself with two fists in the back of my shirt.

“No one told you to stop.” I grip her ass and help her move again, a slow, thorough grind against my leg. She shudders in my arms. “Keep talking,” I growl. “Tell me.”

“I wondered how you might touch me. If you were there,” she whispers. In the dark, I can only make out shapes and curves. The smell of her shampoo and the sound of her heavy breathing. “I don’t know. I’m—I’m probably saying too much.”

I shake my head and lick my way back into her mouth, a reward for her honesty.

“It’s not too much. I was thinking about you too.”

“Yeah?”

I nod.

After our phone call, I lay in bed and watched the streetlights dance across my ceiling, dragging my hands through my hair and imagining her in that damned T-shirt with those damned shorts. My brain found all sorts of creative interpretations.

She rocks against my thigh again, her hands slipping up the back of my shirt, palms pressed tight to my skin. “What would you have done,” she asks quietly, “if you had been in my bed?”

Weeks of suppressed thoughts and feelings spin out in a kaleidoscope of ideas, picking up speed with every little sound she makes. If I had been in her bed, we would probably still be there. I drop my face into her neck and squeeze her hips. “You’re trouble.”

She laughs. “That good, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t think anyone has accused me of being trouble before,” she muses lightly, still working her body against mine.

“Must be just for me, then.”

“I like that. I like that it’s just for you.” She grips my shoulders and rocks harder, a moan caught in the back of her throat. I wish there were lights in here. I want to see what Lucie looks like when she’s chasing her own pleasure. It’s probably the most selfish she’s ever been. I’m so hard in my jeans it hurts.

“I’m—” She laughs a little bit, breathless and winded. “I’m having so much fun right now.”

I brush my lips against the tip of her ear. “Do you think I could make you come like this?”

Her hips stutter and jump, then grind harder. “To be fair, I think I’m doing most of the work.”

I slip my hand beneath her sweater, my thumb tracing the soft skin of her belly. I rest my hand beneath her breasts, waiting, the backs of my fingers barely grazing the material of her bra.

“That’s rude of me.”

She exhales slowly. “It really is.”

I let my thumb trace the heavy curve of her breast. Her skin is so warm . “I should probably help.”

“Yes, please,” she sighs. I tug at the cup of her bra until it’s tucked under the swell of her breast and curl my hand around her. Her nipple is tight and hard against my palm and I rumble out a groan. Every part of her feels good.

She makes another delicious sound and starts to roll her hips, leaning back. I meet her movement with mine and we’re a grinding, panting mess against a shelf full of toilet paper.

“Could you—” She arches her back and I drag my thumb across her nipple, an answer to the rest of that question. She nods, frantic. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s nice.”

I drag my teeth along her jaw. “Nice,” I huff. I trace another wide circle with my thumb. “Nothing I want to do to you is very nice, Lucie.”

“Okay, we’ll use a different word,” she says, breathless. “That’s really—” Her sentence tumbles into a low moan when I pinch her nipple between two fingers.

“It’s really . . . what?” I drop a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “What word should we use?”

I can think of fifteen, right off the top of my head. Incredible, unbelievable, perfect. Soft. Warm. Too much. Not enough. Fucking overwhelming.

“Nice,” she says with a laugh that wheezes out of her.

I’ve heard so many sounds out of Lucie these past couple of weeks. Her laughter and her sighs and the small amused huff she makes in the back of her throat when we have a ridiculous caller. The rasp in her voice when she’s tired and the way she licks around the edges of consonants and vowels when she’s saying my name.

I’m an expert on the soundtrack of Lucie, but I think these sounds might be my favorite. The music Lucie makes when she’s chasing her orgasm against my thigh, both of her hands twisted through my hair, her mouth open against my shoulder.

“Aiden,” she breathes, hips moving faster, sloppier, losing her rhythm as her head tips back. I cup the base of her skull so she doesn’t smack it against the shelf behind her and then I fist my fingers in her hair because I can. Because I want to.

Her body goes boneless against me and the knowledge that Lucie likes her hair pulled is a bright flash of heat up the length of my spine.

“Fuck,” she slurs. “ Aiden. ”

“That’s it,” I whisper. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

She nods. “I need—” She flattens her palm over the back of the hand I still have anchored against her chest and drags it down to the front of her jeans. My thumb rubs over the small metal button and she exhales a shaky breath.

“No,” I tell her, pushing my thigh up, urging her to grind harder.

“But—”

“No.”

“Maybe a little bit?” she gasps, and I shake my head against hers.

“No,” I say again. “I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“Are you wet, Lucie?” The question bursts out of me, borderline accusing. I’m not being very nice right now. Not nice at all.

She nods and I grunt, taking her response like a sucker punch. “Then, no. I can’t touch you a little bit. Because if I feel how wet you are for me, I’m going to fuck you in this closet.”

Her smoky laugh curls around the back of my neck. “I don’t see the issue.”

“I’m not going to fuck you in a closet,” I say, more for myself than for her. Because I want to. I want to wedge something under the door handle and undo the tiny button on the front of her jeans and do everything I’ve been thinking about. Get down on my knees. Turn her around and tug her hips back into me.

I pull my hand out from beneath hers and roll my thumb against her nipple again, rougher than I mean to. My restraint is a house of cards in a windstorm. I’m barely holding it together.

“I’m going to make you come, and we’ll figure everything else out later, okay?”

She nods. “Yes, please. That—” She curls both of her arms around my neck. “That’s what I want.”

“I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you want.”

