Chapter 20 Grace
Grace
Goldie. I like it.
He brings a hand up to lightly stroke the length of my hair. “Let’s watch a movie or something?” he asks.
“Actually, the Surge have a playoff game tonight. Can we watch that instead?” Sarah and the rest of the Orlando team are fighting to get out in the first round against a tough opponent.
“One hundred percent.” He grabs our drinks. “Leave the dishes, I’ll deal with them later.”
We spend the next thirty minutes half watching the game, half chatting.
“So how did you become friends with Sarah?”
“You remember that Fall Carnival fundraiser we all went to downtown? A few weeks into the season last year.”
He chuckles. “I remember. You avoided me all night, while dancing with three of my teammates I believe? Wearing that light blue dress.”
“Were you jealous?” I tease him without thinking twice. I’m definitely at the no-filter Grace level of comfort with him now.
“I was still in the stage of thinking that it was better if you stayed away, so I couldn’t get in trouble with Landon. That dress…you were a smokeshow that night, Goldie.”
“I do love that dress.” It makes me feel so pretty. “Anyway, I’d run into Sarah at a few things before then, but we ended up dancing together for a few songs and then talking a bunch, really connecting. Before her season started in May, we were hanging out once a week almost.”
“So you’re good friends?” I notice his left hand has crept next to my right.
“Yeah, when we see each other, it’s like we’ve known each other our whole lives. She likes that I’m an athlete, but not, at the same time. She says it’s refreshing to have a normal person to talk to.”
“You are an athlete, though, even if not in a professional capacity. A fucking amazing one.”
I smile, feeling his sincerity. “Thanks. Some days I feel that way more than others. After a long ten-mile run, for sure. Anyway, Sarah’s been largely MIA since the season began, which she warned me about.
So we’re not hanging out a ton right now.
Although I’m so busy myself, it’s hard to keep my head on straight. ”
He starts playing with the top of my hand, stroking my fingers with his. Tingles sprout up my arm, and I can’t help it—I shiver. Which, of course, he picks up on.
“You okay? I can turn down the AC.”
“I’m fine.” I look down at our hands. “I just haven’t been touched like this in a while, and my body likes it, I guess.”
His eyes intensify at my confession. “Oh yeah? Are you comfortable talking about that?”
“About—?”
“Well, it’s not a big deal to me one way or another. But when you’re ready, it might be good to know what you’ve tried, what you like…”
How transparent should I be? “I mean, I’ve tried pretty much everything else other than the one thing you know…”
“Come closer,” he interjects. “You feel far away.”
I scooch down so we’re only a couple of inches apart, and he begins playing with the length of my hair again.
“But everything’s been pretty vanilla.” I can’t help but blush, and he grins back. “I’ve dated a couple of guys, but not anyone serious.”
“Vanilla meaning…not good?”
“Yeah, mainly. I don’t think the guys—and definitely not me—knew what we were doing enough to relax, for starters.
Now that I’m getting a little older, I’m more aware of the ways to have fun and be creative.
Those romance books and listening to my girlfriends talk about their experiences has broadened my horizons a bit. ”
I’m still feeling the blush on my cheeks, but it’s not stopping me from being honest. Something about Johnson makes me feel safe talking about this.
He, in turn, looks quite curious.
“Creative, huh?”
“Yes, I was a bit of a late bloomer. I skipped a grade in elementary school, and I was always behind my classmates socially after that.” I bite my lip as I know I’m about to say something that’s going to move this conversation in a…particular direction. “But I think I’m ready to catch up now.”
His eyes go dark. “Grace, I have to say, I’m trying to connect the dots here in my brain. I assumed we’d go slow on that front, and I don’t expect anything tonight.”
I tilt my head, leaning towards where his hand is still playing with my hair. “I do appreciate that.”
He clears his throat and then shines a knowing smile at me. “But I’d very much like to help you catch up in whatever creative ways you’d wish for.”
