Chapter 20
TJ
INDECISIVE LOSER
Somehow, I find myself sitting alone in my studio again, holding my old guitar. For the last half hour, I’ve been staring at this old piece of wood, turning it over in my hands, thinking about all the memories we’ve shared.
I remember learning to play on this guitar. I remember the feeling of having something of my own that went from foster home to foster home with me. I remember the way she smiled when I tried to teach her a couple chords.
But most of all, I remember the feeling of her lips on mine, the smell of her lavender shampoo, and the way she looked at me through her bangs with unfettered longing in her beautiful emerald eyes.
Shit. Those perfect, heart stopping eyes that feel like they cut right through me and strip away every facade I could ever try to put up around her.
For the first time tonight, I saw worry — no — terror in them when she broke my guitar. I can’t believe she thought I’d be mad about it. That’s not me. I couldn’t care less about things like that.
What I do care about is her. Maybe it’s time I start thinking about what I should do next. Maybe I should give her more credit. Hell, she clearly wants me and isn’t shy about it. And god knows I want her.
Part of the reason I’m drawn to her is because she seems like such an old soul, not bothered by things that most people seem to obsess over.
Yeah, I need to talk to her.
I get off my stool, setting the cracked guitar back on its stand by the window. Stepping up to the glass, I see the lights in the guesthouse are on.
Damnit. I hope she’s not inside because there’s a problem with the power for her van heater. Grabbing my phone, I shoot her a text.
Me: Are you still up?
I watch as three dots appear, disappear and reappear for what feels like an eternity.
Maybe she’s pissed at me for being an indecisive loser.
Or maybe she didn’t buy it that I’m truly not mad about the guitar.
I’m about to start spiraling when my phone buzzes and her name flashes across the screen, prompting me to fumble my phone and nearly toss it right into the window. I secure it and bring it to my ear.
“Oh, hey. I guess you are still up.” Real cool, Tommy. Real fucking cool.
She hums to herself and I can just picture her fluffing her bangs with a puff of air. I instantly find myself thinking about how she just had the tip of my thumb between her lips and what it would feel like to have my aching cock between them.
“Yep. I guess you are too.” Her voice is almost breathy.
“Is everything OK with your van? You can use the guesthouse if you need somewhere to sleep and I can get the electrician or a repairman out in the morning.”
I stand in front of the window, anxiously watching for motion in the guesthouse.
I don’t want to be a creep and just constantly look for her, but I need to know she’s safe.
Finally, an amused laugh comes across the line.
“The van’s fine. I just want to get a long, hot shower. I really need to unwind.”
Shit. Maybe she is still worried. “I told you. Don’t beat yourself up about the guitar. It’s just bits and pieces.”
She scoffs. “I know, I believe you. That’s not why I need to unwind.” A second passes before she speaks again. “I see you’re still in the studio, Tommy.”
What the hell does she mean? And she called me Tommy? My eyes search the guesthouse windows when I see her tall, dark silhouette step toward the window.
I wave. I wave like a dumbass. Who waves to someone that just had your thumb in their mouth?
“Taking advantage of your benefits package I see.”
“Something like that.” Her tone shifting from amused to almost playful. “This job does have lots of perks.”
I’m about to come up with some witty retort when I see her step all the way up to the window, completely in the light now, giving me one, subtle wave back.
At least I feel a little less dumb for waving now, but that’s the least of my problems.
My heart stops at the sight of her, wearing nothing but that pair of tiny plaid sleep shorts and little cami again. I remember how perfect it felt to have her fall asleep, dressed in that, in my arms. I remember how much I wanted to just stay there the next morning and watch her wake up.
I pry myself out of that memory, clearing my head and hopelessly trying to not picture her wearing even less. “I told you, make yourself at home. Use that shower as much as you want. Move into the guesthouse if you want. I don’t mind.”
“More perks of the job?” she asks playfully. “I do really like that shower. Is yours bigger?”
Jesus. Christ. She is fucking with me like a cat playing with its prey.
“You’re welcome to come use it and see,” I say, trying to not sound too desperate, but more like my usual, confident self. If I’m going to have any shot with her, I need to get out of my own head.
