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He considers this before pulling down plates from the cupboard. “Worst-case scenario: Someone dies. Easiest to explain is that they were maimed during a tragic woodworking accident that cut short some quality couple time. As far as I’m concerned, either of those options can only improve their image at this point. At least there aren’t any witnesses here to tweet it.”
With Melly and Rusty occupied, I do what I’ve wanted to since walking into the kitchen. Pushing off the counter, I step up behind him, resting my cheek between his shoulders and wrapping my arms around his waist. He makes a low, vibrating sound of contentment, and places his hand over mine to keep me there.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” he says, and I nod against him, breathing him in and letting myself enjoy every second. I’ve never really let myself want someone this way. Never let them know the parts of me that I spend so much time hating or trying to hide. It’s nice to just be me. Everything lately feels so hard, but being with James isn’t.
When he laughs, I feel it move through him in a deep rumble. “They look like a couple of actors in a really weird silent movie.”
I hook my chin over his shoulder to look outside again. It’s really just an excuse to get closer. He’s right. We can see them shouting but can’t hear anything they say. It’s oddly relieving.
Rusty has a set of safety goggles sitting atop his head. Melly is holding a giant hammer, waving it in the air. I’m not sure if I’m more worried she’ll hurt herself or him with it, but I find I have very little energy to go out there and intervene.
With a click of the stove, James shuts off a burner and lifts a pot from the back, full of noodles, transferring it to a colander in the sink. My grip around his waist is clearly making it harder for him to maneuver around the kitchen, but I don’t want to let go until I have to.
“Dinner’s ready.” With one hand keeping me close, he smiles at me over his shoulder. “Should we tell them they’re allowed to come back inside?”
I groan into his shirt. “Do we have to?”
“We don’t have to do anything,” he says, and turns in my arms. “They don’t know it, but that door is locked, so …”
I only mean to kiss him once, but the crazy thing about not being able to kiss when and where you want is that you never get used to it. Each kiss feels like something we’re stealing.
I’ve been naked with James, had sex half-clothed with James, but the feeling of his hands on my hips and his fingers grazing that tiny slice of skin at my waist sends electricity from my chest to my toes and everywhere in between. I don’t want this to end, I think. I feel like I don’t know what to do with my job or anything else in my life, but I know he’s the most sarcastic, funny, thoughtful man I’ve ever met, and I want him. I know that much.
He moves to kiss my cheek and my jaw, then sucks at the spot just below my ear. It sends another jolt of awareness up my spine and tingles along my scalp.
“As much as I want to keep doing this,” he says, the backs of his fingers sliding along my skin to my ribs and just below my breasts, “the show is going live in fifteen minutes. Once we get through this, we’ll get numbers from Ted and know if season two is a go. After that, we can head home, and I can take you to my bed without anyone walking in to say a single fucking thing.”
My heart pounds in my chest as I consider my options: a quickie in the kitchen pantry, or being thoroughly ravaged in James’s bed. “Okay. I’ll try to be patient.”
He grins, kissing me once more. “Is everything ready to go?”
It takes a moment for my brain to come completely back online, but I eventually get there. The show. “Yeah,” I say, taking a step away for a little breathing room. “I’ve got the router booted up and the big TV connected, and my phone is logged in to Skype so I can hear Ted and Robyn yell at me rather than just read it.”
I watch as he walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a green salad.
“Can I say how much I love that you made dinner and I hooked up the electronics?” I ask.
“Sometimes we have to play to our strengths.” He sets the bowl on the counter. “Do you want to call the kids and tell them dinner is ready or should I?”
I grin at him as I move to open the door. “Do you want the real answer or the nice one?”
