First-Time Caller (Heartstrings, #1)

by B.K. Borison

For the hopeless romantics. And the reluctant ones too.

It feels like every time I get my hopes up for something good, reality comes out swinging. I don’t know how to be a hopeful person anymore. It’s easier not to be.

Aiden Valentine: Flowers die. Everything dies. Caller: I thought this was a romance hotline.

“My name is Aiden Valentine and you’re live with Heartstrings, Baltimore’s romance hotline.”

I am also not a cult leader.” “You heard that, huh?” “It’s incredible what you can hear when someone says something into a speaker.”

Why can’t this be the one thing I don’t have to try at? Why can’t it be a thing that just…happens? I don’t want—I don’t want to think about what I should say or how I should act or…or have talking points in the notes app of my phone for a dinner date at a restaurant that I don’t really like. I want to feel something when I connect with someone. I want sparks. The good kind, you know? I want to laugh and mean it. I want goose bumps. I want to wonder what my date is thinking about and hope it might be me. I want…I want the magic.”

“When the whole world tells you you’re silly for wanting the things you want, you start to believe them. You start to think you’re not worth it. That if the things you’re waiting for do exist, they’re not for someone like you.” She sighs, a small, hopeless sound that twists through my headphones. “But what’s wrong with being a romantic? I can be a confident, independent woman and still want someone to hold my hand. To ask about my day. It’s a good thing to want passion and excitement and care. Attention and affection. I don’t want to settle for anything less than that.

“I want goose bumps. I want to be wanted. All this time and I—I haven’t given up. I guess I’m just waiting for it to find me.”

Aiden Valentine does not have a face for radio. He has a face for those cologne ads that come on during the afternoon soap opera run. The ones where the guy is aggressively walking through the hallway of a hotel. Or a desert. Inexplicably rolling around in dirt while yanking his T-shirt off with one hand. Wolves, probably. Moody music. Lightning. Aiden looks like a brooding Disney prince in a Carhartt hoodie. One who’s been shoved around a little bit, maybe. Straight nose. Dark messy hair. A full bottom lip and almond-shaped eyes that might be blue or might be gray. I couldn’t tell in the lobby and I can’t tell now, though I’m doing my best to figure it out. I keep sneaking looks at him through the window that makes up one wall of the booth he disappeared into quickly after shaking my hand.

He’s writing on the notepad with his head ducked down. Then he lifts his face, gives me a devastating half smile, and holds up his sign. COME HERE, it says. I point at my chest. His smile twitches wider. Who else? that face says. He scribbles on his notepad some more. COME HERE, PLEASE

“Lucie?” I turn to look at him. “Yeah?” “While you’re thinking, if you need someone to talk to”—he taps his finger against the headphone pressed to his left ear—“I’ll be listening.”

Lucie Stone: Are those people calling in? Aiden Valentine: Yup. Lucie Stone: To talk to me? Aiden Valentine: Yup. Lucie Stone: Oh, wow. Get ready to be disappointed, Baltimore. Aiden Valentine: Get ready to be charmed, Baltimore.

“I like that. Thinking that I’m worth paying attention to. Something ordinary made extraordinary by the person you’re sharing it with.”

“Nah, Lucie.” In my dream, he brushes a kiss against my forehead. “I think you’re the magic.”

“You’re here.” He nods, his forehead scrunching. “Yeah.” “You came to the restaurant?” “I did.”

“Ah, Lucie.” Aiden smiles, his fingers fanning out wide against my back. “I’d know you anywhere.”

Is it possible to die from the feel of a woman’s thighs? Maybe. It certainly feels like a possibility right now. “Yeah,” I agree. “It is.”

“You don’t need to apologize either.” “For the manhandling?” That half smile again. “I like a woman who can toss me around.”

“Fuck it,” I whisper, and I drag her mouth to mine.

YEAH

“What she needs is to see her mom prioritizing her own happiness for once. So she can learn to do the same.”

“People like to create narratives around that sort of thing. For about six months when I first started, people thought Jackson and I were hiding an illicit affair.” “Were you?” “Nah, he’s not my type.” Sheets rustle again. “I prefer leggy brunettes who steal my coffee.”

“I kissed you because I wanted to, Lucie. I’ve been wanting to and I think—I think I got tired of pretending I don’t. My crush isn’t going anywhere. I think it would be easier for us both if it was, but…it’s not. That’s what I should have told you when I walked you to your car, but I think I left my brain in the studio.”

“Nothing I want to do to you is very nice, Lucie.”

OOP

“Are you wet, Lucie?” The question bursts out of me, borderline accusing. I’m not being very nice right now. Not nice at all. She nods and I grunt, taking her response like a sucker punch. “Then, no. I can’t touch you a little bit. Because if I feel how wet you are for me, I’m going to fuck you in this closet.”

AIDEN

“Because you said it was your favorite,” I admit. “And I want your favorite to be my favorite.”

Comment from Balti-Moron96: I don’t want to listen to Piano Concerto in F, I want to listen to Aiden flirt with Lucie.

Maya is blasting Olivia Rodrigo, singing along at the top of her lungs.

As she should

I slip into my seat next to Aiden in the booth and his body bumps into mine beneath the table. I scoot closer and tuck one of my feet behind his, delighting when he presses both of his feet against mine. Like a hug.

“I’m not good for you.”

AIDEN STFU

I’ve been here before. I know this feeling. The sinking realization that my feelings don’t match up. That I’ve felt too much too fast and made assumptions. Misread the situation and projected my own hopes on another person.

PTSD

“Not wanting me to go isn’t the same as wanting me to stay.

“Long-time listener, first-time caller,” he says over the line. There’s a reluctant grin in his voice. It twists his words up at the edges, just like his smile. “I was hoping you could give me some advice.”

“I know what falling in love feels like because I’ve been falling in love with you.”

The almosts and the maybes and the what-ifs. The universe lining up for one perfect moment and handing me her. I got so fucking lucky. I drag her mouth to mine and press a hard kiss against her lips. “I’m thinking about you.”