Sitting back, I hold her darkened gaze as I drag her panties down her legs, tossing the black lacy material beside us before settling on top of her again. The blood is roaring in my ears, and I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous. Charley reaches up and cups my face in her palm, caressing my bottom lip with her thumb.
“Just breathe,” she says, as if she can sense my racing heart. Bringing her legs around my waist, she pulls me closer, and I drop my hands on the blanket on either side of her head. “Go slow and kiss me.”
My lungs fill with air, and I press my mouth to hers, feeling a little bit of the nerves roll off my body. And then the outside world fades away as I give myself to her.
To Charley.
The girl I’ve always loved, the one I know I always will.
This is happening. It’s her and me, and it’s better than I ever could’ve imagined.
14
Charley
This is coupley.
Graham and I look like a couple right now. The only thing missing is us holding hands.
My heart races, and I don’t know how to get it to stop. It’s been an energizer bunny since we dropped Ellie Mae off with his mom. We were supposed to come herewith her, or so I thought, but this morning, he sprung it on me that she’s going to the damnaquariumout of town today with her nana. So, here we are. Walking through this farmers’ market together, looking at all the booths, like we’re in a freaking relationship.
I need to knock it off. I’m going to give myself a hernia. It’s just been…a lot, being around Graham so much this week. When I wake up in the morning, he’s there, making coffee in the kitchen or getting Ellie Mae ready for the day. When I’m at work, he’s there too. Sure, he’s in the kitchen, far away from the front desk, but he’s still there. When I come home, if he’s not already there, he will be soon. Or we carpool on days we got off at the same time. And it wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t enjoy it so much.If I truly felt nothing more than friend feelings, I would be fine. Butnooo, I had to go and unlock Pandora's box, like an idiot, and unleash all the feelings I had stuffed away years ago, never to be seen again.
“Have you heard of this stuff before?” Graham asks as we stop in front of a stand full of various types of honey. He’s holding a jar of it, but it’s purple.
“Yes, Graham, I’ve heard of honey.” I breathe out a small chuckle. “I know I’m not a big foodie like you are, but I promise I’m notthatuncultured.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head with a laugh. “Purple honey, specifically.”
“Can’t say that I have,” I murmur. “What makes it purple? Just dye or something?”
“That’s the thing, beekeepers and honey enthusiasts aren’t really sure why or how it’s purple. It’s a weird phenomenon among people in the bee and honey community.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek to hide the smile wanting to come out. His whole face is lit up. Food, in general, is a passion of Graham’s, for obvious reasons, but I’ve noticed there are some foodie things he’s extra into. Honey being one of them. I haven’t ever asked him about it, but I’ve noticed there are several different kinds of honey at the house.
“The bee and honey community, huh?” I ask teasingly. “Would you happen to be a part of that community?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.” His cheeks pinken, and I hate how adorable I find it. “But itisfascinating, especially because it’s produced by bees only in specific locations, mainly in areas heavily populated with wildflowers. This specific brand is from up in North Carolina, but I believe it has also been found here and in Georgia.”
To be honest, I don’t give a shit about bees or honey, but I could listen to him talk about this all day. Graham isn’t overlyanimated or expressive when he communicates regularly, so seeing his excitement over talking about an interest of his makes me oddly excited too.
“Is it any good?” I ask, my curiosity now piqued.
He nods, handing the jar to the lady behind the stand. “I’ll take this one, please,” he says to her before turning to me. “It has a grape-like taste to it. You’ll have to try it later on when we get home. It’s so good.” Once he pays for the honey, we walk away from the stand, needing to head back to the car soon if we’re going to make it to my appointment.
“I don’t think I can have honey while I’m pregnant,” I say, reaching for my sunglasses in my bag. It’s been overcast all day, and now it’s blinding.
“Yeah, you can.” Graham nods. “Well, it’s fine in moderation, as long as it’s not unpasteurized or raw.” Then, completely nonchalantly, he adds, “I checked before you moved in.”
“You did?” My throat tightens for a reason I refuse to acknowledge right now.
“Yeah, just to be sure. I remember you used to love honey and banana sandwiches when we were younger.”Well, there goes my heart, leaping straight from my chest. “You’re probably thinking of babies, and how you shouldn’t let them ingest honey before they’re one year old because of the risk of botulism.”
“Oh, okay.” I nod, my stomach doing somersaults. “Well, in that case, I’d love to try some tonight.”
The drive to my doctor's office only takes a few minutes, and after I get checked in and fill out all the necessary paperwork, they bring us back to a room. Both of us are pretty quiet.
“Are you nervous?” I ask after a minute.
