Chapter 32
MAGGIE
‘So, who are your pen pals?’ Jack asks, covering his mouth as he speaks, eyes on the postcards above the sofa. I turn my head, looking at them.
‘No pen pals.’ I smile. ‘Just a hobby. I sometimes clean houses before estate sales. I found a stack of them in the bin, and it felt wrong to get rid of them.’ I reach out and unstick one from above the sofa. ‘This is my favourite: New York in winter.’ I turn the card over: ‘Wish you were here, L.’
‘Have you ever been?’
‘To New York?’ I laugh and shake my head. ‘No.’ I change the subject because the truth is, I will never be able to go. ‘Too many people, too many thoughts. You?’
‘Once or twice. But not for a while.’
He tells me about Central Park, about Macy’s at Christmas, about the Empire State Building, which leads me on to Sleepless in Seattle and An Affair to Remember. ‘I shouldn’t have had that third slice,’ I say rubbing my full stomach. ‘And the cookie.’
Jack folds the lid over the leftovers. ‘I’ll put the rest in the fridge. Breakfast of champions,’ he adds over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen.
I reach over, flapping the book when he sits down on the sofa. ‘Ready?’
‘When you are.’
‘I’m not the best reader…’ I begin and wince at my lack of tact.
‘Makes two of us.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You don’t have to do that, you know.’ He pulls at his earlobe, shifts the cushion behind him. ‘It’s one of the things I like; you say what’s on your mind.’
‘Well, I like to even the playing field.’ Christ it feels good to be able to say things like that to him.
I smile over, then look down at the page.
‘In my younger and more vulnerable years…’ I begin.
Jack leans back, his head tilted and a slow smile easing across his face as I read.
As I near the end of the first chapter my back is starting to ache and I crick my neck.
Jack stretches his arm along the sofa. ‘Would you like to…’ He rubs his hand across his mouth. ‘Shit, I can’t think of a better way to say this, and I hate this word, but cuddle?’ I snort, he’s practically squirming as he says the word.
‘I’d… yes. I think I would quite like to “cuddle”. Promise me, you’ll say if you need space though?’
‘You mean if I start thinking inappropriate thoughts about what I would like to do to you?’
Heat rushes over my skin.
‘You’re blushing,’ he says, looking at me with a mixture of desire and amusement. ‘I promise to try and keep my mind on Gatsby.’
‘You might not be able to.’
‘Given the way I feel about you, Maggie, I doubt that too.’ He shifts and I ease myself beside him. We’re still not touching. His arm is stretched along the back of the couch.
‘Ready?’ I ask, positioning myself next to him, waiting to lean back against his arm. I can feel Jack trying to keep his thoughts as neutral as possible. I burst out laughing as I lean against him.
‘What?’ I shift away so we’re not touching again.
‘Your milkshakes bringing all the boys to the yard, again?’
‘I literally have no idea why that’s still in my head.’
‘Just… relax, OK? I’ll move away if I’m uncomfortable.’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘Ready?’
‘My milkshake brings…’ he starts singing quietly, but there is a grin as he does it. ‘I’m ready.’
I lean back into the crook of his arm.
Thank you.
For trusting me.
I don’t reply. If he could hear my thoughts, they’d be nothing but a jumble: how nice it is to touch his skin, to feel safe in his arms, to feel wanted, despite the person I am. His hand drops gently over my shoulder and I turn the page. Jack’s voice reverberates through me.
Focus.
Try to read the words on the page.
Come on, you can do this.
I hear his need and concentration as he tries to decipher the words. A line of lyrics from Bob Dylan and another song I’m unfamiliar with.
‘Could you… guide my finger?’ Jack says aloud. ‘Beneath the words? It’ll help me keep my focus on the words and the book, rather than the way…’
I want to kiss the top of your shoulder.
I try to hide the flush of heat that is no doubt visibly creeping across my neck. I take his hand.
‘Like this?’
His hand is warm beneath mine.
‘Yes.’
I follow his finger along the top of the next page. ‘Their interest rather touched me…’
Their, i…
Where is the dot above the i?
I stop. Go back to the ‘I’. ‘Here.’ I drag his finger over the stem of the letter, dotting it with a pop.
I continue following the letters with my fingers, a smile on my lips.
You smell like lemon.
‘Concentrate, Jack,’ but I’m smiling.
I take his finger over the ‘t’. There is a spark, a burst of excitement from Jack’s voice in my head.
Wait was that a ‘t’?
