12. James
12
JAMES
T he ocean stretches out before us, a shimmering expanse of blue. The boat rocks gently beneath our feet as I steer us out of the harbor. Bianca stands beside me, her braids catching the breeze, a smile tugging at her lips.
"So, you're a sailor now?" she teases, glancing up at me.
"Always have been," I say, adjusting the sail. "I grew up doing this."
"Really? You never mentioned it back in college."
I shrug, the memories flooding back. "We were busy with other... activities."
She laughs, the sound blending with the calls of seagulls overhead. "True."
We sail further out, the city skyline fading behind us. The water glistens under the sun, and I can't help but revel in the sense of peace that washes over me. It's been too damn long since I've been out here.
"This is amazing," Bianca says, leaning against the railing. "I get why you love it."
After a while, I turn to her. "You know, this isn't just about sailing for me. It's... it's about clearing my head. Finding clarity."
"Clarity about what?" Her eyes search mine, curiosity piqued.
"Everything," I say simply. "Life. Work. Relationships."
She looks down at her hands, then back up at me. "And have you found any?"
"Maybe." I take a step closer to her, the pull between us intensifying.
"I've really missed you all these years, Bia. And I'm so damn glad to be able to see you again," I admit, as a weight lifts from my chest. The words come out rough, honest.
She looks up at me, her eyes softening. "I missed you too, James."
She steps closer, and I can smell the faint hint of vanilla in her hair. My arm wraps around her waist, pulling her tight against me. The tension between us is electric, almost tangible.
My eyes dip to her mouth. "You know, it's like no time has passed at all."
"Yeah?" She raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "I was worried you'd forgotten about me."
"Impossible." My thumb brushes against her hip, the warmth of her skin radiating through the fabric of her dress. "How could I forget someone who haunted my dreams?"
Her breath hitches, and she leans in closer, our foreheads nearly touching. "I guess I'm unforgettable."
"Damn right," I murmur before closing the gap between us. Our lips meet in a rush of heat and familiarity. It's like coming home after years of wandering.
She tastes like memories and promises unkept. My hand slides up her back, tangling in her braids as I deepen the kiss. She responds with equal fervor, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
I press her against the railing, our bodies aligning perfectly. My hands explore the familiar terrain of her curves, gripping her waist, sliding up her back. Bianca moans into my mouth, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging slightly. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity down my spine.
"James," she gasps as I pull back slightly, just enough to catch my breath. Her lips are swollen from our kiss, her eyes dark with desire.
"I've missed this. Missed you," I murmur, tracing the line of her jaw with my thumb.
Her eyes soften for a moment before the heat returns. "Show me how much."
With a growl, I capture her lips again, our tongues battling for dominance. She bites my lower lip, and I respond by lifting her onto the railing, pressing her hips against mine. The boat sways beneath us, adding to the heady mix of sensations.
"You're driving me crazy," I say against her mouth.
"Good," she replies breathlessly.
I pull back again, both of us panting, our foreheads resting together. "How about we take this somewhere more private?"
She raises an eyebrow. "And where would that be?"
"My place," I suggest. "I'll cook for you."
She laughs, the sound bright and teasing. "You? Cook? You were terrible in college."
I smirk, leaning in to nip at her earlobe. "I’m serious. I've learned a few things since then."
She eyes me skeptically but can't hide her amusement. "Alright, Mr. Chef. Let's see if you've really improved."
"I promise you won't be disappointed," I say, helping her down from the railing.
As we sail back toward the harbor, the tension between us doesn't dissipate—it simmers just below the surface. Every brush of our hands as we work together to dock the boat sends sparks flying.
Once we're securely tied up, I help Bianca off the boat and into my car. The drive to my place is filled with easy conversation and stolen glances that promise more than words ever could.
By the time we arrive at my apartment, I'm practically vibrating with anticipation. As soon as we're inside, I turn to face her. "Welcome back to Casa de James."
She chuckles. "We'll see if your cooking skills match your confidence."
I pour a generous glass of wine and hand it to Bianca, who accepts it with a grateful smile. She takes a sip, her eyes watching me as I move around the kitchen.
"So, Mr. Chef, what’s on the menu?" she asks, leaning against the counter, looking far too comfortable and beautiful.
"Steak and risotto," I reply, winking at her. "A little something I picked up in New York."
She raises an eyebrow. "Risotto, huh? That's ambitious."
"Ambitious is my middle name," I say with a grin, turning back to the stove. The smell of garlic and butter fills the air as I sauté the onions.
Bianca laughs softly, taking another sip of her wine. "I remember you burning toast back in college."
"Hey, I've come a long way since then," I retort, stirring the rice into the pan. "Besides, it's not about how you start; it's about how you finish."
"Smooth," she teases. "Very smooth."
We continue to banter as I cook, the conversation flowing easily between us. It's so natural, like we never lost touch. It’s as if she never even left.
"Remember that time we tried to make pasta from scratch?" she asks, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
I groan theatrically. "Yup. There was flour everywhere. And we ended up ordering pizza instead."
She giggles. "Yeah, that was a disaster."
"But a fun one," I add, turning to face her. "Like most things we did together."
Her expression softens, and she nods. "Yeah, it was fun."
The risotto is coming together nicely now, the rice creamy and rich with flavor. I plate the steak and add a generous portion of risotto beside it.
"Moment of truth," I say, setting her plate in front of her with a flourish.
She looks down at the dish, clearly impressed. "Wow, James. This looks... perfect."
"Taste it," I urge.
Bianca picks up her fork and takes a bite of the risotto. Her eyes widen in surprise as she savors the flavors.
"Damn," she says after swallowing. "This is amazing."
"Told you I've improved," I say smugly, taking a seat across from her.
We eat together, sharing bites and laughter. Everything is comfortable and intimate in a way that catches me off guard.
She meets my gaze over the rim of her glass. There's something in her eyes—something warm and familiar that stirs up old feelings I've tried to bury for years.
As we eat our meal, I'm struck by how easy it is to be with her again. It's like slipping into an old habit that's so much better than anything new I've tried since.
Bianca's eyes linger on mine. The warmth of the room, combined with the wine and the lingering taste of our dinner, makes everything surreal. The air between us is charged, thick with unspoken words.
"James," she starts, her voice hesitant. "Do you ever think about... what if things had been different?"
I take a sip of my wine, buying myself a moment to gather my thoughts. "All the time," I admit. "But things happened the way they did for a reason."
She nods slowly, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. "I know. It's just... back then, it felt like everything was right when we were all together."
A part of me wants to agree wholeheartedly. The memories of us—me, Alex, Liam, and Bianca—are some of the best I've ever had. But there's another part that reminds me we're not those carefree college students anymore.
"Things have changed," I say, my voice firm but gentle.
"Yeah," she whispers, looking down at her plate.
I reach across the table, placing my hand over hers. "But that doesn't mean we can't make new memories."
She looks up, a small smile playing on her lips. "You're right."
For a moment, we just sit there, the connection between us palpable. The questions in her eyes mirror my own thoughts. Could things ever work between us without Alex and Liam? The idea is foreign yet intriguing.
"So," she says as she sets down her fork, "what's for dessert?"
I lean back in my chair, smirking at her. "I've got a few ideas."