First-Time Caller (Heartstrings, #1)

by B.K. Borison

“I want to feel it first and think about it second. I want to be in the moment and not worry about what’s coming next. I don’t want to twist myself into circles over the idea of a partner.” I exhale a short breath. “Then don’t.” “I won’t.” “Good.”

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.

Lucie’s mouth forms the shape of my name and my restraint crumbles, reduced to dust at her feet. I don’t want to fight it anymore. I can’t. “Fuck it,” I whisper, and I drag her mouth to mine.

Kissing Lucie was a mistake. Not because I regret it, but because I am fundamentally unable to think about anything else.

“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.”

“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.”

I am distracted by the stretch of his T-shirt over his bare arms. It really is a crime he wears so many sweatshirts. I haven’t spent nearly enough time with his biceps.

“Like a picnic,” I breathe. I look up at him and grin. “You remember what I said.”

“I remember all the things you’ve said,”

I don’t need to restrict myself with Aiden. Because with Aiden, I’m safe. He told me so, the very first night we talked to each other.

“When it comes to you, Lucie”—I suck at the dip between her collarbones—“there’s not much I don’t want.”

For the first time, I entertain the possibility that Lucie might want me as much as I want her. Ridiculous as it sounds.

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 wasn’t—I wasn’t expecting you.” Same, I want to say. You came out of nowhere and knocked me flat on my ass.

It was sexy because it was Lucie. No frills. Wonderfully authentic. Plus, it goes nicely with the mechanic / tow truck fantasy I’m slowly piecing together in my mind for the next time I need to defile a fundraiser T-shirt.

I’m speechless is what I am. Trying to figure out if I’m in the middle of a very elaborate dream. I’ve never had anyone look at me the way Lucie does, like the want is tangled up with the comfort and the affection. Hushed conversations in the middle of the night. Knees tucked together beneath a desktop. Tiny mint wrappers folded into even tinier paper airplanes, aimed right at my heart.

Because I’ve spent the last decade telling myself not to want anything at all, and Lucie is the first thing I’ve let myself reach for.

I got home twenty minutes ago and haven’t done much of anything, moving through my house like the Ghost of Satisfied Sexual Adventures Past. The Ghost of Horny Present? I don’t know.

“Don’t you lie to me, Lucille. You’re standing there bow-legged, you’re wearing the same sweatshirt I saw Aiden in two weeks ago, and you’re making a cup of coffee without the cup for the coffee.” I blink at the coffee machine, spitting out coffee straight onto the countertop.

The first thing he did when he woke up was smile at me.

“I don’t want something perfect; I want something honest. Something that can be mine.” I reach for Maya’s hand with mine and she twists our fingers together, squeezing. “I think it’s time I make my own magic, kiddo.”

“He was a surprise for me too.” Isn’t that how it goes? The most precious, delicate things wedge themselves between the plans you’ve made for yourself. They wiggle in your arms and wrap their tiny fingers around your thumb after nine months of bone-deep panic. They barge into your kitchen looking for condiments. They answer a phone call in the middle of the night.

There’s a ribbon wrapped around Aiden and me. It’s taken me a while to undo the tangles, but I’m tugging on it now.

“I can be brave enough for the both of us. I can make my own magic. You just have to give me a reason to.”

Aiden never stopped believing in love. He forgot how to. He built a fortress around his heart to protect himself and lost the key somewhere along the way.

Love isn’t”—he sighs, a deep, rumbling sound—“love isn’t always sunshine and daisies. Sometimes it’s hospital beds and shaved heads. But I wouldn’t trade any of it. Because all of it is with her.”

Chocolate mints Daisies Fountain soda Coconut ChapStick Christmas cookies, the shortbread kind Yellow starbursts Pink starbursts The coffee creamer in the orange bottle I read it once and then again. It’s a list of—it’s a list of my favorite things. Things I’ve mentioned on the show and things I haven’t. Things he must have noticed.

“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.”

But I want—I want to kiss her when other people are around. I want to hold her hand. I want to have pancakes at her house on Sunday mornings and I want to help with Indiana Jones costumes. I want her people to be my people too.”

No one has ever wanted the full package before. All of me and all of Maya. The family I’ve cobbled together for myself.

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

“You’ve always been so much braver than me.” “You called in to a radio station.” “You started it,” he says, voice low. “I figured we should end how we began, yeah?”

“What now?” I warble, shifting closer, digging my nose in the hollow of his throat. He laughs, his big hand cupping the back of my head. “Well, I’m hoping you love me too.”

I never thought I’d be wanted the way Aiden wants me. Never thought I’d be seen and appreciated and adored. But he does. He sees me. He wants me. He loves me. “I love you a lot.”

“I’m gonna love you so good, Lucie.”

“I’m glad you answered.” I grin. “Mr. Tire is going to be so happy.”

Jackson Clark: All right, Baltimore. She’s in the parking lot. We’re watching them through the window and they’re talking. They’re talking. They’re talking. Maggie Lin: You don’t have to repeat yourself. Jackson Clark: I’m just providing real-time updates—oh my god. They’re kissing. There is a kiss happening, people.

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.

How long have Lucie and I been orbiting each other? How many chances did I miss before I picked up that phone call in the middle of the night? She said she wanted magic and I thought we found something better. Something real. But apparently there was a little magic, after all. A bunch of breadcrumbs dropped like pennies in a fountain, leading me right to her.

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.”