Tucker
I want to slap myself across the face—at least twice. Why am I nervous? Why is it so hard to find words all of a sudden?
Bypassing the kitchen, I walk into the bathroom and stop in front of the sink.
Hands planted firmly on the counter, I frown at my reflection.
“You need to pull yourself together. Quit acting like a teenage boy and grow a pair. You’re going to walk out of here and talk to the woman of your dreams like an adult; none of this tripping over your own words bullshit, alright?
” I slap the sink for good measure. “Alright.”
Two bottles of water in hand, I make my way back to the floor.
I watch silently as Gracie side-eyes the mechanical bull, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.
She takes a step toward it, hesitantly reaching her hand out.
Completely oblivious to the fact she’s got an audience of one, Gracie cautiously circles the fake animal, her palm never leaving its rump.
“Think you’ve still got what it takes to ride him?” Placing the waters on a bench, I cross my arms with a smirk.
Her head shoots up, gaze locking on my own. There’s a hint of challenge in her eyes. “If you think I’m getting on this,” she pats the fake bull, “you’re sorely mistaken.”
“I never pegged you for a scaredy cat, Gracie.” The old nickname rolls off my tongue before I realize what I’ve said.
This earns me a huff and an eye-roll, but thankfully I’m not ripped a new one for the slip up. “Scaredy cat? Really? You’ve spent too long around children.”
“Doesn’t make it untrue.”
She crosses her arms across her chest, mirroring me. “I’m not scared, I just don’t want to.”
“Mmm. I mean, it’s alright if you are. That little guy was pretty scared his first time, too.”
“You know what? Fine.” Gracie drops her arms and makes her way over to the larger bull, muttering something sounding very much like “I’ll show him,” as she goes.
I follow, glad to be behind her for two reasons: one, so she can’t see the smile I’m biting back, and two, so I can enjoy an uninterrupted and unjudged view of her from behind.
God, her body could end wars—and start them.
“You never were one to back down from a challenge. I’m glad to see some things never change. ”
She attempts a scowl over her shoulder, and I’m unable to hold the smile in any longer. “Glad to see your mad face hasn’t changed, either. It always was damn cute.”
Cute. Really, Beaumont? Probably not the best thing to call your ex. But ex never felt right, and still doesn’t. Yeah, technically we’re exes in every sense of the word, but it just leaves a weird taste in my mouth. I’ve always struggled with referring to her that way.
“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Gracie asks from atop the bull. Her right hand slides right under the bull rope, her fingers wrapping around it like it’s second nature. You’d hardly know it’s been over a decade since she rode.
“Earth to Tucker.” Gracie waves her free hand at me, and I realize I’ve been staring. Did she ask me a question?
“Mm?” is all I’m able to manage.
“I’ll take that as a yes?”
Sliding a hand along the side of my jaw, I try my best to remember what the hell she just asked me. It’s no use, I don’t have a damn clue. “What was the question?” I ask hesitantly, hoping she doesn’t think I’m a moron for making her repeat herself.
“Was cute meant to be a compliment? Because most thirty-year-olds don’t really want to be ‘cute’.” She uses air quotes with her free hand on the last word, grimacing a little.
I give her a two-finger salute. “Noted, Miss Clark. No further uses of cute.”
What the fuck has gotten into me? Why am I saluting? It’s like my whole body hasn’t the damnedest clue how to act around her. My brain short-circuits; my body does shit I’ve never done before. Lack of blood flow is probably to blame, given it all reroutes to my cock like a horny teenager.
“You ready to ride?”
A faint blush blooms across Gracie’s freckle-spotted cheeks as I walk toward her. She gives me a small nod.
“I’m gonna need you to use your words.” I watch as her grip on the rope visibly tightens with each word. I didn’t mean for it to sound so sexual, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love watching the way Gracie bites her lip, clearly interpreting it that way.
“Y-yes, I’m ready.” Her expression is tight-lipped, eyes focused ahead.
It’s not until I’m about to switch the bull on that I notice her thumb has slipped into her fist. Without thinking, I reach out and wrap my fist around hers.
Just like the last time, it feels second nature to touch her.