She lets out a dismissive hum. “No, it’s late. I’m sure you’re tired. I think I’ll stay here and get in the shower.”
Before I realize what’s happening, I watch as she holds her phone in the crook of her neck, stretching her arms out to lift her cami up and over her head. She never looks away from the studio window, telling me she knows full well that I’m watching.
My eyes rake over her, taking in the sight. Even from this far away, I can see the clear dip of her waist, how full her tits are, and those beautiful tattoos running down her body.
I already know this image will be burned into my psyche, just like that time at the river, for as long as I live.
Unlike that time though, this feels different. That time, I hardly knew her. She caught me completely by surprise. She was just being her goofy, shameless self, clearly indifferent to my presence on the river with her.
This time, she damn well knows what she’s doing to me.
“Rainbow.” My voice drops low and I can hear my own desperation in it. I want to say more, but the pathways between my brain and mouth stop functioning, probably having something to do with the amount of blood rushing to my cock.
Suddenly, my normally comfortable joggers feel far too restrictive.
Actually, everything feels too restrictive.
The one very clear thought that runs through my mind is that I wish there weren’t two panes of glass and fifty feet of patio between us.
But my legs freeze and I stand there, just admiring her, not knowing what I should do.
I hear a long sigh come through the phone that borders on a moan.
“It’s too bad you can’t get your shit together, Tommy,” she sounds breathy and flirty and lingers on my name, the one I don’t let anyone call me except her, “because I know what I want and I don’t mind giving it to myself.”
I’m not sure what she means until I watch helplessly, with what might as well be an ocean between us, when she slides a hand down into her sleep shorts. “Tell me. Do you think you’ll figure out what you want soon?”
“Fuck. Rainbow,” I say, pressing a palm against the window, grinding my pulsing erection against the glass through my joggers, desperately needing any friction. “I’m trying. I told you, it’s not that simple.”
Well, that’s a half-truth. For my painfully throbbing cock, it’s extremely simple right now.
“I wish you could make it simple,” she says between labored breaths.
The sound of her breathing sends chills through me, heightening every little feeling in my body.
I run my hand over the front of my pants, grinding my palm against my dick, only making my need for her even worse.
Shit, I’d settle for making out and dry humping on the couch right now if she’d let me.
I’d probably come just from that judging by the precum I can already feel through my joggers.
“I want you. I mean it. Yes. I fucking want you.” Finally, my brain starts to function and get on the same page as my heart and the rest of my body.
She hums again before I hear her whimper. “Good, that’s what I wanted to hear to help me unwind.”
“Do you want me to come over?” I ask, suddenly regaining enough of my brain power to form a sentence, still pressing myself against the window, reveling in her stunning, unrestrained lust and confidence.
“No, I don’t think you can come fast enough,” she says, her breaths getting louder and shorter. I strain to get a closer look at her in the window and I see the quickening, movements of her wrist at the waistband of her shorts.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“Are you fingering yourself, in my guesthouse, for me to watch?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
Even from here in my studio, from fifty feet away, I can see the wide grin on her face, matching the laugh that comes through the phone. “I already told you. I knew what I wanted and I’m going to give it to myself.”
She has made her point. She’s perfectly fine without me if I can’t make up my own damn mind.
“Now say it again.”
This time, I don’t hesitate.
“I want you. I’m tired of trying to dance around it.
We can talk about it, we can figure out what this looks like, but all I know is I need you.
” The confession pours out of me and for the first time in weeks, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders.
That doesn’t stop the tension in my body, the need for release growing to an impossibly frustrating, urgent level.
I squeeze my thighs together, craving that pressure on my tight balls — I’m going to take care of as soon as I can get to my own shower.
I stop and watch as she drops the phone from her ear and her eyes shut. I can see her body shutter as she finds her release, collapsing against the window and throwing her head back.
“Tommy.” My name is one long, breathy moan.
My cock is so fucking hard it’s painful and I grind myself against the glass, desperately wishing she was breathing my name against me. Her words, that friction, the sight of her making herself come from hearing that I need her, it’s all too much. I need more. I need—
No. No fucking way.