I can’t help the giggle that comes out. I’d have expected this conversation would make me nervous, but at this point, it’s the opposite. I’m proud I told him what I want. “Would you now?”
“I’d never have thought that all of this was swirling around that brilliant head of yours.” He looks thoroughly pleased by this revelation.
“It’s the way I was raised. Underneath the polite and quiet surface of being a good girl, a good daughter—there are lots of thoughts. And you make me comfortable enough to say them.”
His eyes soften at my words. “I want to hear all of them. Tell me anything.”
“I will.”
It hits me again how different this is from any of my past dating experiences. For the first time, I trust that a guy will listen to me, genuinely care. We’re past the question of whether there’s an emotional link. We already have one—I just don’t know its complete scope yet.
“Sarah Hartbright swishes in a mid-range jumper to pull the Surge up by eight with seventy-three seconds left,” the announcer says from Johnson’s TV.
The mention of Sarah brings my attention back to the screen. “Oh, I hope they pull this off.”
Johnson hums in response and, while turning his head toward the screen too, runs his hands through my hair again. It seems he’s obsessed with my blonde locks, as my new nickname suggests.
We watch the game to its conclusion that way, letting out little cheers when the Surge make a play. It takes a lot longer than seventy-three seconds with all the timeouts and commercial breaks, but the Surge do eventually win.
“They’re so strong,” Johnson says. “Hopefully we’ll bring multiple titles to Orlando this year.”
I lean into him. “I know you guys have it in you.”
His hand drops from my hair as he wraps the same arm around my body, pulling me in close. “Football talk another time.”
“Mmmm,” I hum.
Suddenly I feel every place we’re touching. Tilting my head so our eyes connect, I see he’s grinning down at me.
We both move at once. I twist my body around to get a better angle, and he rapidly closes the space between our faces.
And then we’re kissing. The tension rising up from our conversation, the desire we’ve been hinting at, spill over from the moment our lips meet. With the assurances we’ve given each other, there’s no hesitation, no holding back.
If I’m not as forward yet with words to describe how I feel, I show him.
He mirrors me, the intensity of our kiss escalating, minute by minute, as I sense his unbridled, sincere want come through. Our occasional soft nips break up the hard press of our mouths, demanding what we desire.
It all feels laden with the promise of so much more to come.
Once the next game starts in the background, Johnson finally pulls away slightly, moaning with regret.
“We should probably get you home if we’re going to be good tonight. I want to do this right.”
“There’s no right or wrong here. You won’t break me,” I tease him. “At least not in ways I don’t want to be broken.”
He chokes at my words.
“Fuck, Grace. You don’t know what you do to me. The dreams I’ve had of you…” He stops himself from saying more.
“Ah, who has things to share now?”
His eyes are molten, but he’s holding his body in check. “Goldie, we need to get you home, safe and sound for the night.”
I do appreciate his patience on some level, even if my body is humming for more. Plus, the Waves have a short week, and I’m sure Johnson has a ton of prep needed for their Thursday game.
“We’ll be good then,” I agree. “Let me get my bag and flowers from the kitchen.”
He walks me in there, handing me the flowers like he’s gifting them for the first time.
“Are you doing anything this weekend? Once I’m back from Thursday’s game?” He grins. “I’d like to take you on our official first date, if you’re free.”
I smile back. I’m not sure I’ve stopped smiling over the last hour. “I am.”
He looks like he wants to start kissing me again, but instead he grabs my free hand lightly, beginning to walk us to the front of the house.
I follow his lead as he brings us through to the front entrance, holds the door open for me, and accompanies me to my car.
As I settle into my driver’s seat, he clutches the front door, stepping closer to the car.
“Text me once you’re home so I know you’re okay.” Leaning down, he kisses my cheek. “And get ready for the date of your life.”
And when I message him from my condo that I’m home, a simple message comes through in reply.
“Sweet dreams, Goldie.”