My heart races in my chest, my muscles unable to release the hold I have on her hand.
“You’ll break something with a grip like that.
” Her focus is broken then, those sapphire eyes staring at me intently.
Gracie’s eyes stray down and I follow suit, stopping where our skin meets.
Not wanting to break the spell, but also not wanting to push my luck, I gently slip her thumb out and place it across her pointer finger.
I let my hand linger for a moment before sliding it off, letting it hang loosely at my side.
I’m going to need a cold shower after this. “There, now you’re ready.”
I head back to the control panel, giving Gracie a thumbs up.
She returns it with a grin, and I hit the start button.
Three seconds in, she’s looking far too comfortable—her hips are rolling, slowly, in time with the bull, and it’s impossible to look away.
The way her entire body rolls and bends makes it look like she’s been doing this her whole life.
So naturally, I turn the dial up a few notches.
It’s not like I want her to fall, but I know she’s as competitive as they come, and she’d be on my ass if I didn’t make it a challenge.
Or at least the old Gracie would’ve; I’m not so sure about this one.
As the bull picks up speed, Gracie throws her arm into the air and lets out a whoop.
The grin splitting her face is carefree.
But I still can’t pull my attention from the way her hips move.
Not ten seconds later, her body lifts off the bull and her grip falters.
She plummets to the mat below, landing ungraciously on her ass.
I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh trying to escape, but instead I hear an almighty cackle coming from the floor.
Gracie lies there, flat on her back, face frozen in a laugh so carefree it nearly squeezes the life out of me.
My own laugh slips free, the contrasting tones mingling in the air between us.
Closing the gap between us in a few short strides, I reach down to help her up.
The laughter slowly fades as I haul Gracie to her feet.
Her hair looks significantly wilder than it did ten seconds ago, with several blonde strands crisscrossing over her face.
Yet again, I find my body drawn to hers, my fingertips brushing the wayward locks out of her eyes.
For the briefest moment, I worry I’ve gone one unsolicited touch too far.
But that worry dissipates as Gracie leans into my touch.
It’s brief, and barely noticeable, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t notice about her.
It takes a moment to realize I’m fixated on her mouth.
ache to kiss her with every fiber of my being, but the last thing I want to do is cross any unspoken boundaries—after all, we aren’t anything.
Not strangers and yet not friends, either.
No longer lovers, but something more than exes.
How do you describe what we are? There’s no—
Gracie’s soft lips suddenly ghosting over mine kill every train of thought.
She tastes like summer nights in the back of my truck, like her favorite peach iced tea, like a memory and a dream. She tastes like mine.
If you isolate the kiss itself, it’s simple—just two sets of lips pressed against one another; no tongues begging for entry, no teeth clashing with desire. But when you add in the fact that it’s us—two people who once thought they’d be inseparable for all time—it’s anything but simple.
Gracie breaks the kiss, dropping back to flat feet. Her wide eyes are trained on me. “Sorry,” she mutters, her fingertips coming up to graze her lips as she drops her gaze. “I don’t know why I did that.”
I’m not given the chance to reply, because she’s turning around and running for the door a moment later.
I’m left standing here alone, a million thoughts and questions racing through my mind.
I’m not usually one to overthink, but then again, I’ve never been able to think straight where Gracie is concerned.
The ramifications of our kiss, what it could lead to, stay on my mind long after she leaves.
“Focus on your heartbeat, letting your breath go with a sigh.”
The sound I elicit is less like a sigh and more like a frustrated grunt.
Not an entirely uncalled for reaction given I’ve listened to the same damn line—and podcast—three times tonight.
I can’t seem to shut my brain off. Grabbing a fistful of the pillow currently lying over my face, I sit up and put my full weight behind tossing it to the other end of my bedroom.
It hits the floor with a thud, but not before taking out a photo frame on its way.
“The purpose of this podcast is not—
The calming British voice cuts off abruptly when I slam my fingertip onto the pause button. Sorry, Stephen, but when you’ve heard the entire story the whole way through, the you’re not supposed to make it to the end line becomes a little lost on you.
With a huff, I throw myself back against the mattress, wondering who I pissed off enough upstairs to have sleep evade me like this.
