Chapter 27 #2
“It’s genetic,” he calls back. “How many abdominals a person has is related to their genetics and how many bands of connective tissue they have. Six is my max. And there is nothing underachieving about them.”
And now I have a new category of grumpy: cocky grumpy. When he stops for a car backing out, I grab his sides seeking ticklish spots with a vengeance. He doesn’t even flinch, though he does swat at my hands.
“I’m not ticklish,” he says.
“Everyone is ticklish.”
“Not me. Now, hold on.”
Of course a man like James would have no weaknesses, not even a ticklish spot.
Though I shouldn’t, I issue myself a private challenge to find one.
Because everyone is ticklish somewhere .
No matter what James says. And if I have to do a full-body search to find it, well, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
For science!
I’m able to get acclimated to the bike’s movement on the slow turns out of the parking deck.
It’s simple, really—I just let my body move with James as he leans.
Even when not on the bike, my body is attuned to follow him.
He exits the garage, pausing to pay at the ticket booth, and a flutter of nerves moves through me as he pulls into traffic.
It’s Sunday morning, so fewer people are out and about, but I still feel so exposed.
In more ways than one.
Riding behind James, my body molded to his back, reminds me of how we slept.
Only now, I’m the big spoon instead of the little spoon.
I can’t decide which one I prefer. Big spoons, little spoons, serving spoons, slotted spoons, plastic spoons—I think I’d like them all, so long as they involve James pressed against me.
He turns his head just before the light turns green. “You’re safe with me.”
I nod, knowing that he believes the words to be true. But I still feel certain that trusting James will mean the eventual evisceration of my heart. I squeeze him even tighter as the engine throttles and he pulls away.
Might as well enjoy the ride while I can.
* * *
Tank makes me feel welcome the moment I walk in the door with a hug that lifts my feet off the ground and I think also realigns my spinal column. “I’m so glad you came.”
I don’t get the chance to answer before James grabs me around the waist and plucks me away from his dad. James carries me through the spacious home like I weigh as much as a piece of mail.
“I’m not like a purse dog needing to be carried everywhere,” I say, crossing my arms.
James only grunts and transports me an extra few steps into the open kitchen and family room.
Out back there’s a nice, sunny patio with a pool and a large yard, where Chase and Harper are playing with their two dogs and three goats—two babies and one larger one who must be Sergeant Pepper.
The goats have on little sweaters or jackets. No—they’re wearing coats .
“Goats in coats!” I squeal. “Awwww!”
“Food first, then goats,” James says, steering me toward the table where Collin is setting out plates. He pauses to wink at James before giving me a hug almost as chiropractic as Tank’s.
“Good to see you,” I manage to wheeze from the air left in my lungs.
“You’re breaking her ribs,” James says, and once again, he yanks me from one of his family members’ arms. This time, James deposits me in a chair, pushing it close enough to the table that I’ll have a hard time getting out.
He sits down next to me, scooting his chair closer as though to make absolutely sure I don’t go anywhere.
My neck is getting sore from all the whiplash, though this is nothing new with James.
It’s less a two-steps-forward, two-steps-back than a quick-step forward, a shuffle to the side, and a few hops back.
We’ve been line dancing—that’s what we’re doing.
Going this way, then that, and making no real forward progress because we’re covering the same ground, over and over.
But since last night, things have shifted, and it feels like we’re moving in a singular direction. Together.
I don’t even know what to do with this, with this new possessive caretaker side of him.
Tank calls out back and Harper comes in with Chase and the dogs, leaving the goats outside for now since they’re still frolicking through the yard.
There are loud greetings back and forth, a few licks from the dogs, and I realize once I’ve said hello to everyone, James has filled my coffee up and added heavy whipping cream, as promised.
He gives me a little nod, and a little thrill goes through me.
“Let’s eat,” Tank says, passing out platters of bacon, eggs, and, of course, a platter holding crepes.
A girl could get used to this. ALL of this.
I love the big family dynamic. It was just me and Chevy and Mom and Dad, then just Chevy, me, and Dad. The Grahams household is something else, from the noise and playful bickering to the nonstop banter.
Collin teases James mercilessly, which I am fully on board with, especially now that I know James was kind of a nerd growing up.
Apparently, he was a chemistry major in college and part of the chess club in high school.
I know he taught Jo to play, but there’s a difference between knowing how to play chess and being in the chess club.
“Did he have a pocket protector?” I ask Collin, earning a grin from Harper and a low grumble from James.
“He had a graphic tee with a picture of the periodic table on it,” Harper says.
“Are there any photos?” I ask.
“No,” James says, but Harper gives me a quick, secretive nod. Score! I’m totally going to find a good use for that photo. I’m thinking mugs, T-shirts, maybe posters …
“No.” James nudges me with his knee under the table.
