Chapter Twenty Nomi #2
“Yes,” I breathe, even though it’s an outright lie because I want more.
It’s a steamy eighty-five degrees, but the tops of my breasts are covered in goose bumps from the nearness of his palms, my nipples so tight, they ache.
His careful, life-saving hands feel like they could end mine with a simple slip of his finger beneath the warm cuff of spandex encircling my thigh, finding where I burn for him, dipping within, stroking me until I come nestled in the warm confines of his chest.
Jesus, this got out of control fast. We’re barely five hours into this weekend, and I’m ready to scream PUMPKIN!
and drag him by the hair back to the cottage.
But haven’t I been aching for him since he carried me to Patient Room #2 and stepped between my legs, cheeks blushing, and pressed the flat of his hand against me, hard?
Haven’t I wanted him even longer than that, when he drew me nervously into his arms in the back of the debate team van our senior year and pressed a dozen fervent kisses into my hair, my neck, my mouth?
We were so young, but the chemistry of us reacted just as violently then as it does now.
It may kill me to admit it, but I’ve always been drawn to this tense, difficult man who feels everything so furiously, even, and especially, his desire for me.
Before I can turn and straddle his lap with God and this motel pool’s intoxicated revelers as our witness, I bolt upright, shuck off my sandals, and launch myself into the biting cold water.
Julian splashes next to me an instant later, and our slick limbs slide against each other’s as we tread in place.
When I try and fail to unseat Graham from his unicorn float, Julian turns and offers his back to me.
“Here, ride me instead.”
Eve crows, and I pelt her with a beach ball right in her face.
From Julian’s back, of course. I’m not passing up an opportunity to attach myself to him like a horny koala.
This devolves into an all-out game of pool dodgeball, with everyone sloshing for cover and laughing wildly.
Julian’s cutthroat tendencies serve us well, but I’d be lying if I pretended to care more about destroying Eve and Graham than relishing every bounce, every slow grind and smooth slide of our pool-chilled bodies against each other.
When the Jell-O shots run out and the sun’s sunk low in the horizon, the party breaks off into clumps, with us trailing behind Eve and Graham and their friends toward Surfside Pier.
The pots de créme have hit in full glory, their effects buoyed further by the spiked water ice we drank, staining our lips and tongues a bright cherry red.
The evening breeze ruffles the hem of my sundress, tickling the backs of my thighs, as we lose our friends to various rides and snack lines, and in Eve’s case, the Whack-a-mole game.
“She’ll be there until she earns enough tickets to buy whatever stuffed animal’s the biggest.”
Julian shakes his head in admiration. “Eve’s my hero.”
The pale-blue palette of his eyes reflects the reds, oranges, and golds of the pier’s blinking lights, his black curls never wilder and more alive than in the ocean’s humid, salty breeze.
His face is open and relaxed and, best of all, curious, which I’ve come to realize is Julian’s most natural, purest state of being.
“You’ve never been to Wildwood?” I nudge him slightly with my arm, bringing those kaleidoscope eyes down to mine, where I like them best.
“Nope. Mom’s a Cape May type.”
“No!” I press my hand against my chest. Don’t get me wrong, Cape May is lovely and magical, but it’s for grown-ups.
It’s candy-colored Victorian inns, interminable waits for brunch, and high-end beach boutiques.
The magic of summer lives here, complete with booty shorts and questionable aquariums. It’s rowdy and happy and cheap enough for folks to enjoy. Cape May doesn’t even have a boardwalk.
I stop dead in my tracks. “So that means you’ve never ridden the Runaway Tram Car?”
Julian frowns. “What’s that?” The real tram car, a yellow and blue institution, passes us then, car after car toting the drunk, elderly, young, and whiny up and down the boardwalk. “It doesn’t seem like it’s running away.”
I blink at him, then yank him by the hand until we reach the best roller coaster on the Jersey Shore. “Prepare to be amazed.”
“Oh, no. I don’t do roller coasters. Ever.”
“This one isn’t scary—it’s just fast and fun. Even little kids love it. You’ll be fine!”
Julian’s eyebrows raise in alarm. “I really have to do this?”
I stand on my tiptoes to whisper into his ear, “You do if you want to keep holding my hand.”
We both look down at our joined hands, his so much bigger than my own, and he squeezes it tightly.
With a deep breath in, he follows me through the turnstiles, never letting me go.
When we’re seated in the tiny blue car, and the lap bar descends over us, he checks my bar to make sure it’s locked in position, then his, then mine, this his, then both at once.
Laughing, I take his hand back firmly in mine.
With wide eyes, he clutches me tight, and then the train’s off, chugging up the small hill before looping sideways into a quick downward rush, and Julian’s screaming, louder than all the kids combined.
But as the train lifts and falls, then dips sideways again, his screams transform into wild shrieks of laughter.
I watch him, grinning, as he vocalizes more joy than I’ve ever heard him make, his eyes bright and glazed from the whip of the wind.
Our train re-enters the station where we boarded, and he’s grinning now, too.
“That was amazing, you were—wha?!” His words fall away as the train suddenly jolts forward again, beginning its second full lap of the track. “Again?!”
“It goes twice!”
I laugh into the sunset skies as my heart lifts and leaps, right along his.