She shivers against me with a breathy, disbelieving laugh and I hold her tighter, guiding her against my thigh in a long, slow drag. I feel like I’m caught in a dream. Any second Lucie is going to kick me under the desk and I’m going to jolt awake.

But she doesn’t and I don’t and I move her against me until she’s making tiny, bitten-off sounds in the back of her throat, her hands grasping, her thigh brushing against my cock with every roll of her hips. I could probably come just like this. With Lucie’s sweet sounds and the barest hint of friction. In the broom closet of the radio station.

“Aiden,” she whines, her nose in the hollow of my throat, and yeah. I could definitely come like this. Her nails scratch at the back of my neck. “Please, please, please.”

I rock her harder, my hand under her shirt rushing to pull down the other side of her bra. I dip my head and press my mouth against her through the thin material of her sweater, teeth scraping against her nipple. I’m almost as frantic as she is, hands shaking, wild, unrestrained noises caught in the back of my throat. I need her to come. I need her to come before I lose the tether I have on myself and yank her jeans down around her knees and bend her over the metal shelf.

She knots her fingers through my hair and I rumble out a low groan. Her body tenses against mine and she goes deathly quiet, nothing but a sharp intake of air.

“That’s it.” I tuck my forehead to hers, watching the way she moves against me. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

She nods, frantic, hands still grabbing at me. I shush her quietly, wedging one hand between her legs, giving her the pressure she needs. I grind the heel of my hand against her until she’s shaking, until her body pulls tight.

“Aiden,” she chokes out, and her teeth sink into my collarbone. I can feel her orgasm rush through her but I wish I could see it too. I wish I could see what color her cheeks turn. If her eyes go lazy and dark.

I still the hand I have pressed between her legs. Her heart is thundering, her breath uneven.

“Good?” I ask.

She nods and then nods some more. “Yeah, uh. Very good. Thank you.” She laughs and it’s the best fucking sound I’ve ever heard. I brush a kiss across her forehead.

“Did not expect that for today,” she mumbles softly. She tugs at my hair and guides my mouth to hers for a gentle kiss. I pull my hand from beneath her shirt and tug on the hem, straightening her the best I can.

“Me neither.”

I feel the curve of her smile. “It seemed premeditated.”

“Nah.” I shake my head, grit my teeth, and put some space between us. Now that I’m not so focused on Lucie, I’m aware of the situation in my pants. I’m so hard I’m throbbing. I swear I can feel it in the base of my spine. I sigh. “I definitely didn’t plan on having a boner at work today.”

Lucie snickers, a hand in the dark reaching out to trace me through thick denim. I make a noise that sounds like a whimper. I cuff her wrist with my fingers and hold her still with a squeeze.

“Not right now,” I grunt. Christ. There’s no scenario where I would not embarrass myself if Lucie put her hands on me right now.

“That’s not very fun.”

I lift her hand to my mouth and brush a kiss to her palm. “I’m pretty sure we’re late for the broadcast. Maggie is going to start banging on doors any second.” I’m surprised she isn’t already. But maybe Jackson’s pudding situation is more dire than I thought.

“You don’t want—”

“Lucie.” I stamp a kiss over her lips. “Want isn’t the issue. Of course I want. I’ve been wanting. But I need to go sit in a booth with you for a couple of hours, and I won’t be able to if we do anything else in this tiny closet.” I lean forward and brush another gentle kiss against her mouth. “Maybe we can have more fun later.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, feeling unsure. I’m suddenly sixteen again, asking out the girl I’ve been crushing on. “If you . . . if you want.”

Circle yes if you like me too.

My eyes have adjusted enough for me to see the smile she’s trying to tuck away. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I want.”

“All right.” I let myself have one more kiss. Then she sucks at my bottom lip and one more kiss turns into my body pressing hers back into the shelf. She laughs. I groan and tap her ass. “Get back out there.”

She tries to wiggle past me and we fumble around the closet. My elbow smacks into the shelf. Lucie steps into a mop bucket and goes sliding two feet to the left. A metal bowl falls to the ground with a loud clang and Lucie laughs, loud and bright and breathless.

I wrench open the door and light spills into the room. Lucie looks an absolute mess. Hair tangled, sweater tugged down over one shoulder, cheeks flushed pink.

“Out,” I whisper, and she grins.

I slam the door shut behind her, draping myself back in the dark of the supply closet. I can hear her laughing on the other side. My smile stretches to match.

“Trouble,” I mutter to myself, dragging my hand down my face. I don’t know if I’m talking about her or me or the painful erection I’m sporting. The way my heart is pounding in my chest.

I’m in so much fucking trouble .

LUCIE STONE: I talked to Skee-Ball guy again. He called the other night.

AIDEN VALENTINE: [coughing] Did, um, did he?

LUCIE STONE: He did.

AIDEN VALENTINE: I guess he had a good time, then.

LUCIE STONE: It certainly seems that way.

[pause]

LUCIE STONE: Are you all right?

AIDEN VALENTINE: I’m fine.

LUCIE STONE: Are you sure? You’re—

AIDEN VALENTINE: Everything is fine. I’m just—I spilled my coffee. It’s fine.

[muffled rattling noise]

AIDEN VALENTINE: Don’t look so pleased.

LUCIE STONE: I’m not pleased. I’m amused.

AIDEN VALENTINE: I didn’t see my mug there.

LUCIE STONE: It hasn’t moved in close to an hour.

AIDEN VALENTINE: Well, I didn’t see it. I’m . . . I didn’t see it.