First-Time Caller (Heartstrings, #1)

by B.K. Borison

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

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.”

I don’t want to settle for anything less than that. And I think I’ve just figured out—I think that’s why I’ve been sitting on my couch. That’s why I’m home all the time. Because I’m tired. I’m tired of trying so hard at something that comes so easily for everyone else. I stopped dating because it wasn’t working for me and I think I hoped that another option might materialize. Nothing in my life has ever panned out the way I planned for it. And that’s okay.

I don’t want to be with someone if they’re not giving me something I don’t already have. I don’t want to waste my time on things that don’t feel like everything I’ve always wanted for myself.”

“You want a guarantee.” “No,” she says quietly. “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.”

Whatever boost in morale I got from that call quickly disappeared during my next shift when Sharon from Federal Hill called in to talk about how her husband didn’t notice her new haircut. When I asked what sort of things she noticed about him, she told me she noticed when his paycheck was deposited in their shared account.

As she should

and the last time I took a vacation, someone played a wiener commercial for twenty-seven minutes straight.”

Lucie jumps next to me. Her knee drives up into the table and my hand finds her thigh, urging her still. I squeeze gently, letting my thumb trace over the surprisingly soft material. Lucie rattles out a breath and I snatch my hand away, both palms flat on the desk.

Somewhere in the hazy in-between, a hand slips under my hair and gently squeezes the back of my neck. His thumb traces the ridges of my spine, and my whole body gets heavier. “Nah, Lucie.” In my dream, he brushes a kiss against my forehead. “I think you’re the magic.”

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.

her thigh brushing against my cock with every roll of her hips. I could probably come just like this. With Lucie’s sweet sounds and the barest hint of friction. In the broom closet of the radio station.

“You have a pineapple pizza?” I nod, annoyed with myself. “I do.” “You said pineapple on pizza is disgusting.” “It is.” “Then why do you have it?” “Because you said it was your favorite,” I admit. “And I want your favorite to be my favorite.”

STOP I love Aiden so much

I’m so used to reducing myself to feeling things halfway that it’s become second nature.

finally giving in to the relentless pull in the middle of my chest and grabbing a fistful of her hair. I angle her head back, lick a hot stripe up her throat, and suck at her earlobe.

Okayyyy Aiden!!!

Next time, I want her above me. Knees on either side of my head. Pressing me down into the cushions while she rides my face. Or maybe bent over the side of the couch. My hands holding her wide, eating her from behind.

I am screaming omfggg

I think I’ve been telling myself I wanted magic and fireworks and something life-altering because it made it easier to withstand the constant disappointment of never—of never being enough.”

All those months ago, I was sitting on the other side of this café and I heard Patty call for Brooks Robinson. Was Lucie here? Did we drift past one another and not even realize? The woman who changed my life—who carefully and quietly patched all my holes and rough spots—she was within reach and I didn’t even know it.