First-Time Caller (Heartstrings, #1)

by B.K. Borison

“How’d you know it was me?” I ask, letting him guide me to the bar on the corner. The one with flower baskets spilling from the windows. Flame-lit lanterns flickering by the entrance. “There are plenty of sad girls in Baltimore.” “Ah, Lucie.” Aiden smiles, his fingers fanning out wide against my back. “I’d know you anywhere.”

“I think I’m coming down with something.” “Liar.” Lucie points a slim, accusatory finger at my nose. I grab it and then lower our hands to the table. I am irrationally pleased when she doesn’t pull her hand away. “I think you’re a closet romantic,” she tells me. “Decent human being,” I correct. “Secret swoony boy,”

“I think if anyone could convince me to believe in it, Lucie, it would be you.” She grins into the top of her IPA, cheeks pink. “By sheer force of will.” I squeeze her hand. “Something like that.”

Sometimes I think I hear her voice twisting through my dreams. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I feel like she should be in the space next to me, her laugh ringing in my ears.

“You can ignore me.” “It’s impossible to ignore you,”

I want to slip my hand behind me and tug her more firmly to me. I want to drag my fingertips up the back of her bare thigh. I shift my feet and her hand clenches in a fist against the front of my shirt.

Lucie tips her face toward mine and all I see is green, green, green. Hedera canariensis, I think blearily, but prettier. The prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.

She looks adorable. Deliciously disheveled. 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.

“Hop up.” She stares at me. “What?” “You can’t walk on cobblestone in those shoes.”

Is it possible to die from the feel of a woman’s thighs? Maybe. It certainly feels like a possibility right now.

Aiden squints and then blinks some more. He’s unfairly adorable when he’s sleepy.

“Did I kiss you?”

“No.”

“Good to know you’ve been thinking about it, though,” he says, his hand settling at the back of his neck. “Aiden,” I admonish. What for, I don’t know. Because he’s right. I have thought about it. Occasionally. Once or twice. Seven times, tops. “Lucie,” he says back, a laugh hidden behind his eyes. “Don’t flirt with me,”

“I’ve been flirting with you.” “Since when?” “Since I made a vague innuendo about oral surgery, give or take a couple of hours.”

I think of the light, glowy feeling I get every time I slip into the booth. How I always seem to be looking for him. The thrill I get every time I tease him about his unofficial uniform of sweatshirts and dark denim, or his Post-it Notes, or his horrific taste in music.

“I’ll stop if you stop.” I scoff. “That’s not how this works.”

“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’s just standing there taking it in. In his T-shirt with his…arms. His bare arms with the…muscles.

“You look comfortable. It’s cute.” I scowl. “I’m not cute.” “You’re very cute.” I roll my eyes and retreat to the fridge. You’ve been flirting too. I guess I have.

“You don’t need to apologize either.” “For the manhandling?” That half smile again. “I like a woman who can toss me around.” I bite the inside of my cheek against my answering grin. “I thought we talked about the flirting thing.” “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He folds my dish towel into a neat rectangle, then drapes it over the handle of my dishwasher. “I’ll be on my best behavior from here on out.”

I don’t think I want him on his best behavior.

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.

“All right.” He doesn’t move. “I’ll see you then.” I nod again. It’s a wonder my head doesn’t roll right off my shoulders. “Yeah.” “On Monday.” “Mm-hmm.” “Bye.” He slips both hands over his hair. “See ya.” He stands on the other side of my kitchen table and doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m leaving now.” “I’ve heard rumors about that,”

“I’ll—I’ll see you Monday,” he says again. “Get out of my house,” I reply with a laugh while he grabs his coat.

The forgotten Heartstrings phone sitting in the middle of the table buzzes with a text. Aiden: Bye. I laugh out loud.

Lucie is here to find a date. Someone who is capable of giving her all the things she deserves. She is not here for piggybacks down the street in the middle of the night, or slow dances in bars, or questionable Skee-Ball lessons from emotionally unavailable men.

I woke up this morning still tangled up in my dreams, and all I can remember is groping hands, gasping breaths, and the freckles along Lucie’s shoulder. Her laugh curling around me like smoke and her mouth against mine. I spent a significant amount of time in my shower.

