First-Time Caller (Heartstrings, #1)

by B.K. Borison

“Here,” she says, coming to my side and handing me another ball. She sets her empty drink next to mine and shifts until she’s behind me. She wraps one arm around my middle and laces our fingers together. My stomach drops to the floor.

She huffs and tries to guide my stiff arm in a different position from behind me. “I’m trying to correct your form.”

know a lot about Skee-Ball form, thank you very much.” Her palm pats at my side and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep my groan in check. “It’s all in the hips.” Christ. “Is it?” “Yep.” She drags her palms down my sides to my waist.

“Focus,” she says, and I swear I would if I could. As it is, I can only focus on the places she’s touching me, one of her heeled feet between mine. My imagination is having a field day.

I turn halfway with an arched eyebrow and she’s grinning at me, smiling so wide her eyes are a fraction of their usual size. A laugh slips out of her the longer I try to look stern, and something inside me cracks open.

I like this version of Lucie. She’s unburdened by the weight she seems so intent on carrying around. Soft at the edges. Playful.

“You know, for being stood up, tonight actually turned out okay.” Lucie tips her face toward mine and all I see is green, green, green.

“I think that’s your third gin and tonic talking.” She huffs. “Is it impossible to think I’d have a good time with you?” “Very few people would refer to me as a good time.” “I find that hard to believe.” Her gaze drifts lazily across my face.

I’m letting myself glide down the slippery slope of affection, content to gather these moments and hold them close for tomorrow, when we haven’t consumed an entire bar and I need to pretend my eyes don’t catch on Lucie every time she enters a room. I think I have a crush, and that’s the last thing I fucking need.

I stand there in the middle of the bar and stare at her. Coincidentally, I realize I’m fucked. Because it would be one thing if I only enjoyed spending time with Lucie because of how her legs stretch for miles beneath the flimsy material of her skirt, or how her nose scrunches when she laughs, or how she looks at anything and everything with unflagging optimism. But it’s all of those things and a bunch of other stuff too. How smart she is. How sharp. How generous and open and lovely and kind. I like all of those things and no single part rises above or sinks below the rest.

“You can’t walk on cobblestone in those shoes.” I hunch over a little bit more. “Hop up.” “On your back?” “Yes.” “You’ll fall.” “I won’t.”

“Lucie. I’m not going to drop you,” I promise. “Let’s get you home.”

“You’re bossy.” “I certainly can be,” I tell her. She blinks at me, color rising in her cheeks. I don’t miss the way she shifts on her feet.

“This is nice,” she says. 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.”

“It’s exactly how this works. You stop twisting your hair back in the booth and I—” “Twisting my hair?” I interrupt. “You mean braiding it?” He nods. “Yeah. Stop braiding your hair in the booth and I’ll stop flirting with you.” “Aiden, that’s not—” I take a second to collect myself. “That’s not flirting. That’s—I’m just pulling my hair back.” His hand flexes on my couch cushion. “Stop braiding your hair in the booth and I’ll stop flirting with you,” he says again, a hint of demand in his voice. I swallow and shift.

Aiden blinks at her. I watch him catalog the hat, the beard, the whip looped around her belt. A delighted smile appears on his handsome, sleepy face. “Dr. Jones.” He nods. She beams at him. My heart does something stupid in my chest.

Aiden’s smiles are almost always uneven, his bottom lip tugging sharper on the left. It’s like his face is unused to the expression, warming up to it the more he does it.

He shakes two pills into his palm and tosses them back. I am transfixed by the line of his throat when he swallows. “You look comfortable. It’s cute.” I scowl. “I’m not cute.” “You’re very cute.”

Maya asks, tapping Aiden’s forearm to get him to hand her the plate with the toast. He does so without her having to verbalize the request, and something plucks once, right beneath my rib cage.

Grayson claps his hands together with a crack. “It’s settled, then. Lucie’s Highway to Happiness—” “Road to Love,” I correct wearily. “—continues chugging along.” He ruffles my hair. “I’m so proud of you, my Little Engine That Could.”

There’s no reason to be disappointed, but I can’t help but feel like I’m letting something slip out of my grip. I got a taste of the real Aiden last night, and now I want more.

“I’m leaving now.” “I’ve heard rumors about that,” I say lightly, crossing my arms over my chest. He cracks a smile. His whole face changes when he smiles. All those hard lines smooth out and he softens into something approachable.