I feel my body uncoil, coming so hard in my joggers I drop the phone, bracing myself against the window.
“Fuck!” I can’t control myself around her. I can’t think straight. I can’t keep my cock from getting hard. I can’t even keep myself from coming like a horny teenage boy. As much as I want things to be simple with her from now on, I’m back to wondering if that’s possible.
I quickly collect myself and grab my phone, hoping she didn’t hear me or worse, see that I just blew in my damn pants. Hopefully she was too busy coming down from her own release to notice that.
Putting the phone back to my ear, I look across the patio and spot her in the window.
She’s sitting on the floor, her back to me.
Her long, color streaked hair hangs over her shoulders, blending into the colors of the floral tattoo running down her side and over her shoulder.
“Thanks for that. I needed it.” Her voice is content and relaxed.
“I think I’m going to go get that shower and clean up now. ”
“Have fun,” I say, trying not to sound out of breath, enjoying the view of her with her back to me. “And I meant it, we’ll talk about whatever this is.”
Somehow, admitting that there’s a this between us feels like another important weight off my shoulders.
She lets out a cute little giggle and I can see her shoulders rise and fall. I can’t make myself look away from her, admiring every little beautiful detail. “We’ll see. I already had plenty of fun, but talking sounds good.”
This time, I’m the one huffing out a low, gruff laugh. “Night, Rainbow. See you tomorrow.”
“See you later, Boss,” she teases, before standing and walking away from the window. I shamelessly enjoy the view of the curves of her ass hanging out of those skimpy shorts and how her long hair hangs just above the small of her back.
This fucking woman. She owns me.
She owns me and she doesn’t even realize just how much she does.
Somehow, I can’t make a decision again. It seems to be a recurring theme for me lately. I spent the morning at the gym downtown trying to burn off some pent up energy and work on my clearly lacking stamina. Now, I’m sitting in the locker room staring at my phone.
Should I call her? Should I text her? I said we can talk and she said that’d be good, but is that coming on too strong?
I tried to find her this morning, but her van was gone before the sun came up.
If I had to guess, she’s probably out skiing.
Either way, I have no fucking clue how to talk to a woman now, much less a wild one like Grace.
With one hand, I run my fingers through my damp hair, and in my other, my thumb hovers over her contact info when my phone buzzes.
My pulse quickens, hoping it’s her and she made my decision for me, but that hope quickly fades when I see my brother’s name scroll across the screen.
I click answer and bring it to my ear. “Yes?”
A single laugh comes through the phone. “Is that how you greet your favorite brother?”
I shake my head, a grin spreading across my face. “My only brother, so my favorite and least favorite. What’s up?”
“Not too much. I was taking care of sending out the last of the donations to the organizations Grace recommended,” he says matter of factly.
A moment passes, but he doesn’t say anything else so I guess I’m doing the conversational lifting on this call that he started. “So why are you calling me?”
“Did you know we used to give to Wasatch Wishes?” he asks bluntly.
It takes a second for my brain to register that name as the organization Grace used to work for.
“No, I didn’t. And what do you mean used to?” I emphasize those last two words, my tone taking on a serious note. “When did we stop? Why did we stop?” My mind races, wondering why he’s asking this and if we screwed something up.
“Woah. Slow down there, bud. I don’t think it’s a huge deal, but if you want to look into it, Grace has everything you’ll need.”
“No,” I cut him off. “Just send everything to me. Is that it?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll send it right over. You alright? You sound a little out of it.”
I sigh and palm my face before grabbing my shirt from my gym bag. “I’m fine. Just finishing up at the gym and didn’t get much sleep last night. I’ll be fine when I see you at the party this week though. Don’t worry.”
“Good,” he says, his tone more upbeat, “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind and planned to bail at the last minute.”
“Great. I need to get back to the house. See you soon.”
I hear him laughing on the other end when I hang up and put my phone away.
Maybe some time back in Seattle will be good for me.
Jake always seems to ground me and that’s just what I need right now.
I do need to talk to Grace, possibly about more than just whatever is going on between us.
But that can wait until she gets back to the house.