If there is a God, he sure as hell ain’t on my side tonight.
That could be for the best, though, given the incredibly indecent thoughts I’ve had since the second Gracie kissed me.
I spent so many years hoping, praying, that I’d get the chance to once again know what her lips felt like against mine, how she tasted, how right it felt.
And now that I’ve had all of that again, even just for a moment?
There’s no way in hell I’m letting any of it go.
Not this time. I won’t be making the same mistake twice.
Continuing to let thoughts of Gracie swirl through my mind, I close my eyes and revel in the memories.
When her lips brushed mine, in the briefest and most innocent of ways, it struck a fire in me that hadn’t been lit for the longest time.
My hand wanders across my torso, goosebumps popping up along every inch of bare skin that my fingertips trace.
It’s easier than breathing to picture Gracie’s hand in place of my own as it slides beneath the waistband of my pants and toward my growing bulge.
My breath hitches almost painfully as I wrap my hand around the base of my cock and squeeze.
With my eyes still closed, I imagine it’s Gracie holding me in her grasp.
My mind races, trying to overtake the desperate beating of my own heart, as I picture her on her knees between my legs—ass up behind her, and a hand between her legs.
Would she whimper if I palmed the back of her head, begging her to take everything I have to give?
Or would she be the one begging for me to eat her like a last meal, or fuck her with everything I have?
Unable to get the right angle within the restraints of my pants, I tug them off and toss them onto the floor, but not without ungraciously getting a foot stuck, almost twisting a damn ankle in my haste.
My knees fall apart with their newfound freedom and I stroke my cock more fervently now, my thumb swiping the pre-cum from my tip and down my length.
My breath becomes ragged as I ramp up the pace.
I can feel the edge nearing, faster than it has in a long time.
I’m no longer in control of my hips as they buck of their own accord, thrusting my throbbing cock into my fist harder and faster.
My desire climbs to new heights when I picture her bent over my desk, cheeks flushed as she stares back at me in the mirror across from it.
Her sun-kissed skin would look so glorious draped across the white oak.
A vision of her sitting on my kitchen countertop pops into my head.
Knees spread, she’s got one hand tweaking her nipple while the other rolls around her clit, moaning my name with her head thrown back in ecstasy.
I could just watch, enjoying the sexiest show I’ve ever seen, but instead I picture myself sitting across from her on a dining chair, stroking my cock the same way I am right now.
Our groans and gasps would mingle in the air between us, and I’d beg her to open her eyes, to witness how impossibly hard she makes me.
I’d tell her all the ways I’d fuck her, make her scream my name, devour her until she’s completely spent beneath me.
And just as she’s about to get herself off, I’d lunge, my mouth descending on her dripping pussy.
I come on a garbled, almost incoherent moan, save for two syllables, “Gra-cie.”
As I slow my strokes, drawing out the last of my cum, her beautiful, smiling face is all I see.
I’m still trying to return my breathing to a normal rate, thanking the heavens for the distance between my place and the family home when my phone buzzes beside me, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.
Of all the people I’d expect a text from at 10:30 p.m. at night, Gracie is not one of them.
But her text lights up the screen, as though my moans were heard across town.
It’s been that long since we’ve called or texted one another that I didn’t realize I never changed her contact name.
Sweetheart
Taking a huge gamble and assuming this is still your phone number. If you want to carpool for the site visit tomorrow, I can pick you up at 8?
In case you deleted my number, this is Grace.
I don’t even care about the content of the text; I’m still hung up on the Sweetheart.
Once upon a time, I was saved in her phone under a similarly corny nickname.
I wonder if she tried to search Tucker and came up empty handed, resulting in the same realization I just had.
Is she feeling the same nostalgia, or did it cause her to feel the opposite?
In case you deleted my number.
Is she insane? Even if under diabolical circumstances I had deleted her number, it’s laughable that she’d think I didn’t have it committed to memory. I have everything about her committed to memory. There’s a Gracie sized folder taking up far too much real estate in my brain.
Me
There’s no deleting you, Gracie. I’ll pick you up at 8.
Sweetheart
Always have to be the driver.
Me
You make a far prettier passenger princess than I ever could.