Aiden Valentine: Welcome back to Heartstrings, Baltimore. We missed you over the weekend. Lucie Stone: We really did. You guys make life more interesting. Lucie Stone: What did you get up to this weekend, Aiden? Aiden Valentine: Oh, you know. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Lucie Stone: Anything fun? Aiden Valentine: I had lots of fun. What about you? Lucie Stone: You know what? I had some fun too.

GOD IM SO PARASOCIALLY INVESTED I'D BE LOSING IT IF THIS WAA REAL

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” She rolls her eyes. “Okay, John Wayne. What are you going to—” I curl my arm around her waist and tip her forward until she’s off-balance, then lift her up and over my shoulder. My chair squeaks ominously beneath us and Lucie shrieks in my ear. I pluck the station-issued phone from her back pocket like an apple from a tree. “Aiden,” she gasps.

RAAAAAAA

texting. I’m sorry you had to deal with that, Lucie.” Lucie shrugs. “I don’t concern myself with the fragile egos of men.”

like Lucie. I like her so much it feels like there’s a band around my chest, constricting my breathing when she’s not around. I’m entertaining possibilities and that’s not—I need to not do that.

“Anyone who’s listened to you guys on the radio for longer than thirty seconds can tell there’s something going on between you two, Lucie. He called me the wrong name like sixteen times.”

She slants a narrow-eyed glare in my direction. “Lucie is here.” I know she is. That’s why I’m standing in the back parking lot in ten-degree weather. Because I don’t know how to sit in the space next to her and hold myself in my carefully contained boxes.

The happy sigh she made when I slipped socks over her cold feet. How her whole body softened against me in sleep, her nose nudging at the hollow of my throat.

I dig the heel of my hand into my chest and rub, trying to get rid of the pressure sitting heavy in the middle of it. It feels like I swallowed a tire swing.

conrad fisher

It certainly feels like I have a gambling problem every time I’m around her. I’m constantly pushing all my chips toward the center of the table, no matter what my cards look like.

I don’t care how her date with Oliver went last night, because right now she’s here with me, worried about who I’m talking to.

“You want to know why I was doing laps around the parking lot?” Her mouth twists. “You were avoiding me.” I nod. “I didn’t want to have time to talk to you before the show. I didn’t want to hear about your date. I didn’t want to see you light up with another man’s name in your mouth,” I confess. She sucks in a sharp breath. “If you’re jealous, I’m jealous too. Worse, probably.”

I wish I could talk about my mom without feeling like my chest is caving in, but the worry and the panic are tightly bound with everything else. I still haven’t figured out how to tug myself out of it. It’s been so long since I’ve tried to open those doors that I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how.

When I feel shaky and exposed, it’s easy to distract myself with things that feel good. And from the moment I met her and made an inappropriate comment about dental instruments, Lucie has always felt like something good. Like the very best thing.

“What was cute?” Lucie asks. “When you were jealous.”

She’s just inches away from her happy ending. I know it. The thought makes me borderline violent. I want to keep her in this booth with me for an undisclosed period of time. I’m possessive of her, apparently. Of her time and her laughter and her smiles that stretch so wide her eyes slip shut.

She grins at me. I think I’m jealous of the guy I got to be when wanting her was something I was allowed to do. I’m torn between who I am and who I want to be.

She finishes her paper plane and throws it at me. The point digs into the center of my chest then falls to my lap. Bull’s-eye.

I’m not standing at the edge. I’m all the way over it.

Maybe if I give in to this pull, it won’t feel so goddamn intense. Like swiping your finger along the icing of a cake. Just a taste to cut the craving.

She hums, dreamy and light. “You might not be what I’m looking for, but you’re what I want. And that’s enough for me. Trust me to decide for myself.”

Kissing her won’t lead to anything good. But I’ve never claimed to be all that good to begin with, and I’ve been on my best behavior for weeks.

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

Lucie Stone: You haven’t heard of smizing? Smiling with your eyes? Look. Watch me. Aiden Valentine: I’m watching you. You’re not doing anything. That’s just your face, Lucie. Lucie Stone: I’m smizing at you.

pull my phone from my pocket and type out the number I’ve memorized.

I stare at her and my heart feels like it’s somewhere in my throat. A smile tugs at her mouth, growing the longer I look at her. “What?” she asks. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “I just like looking at you,” I murmur quietly. Her smile pulls wider and she ducks her face, trying to hide it. But I still see it. I still see her.

I’ve been texting her every hour, on the hour, in an attempt to keep her mind on me as much as possible. I’m the toddler on the playground, tugging on her pigtails to get a reaction.

“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.