Chapter 10
~~ James ~~
I only make it ten minutes before I peek out to check on her. Her eyes are closed, and her head is tipped up. She rocks the chair slightly, so I know she’s still awake. I can’t see her mouth, but I can tell she’s smiling.
Her cheek must be feeling better. The swelling has decreased over the last 24 hours. The bruise is still a dark purple, but the edges are already turning that sickly green color bruises always fade into.
Another week, and it should be completely gone. She’s beautiful even all banged up, but I feel a strange bit of sadness that I won’t get to see her completely healed.
I ease the door closed and pace the few steps across the kitchen and back again, knowing I promised her five more minutes. Then I realize I’m being ridiculous and scoff at myself. I force myself to round the corner and sit down with my book. Rusty pads over and bumps my leg with his nose, then wanders off. I hear him scratch at the back door and give a little whine.
“Four more minutes,” I tell him. I try to focus on the chapter, but I give up when I realize I read the same line over and over again.
Rusty comes back to the chair and stares at my face. He’s clearly disturbed that she’s outside. “Three minutes.” I tell him. He cocks his head sideways and makes a low growly sound. “I know.” I say. “Seems crazy to me, too.”
The next two minutes tick by second by second. I tell myself I’m worried about hypothermia, not missing her quiet presence.
When I finally get up, Rusty bounds for the door, shooting out ahead of me. I deliberately make the door opening loud, so I don’t surprise her. When her face turns toward me, I see her eyes crinkle up with a smile, so I make growling sounds and stomp out the door.
She lets out a shriek and stands up like she’s going to run. “It’s a bear,” she yells. She pretends another scream, and I scoop her up and swing her in a circle. She’s laughing and still fake screaming, so I growl some more and act like I’m going to bite her. Rusty is jumping up and down next to us, and when she looks over at him, she gets a hefty lick on her other cheek. Then she laughs even harder.
I carry her back inside and toss her on the bed. We’re both still laughing. She pushes herself up, yanks off the hat, and throws it at me. “Get back, bear!”
I catch it in midair. The beanie comes flying at me next. I catch the gloves one at a time, growling louder. Rusty is jumping on and off the bed, barking at us both. I try to juggle everything into one hand, and her coat hits me dead in the face. Lorelai breaks out in peals of laughter, and I’d do anything to keep her laughing.
I drop everything and stomp over to the bed. I grab the edges of her scarf, still growling. “Bet you’re a tasty chipmunk.” I pull the scarf and lean down like I’m going to bite her, but her face tips up at the same time and I misjudge the distance.
Our mouths touch and everything stills. All sound disappears. Only her mouth exists. Her lips are cool under mine, still slightly open with laughter. My tongue dives in on its own, and there’s a second of panic. I shouldn’t— Her tongue flicks softly, the friction against mine like fiery sizzles from a Fourth of July sparkler, and whatever I was thinking blurs away.
I feel her hands slide across my shoulders and one moves to press behind my neck. The edges of the scarf fall from my hands, and I wrap my arms around her waist, lifting her closer. Her tongue gets bolder, and I’m suddenly starving for the taste of her.
I pillage her mouth, and she is like frosted berries, cool at first, then warming and melting. I suck her tongue farther into my mouth. Her teeth scrape my lip and that sends a dark shiver straight to my cock. I press her body against me, and her softness melds to fit my shape.
One of my hands is under her shirt now, her hands are furrowed into my hair. There’s already no air between us, but the need to get closer is razor sharp. I slide one hand under her ass and press her harder against me. My cock is pulsing, desperate to plunge into her channel.
We make our own friction in small movements to the guitar chords of One Hell of an Amen. Brantley Gilbert crooning “Be well my friend,” somehow filters through the haze of flames licking inside me. My brain is screaming something at me the rest of my body isn’t comprehending. The chorus starts over again, and I pause. I pause just long enough for me to recognize my ringtone. Cell service is back up.
I set Lorelai back down on the edge of the bed and back up enough to clear my head. The tune wraps again, and I turn and grab my phone from the side table by the recliner. “What?” is all I can get out.
“Mr. Carlo? It’s Sharon.”
Silence stretches out too long while I search my memory for the name. My head is still filled with the heat from Lorelai’s tongue.
“Sharon from The Maine Cabin”s office.” I”m grateful when she fills in the blank for me.
“Right. Yes. Sharon.”
“Just checking to make sure you and Rusty made it through the storm okay. It’s going to take another day or two ‘til they get the plows out.”
“Yeah,” I run a hand over my face, still trying to focus. “No, we’re good here. Didn’t even lose power.”
“Great. Well, I’ll let you get back to it. See you in a couple of days.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I press the End button and just stare at my phone for a long minute, pulling myself back into reality. A reality that doesn’t include making out with an injured girl almost sixteen years younger. “Hooking up” is not something I do.
I brace myself and look over at Lorelai. She holds my gaze for a second then gives me a slight smile. She slides off the bed and starts picking up the discarded outerwear. I don’t know what I expected from her, but it wasn’t this wordless acceptance that the moment was over.
I feel like I need to say something, but I’m not sure what. I’m saved by the text chime on my phone pinging in again and again, so I sit and start answering the backlog of messages. I return a couple of calls that I keep short and sweet. I send some photos I took of Rusty and the snowstorm to Trev to show Emilie and his little Becca.
I notice Lorelai makes no calls. If she receives messages, her devices must be set to silent. She doesn’t even check them.
She does pull a worn deck of cards out of her pack once I’m done with my calls and asks if I want to play Rummy. We definitely need a distraction from the heat still lingering in the air.
We play a few hands of Gin Rummy. Then I teach her War. Well, Battle. I took the British name for the game when Emilie wanted to learn to play cards, and war was not a word I wanted my daughter to associate with fun.
And it is fun. Lorelai gets into the competitive spirit and plays her cards with enthusiasm. She slaps down her winning cards and pretend-pouts over her losing ones. When she wins the first hand, she stands up and spins on her almost-good leg and loses her balance. She stumbles right into my lap.
I set her back on her feet, and we both laugh until I snort. She looks at me trying not to laugh again and drops back into her seat. She hides her face, but I can see her shoulders shaking. I laugh again and her giggles burst out. Her laugh turns into champagne bubbles dancing in my chest.
Her smile is brilliant and my eyes sting like looking into the sun too long. I feel my smile stretching across my face at her antics, at the fun of the day, at the laughter I can’t help but feel is so rare for her. I know I must look like an idiot. But she doesn’t care, so I don’t care.