I blink in mock innocence. “What? I’m just enjoying this delicious breakfast.”
He grunts and inhales two pieces of bacon.
“So, what did you two do after we left last night?” Collin waggles his brows suggestively, and before James can start growling, I jump in.
“I tried to get James to watch Tiktok videos.”
That has them all laughing. Except, of course, James, who is busy still stuffing bacon in his mouth. I swear, feeding this family must take like a whole pig a day.
“How’d that go over?” Chase asks, barely holding back a smile.
I shoot James a quick look. “He took away my phone.”
James shakes his head, pushing his chair back. “I’m going where I’m wanted. Out with the dogs and baby goats.”
“I think you mean where you belong,” Collin teases.
James has his brother in a headlock before I can blink. Collin grabs James’s arms and the two thrash around, knocking over a chair. Harper moves a water glass out of the way and Chase scoots back, moving to the door.
“You know the rules, boys. Take it outside,” Tank says in a bored voice, like this happens every day. Maybe it does. I definitely bet it did back when they were young.
Chase swings the back door open for James and Collin, who make their way to the back patio, still locked in a wrestling match. One of the patio chairs topples over. The dogs jump around them, barking like they can’t decide if they want to break it up or join in.
“Don’t worry,” Tank says, patting my hand. “James usually comes out on top.”
“I was going to put my money on Collin,” I say. That earns me a deep booming laugh from Tank.
“I heard that!” James yells, just before he and Collin go right in the pool. Stormy jumps in after them.
“Did you ever get the pool heater fixed?” Harper asks, taking a bite of an egg white omelet.
“A week or two ago,” Tank says.
“Too bad.” Harper stands, grabbing her phone. “Better get some photos before they call a truce.”
Tank and I are left at the table, watching as the fight continues in the pool. I steal a piece of bacon from James’s plate, enjoying the show. Chase gets pulled into the fray—because Harper pushes him in—and the goats pick up on the energy, running and leaping on and over and off the lounge chairs.
“Is it always like this?” I ask Tank.
“Always.” He smiles, but then his expression tightens, the smile lines around his eyes disappearing. “Other than the period right after their mom died. I heard you lost your mother young too. I’m so sorry.”
This is an unexpected turn in conversation, a huge contrast to the laughter and shouts coming from outside. “Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nods, his eyes still on the melee outside. “They were all too quiet afterward, too well behaved. Like they thought they could somehow keep anything else bad from happening if they were just good enough.”
My heart constricts and then makes a heavy thud. I remember having similar thoughts after Mom died. Not that I could keep the bad things at bay, but more that I needed to be the best daughter I could, to give my dad the least amount of trouble.
“James took the brunt of it on himself. He became more of a caretaker, more of a leader.” He chuckles.
“Even if his way of leading is silently shoving people in the direction he thinks they should go. Meanwhile, he’s somehow untouchable, neither wanting nor accepting help.
Which is why what you did for him last night, what you’re doing for him means so much. ”
“Oh, I …” I swallow down my protests because Tank gives me a look that’s all James. “I like a challenge,” I say instead.
“James is that. You two are good for each other,” Tank says.
“Oh, I don’t know if we’re together,” I say, and the words feel false even before Tank gives me another look.
“Let’s see how long you keep singing that tune. Just so you know, this is the first time he’s brought a woman home.”
Tank rises and begins clearing the table.
I scoot my chair back, planning to help, but get waylaid at the sight of James climbing out of the pool, completely drenched.
His T-shirt is molded to his torso, plastered there like a second skin.
All the muscles I was snuggled up against last night but didn’t get to appreciate, all the ones I felt as we rode here on his motorcycle are on full display.
He was right. There are six abdominal muscles, and they are NOT underachievers.
They’re like the Olympians of ab muscles.
When he pulls the wet shirt over his head and begins wringing it out, a blush heats my cheeks.
His torso is like a giant slab composed of overachieving muscles, from his sculpted shoulders to the broad pecs on down to those abs and the alluring vee where his hips narrow.
Droplets of water skim over his tan skin, and I drag my gaze away just in time to catch him full-on smirking at me.
Busted! Before my cheeks can get any redder, I hop up and begin stacking dishes and carrying them to the sink for Tank.
“Are you okay?” Tank asks. “You look flushed.”
“Yep. Totally fine.”
Just, you know, thrown off by your son’s hot bod. Just call me Miss Objectification.
James sticks his head in the back door, grinning, and I almost drop the empty serving platter in my hands at the sight of him so close. His wet hair drips, starting to form a puddle on the floor.
“Hey, temp. Before we go, come see where the magic happens.”
“What?”
“Where I brew my beer,” he says, still smiling that smug smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll put a shirt on first so you can concentrate.”
Shirt or no shirt, I’m pretty sure my concentration is dead.