‘Yes!’ I retrace the letter again, taking my time and lifting his finger off the page before crossing the letter.
Lost it.
‘You’ll find it again.’ I twist my head, looking up at him. His emotion switches, from joy to desire.
Can I… milkshake. Boys. Yard. Sorry.
‘You’re going to have to come up with a better song. Back to the book, Jack.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl”?’
‘Sorry. I’m trying but—’
‘Words, Jack. Focus on the page.’
‘Right.’
‘Close your eyes. It helped before.’
‘“It. Seemed. To. Me…”’
S-ee
‘S?’ he asks.
‘Yep!’
‘Holy shit.’
He closes his eyes and I can hear him trying to find the letter again.
As he concentrates on the letters, I occasionally hear a burst of classical music, or an image of something you would buy from an old-fashioned candy shop.
But then there is a tear in his thoughts, like the letter has fallen into a void.
‘How about, we stop for now, and I just read to you?’
‘I can keep trying. It’s working.’
‘You’re getting frustrated. You were relaxed when you saw the letters.’
‘You’re right.’ I release his hand. He lifts it and it drops to my bare skin.
There is a jolt, a pulsing of energy through me.
He begins making slow circles on my skin.
I can feel the outline of the letter: ‘s’.
I don’t say anything; I’m battling with my own desire and the little sparks his finger-tracing is leaving on my skin.
Jack’s thoughts have quietened. I read until the end of the paragraph then close the book, turning back to him.
‘Why did you stop?’ he asks, with a hint of a frown.
‘Because right now, I’m the one who is finding it hard to focus.’ My eyes drop to his mouth. ‘I want…’ I meet his eyes. There is a flicker of curiosity. ‘Can I kiss you?’
The words in his mind and the ones he speaks are almost simultaneous.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ In one movement, I’m on his knee, my arms around his neck. Like before our thoughts collide: heat simmers, need aches, want and desire pools in my stomach, as my tongue tentatively licks the tip of his.
Oh Christ.
We lose ourselves in the kiss, Jack’s thoughts and my own bouncing off each other as his mouth presses against mine. His arms wrap around me, tighter. I can feel the strength of his biceps, feel the softness of my skin beneath his fingers.
You.
Taste like home.
More.
Stop.
No. Please.
Oh God.
His thoughts take form, no longer just words, but a whirlwind of images: a sense of apprehension battling against an image of my bare skin, the bones of my clavicle.
He pulls back. ‘Do you want me to stop?’
I can feel him trying to control his thoughts.
‘No. I don’t want you to stop.’
Excruciatingly slowly, he pulls back my hair, his warm lips skimming my collarbone.
‘You smell like lemons, like…’
Sunshine. Christ don’t say that… Shit.
‘Sunshine?’ I raise my eyebrow at him.
‘Sorry. For someone who spent their life surrounded by words, you’d think I could come up with something better.’
‘Stop talking, Jack.’ He lifts me, hands skirting along my spine.
I can feel him swollen beneath his jeans.
I’ve never felt lust like this. My hands reach up into his thick hair.
I tug gently. His face lifts, mouth back on mine.
My legs tighten around him. I pull back, cross my arms over my body and lift my jumper over my head.
A string of words clash in Jack’s mind, a sense of awe, attraction, need.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he says. His voice is husky. He didn’t need to say it; I can hear the way he feels. He lifts my hair, makes a pathway of kisses along my neck. He brings his mouth away.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
He holds my face in his hands, eyes searching mine. I can feel him trying to reorganise his thoughts, trying to form a sentence but the words are tripping over themselves.
Too fast.
‘It’s not. Too fast. I want this. I want you.’
I want you too.
‘I don’t want to rush things. We’re just getting to know each other.’
‘You’re not rushing me. This is my choice.’
Our mouths meet, and we’re lost again, in the taste of us. I pull back.
‘I want you to take me to bed, Jack.’ His eyes widen a touch, a flash of desire sparking behind them.
‘I… believe me, there is nothing that I want more, but—’
‘We’ve wasted enough time already.’
‘You’re certain?’
I take a beat. Not because I’m doubting my decision, but because I want to feel and experience this moment, let it anchor me in this new place full of security and hope. Because with him, it’s so different.
Because I know what he thinks; I know what is in his heart.
So when he repeats the question, I know without any doubt that it’s what he wants too. I don’t need to take my time replying. Every part of me is yearning for his touch. ‘Yes.’
I’ve never wanted anything, anyone more.