Lucie laughs again and I make my decision. She’s going on a date with this guy. This guy with the questionable jokes and the affinity for Shania Twain and the name that starts with an O that I’ve already forgotten again. He might be an idiot, but he makes her smile. And Lucie deserves someone who will make her smile. Not a grumpy asshole who makes that smile disappear. I told her I’d find her a date. This is her date. “Oswald,” I ask, “what does your week look like?”

“You should have heard him when he called me to set up this date. I don’t think he could have said fewer words if he tried. And before he hung up, he told me, ‘Be nice, or I’ll kick your fucking ass.’ That’s a direct quote.”

“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.”

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.

Lucie rolls her eyes and pops her chocolate in her mouth, a smile curling at the corner of her lips. I want to feel the shape of it against my fingertips. I want to bite the edge of it. I’m afraid my crush has slipped into an infatuation. I don’t want to fight it anymore. I don’t think I can. “It’s cute that’s what you think that was,” she whispers back. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Lucie Stone.”

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.

“Will you see him again? Your mystery Skee-Ball man?” “I don’t know.” She shrugs, back to her tiny airplane. She creases one of the lines with her thumb and then folds again. “I don’t know if he had a good time. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me again.” “I’m sure he does.”

I’m drunk on her smile. Desperate to know more about her. I want to know her favorite pizza toppings. What sort of toothpaste she uses. If her blush disappears once it reaches the top of her chest or if her whole body flushes pink. I’m buying mint chocolates at CVS because I can’t quit the craving. I want my hands in her hair and my mouth at her throat. I have fantasies where I bend her over this table. Others where I wrap her in a blanket and feed her toast. I’m not standing at the edge. I’m all the way over it.

All I need is the flimsiest of excuses, and I’ll have her flat on her back on this table. Give me a reason, I want to beg. Please. Make the choice for me.

“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.” I curl my other hand around her rib cage. “Tell me to stop,” I whisper. Her hands fist in my sweatshirt, twisting. “Absolutely not,”

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

Aiden Valentine: But to answer your question, if someone is attracted to you, they’ll look for excuses to touch you. You’ll probably catch them staring. Not in—not in a creepy way.

he’s brushing his lips to the corner of my mouth, the curve of my chin. Small, sipping kisses like he’s trying to pace himself. Like he doesn’t want to take too much. But I want him to take. I’m giving all of this to him willingly. I want him to have it.

“C’mere,” he mumbles against the hollow of my throat, a half thought, his thumb edging up the back of my sweater. The rest of his fingers follow, his hand like a brand against my bare skin. I smile into the top of his head. There’s nowhere to go. “Where?” “Here,” he says, mouth preoccupied with the line of my collarbone. He tugs at me again, trying to get me to move. “Like this.”

“Aiden,” I gasp and his eyes dance in the blue-green light of the dark booth. His head rocks against the chair as he watches me, tongue at the corner of his mouth in silent consideration. I feel him loop the length of my braid around his fist, and when he tugs again, it’s slower. Thoughtful. He’s asking a question and my body is giving him the answer.

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.”

“All right.” He blows out a breath. “That’s settled. Now we can move on to more important matters.” I roll to my side and tuck my legs to my chest, wedging my phone between my ear and my pillow. “Such as?” “What are you wearing?”

Comment from MoreThanRatsHere: Is it just me, or did the show end a couple minutes earlier than usual tonight? Comment from OriolesMagic28: It started late too.

Kissing Lucie was a mistake. Not because I regret it, but because I am fundamentally unable to think about anything else. I step into the studio and my eyes dart to my chair, remembering the way she rolled her hips on mine. I go to fill up my coffee mug and I taste her on my tongue. I slip on my headphones and I catch a whiff of her perfume. Or whatever it is that makes her smell the way she does. Daisies and something metallic. Fresh air. Lucie fills up this room like a ghost, and kissing her did not calm the attraction like I had hoped. It poured gasoline all over it and I’m walking around with a wildfire in my chest.

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.