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Why didn’t I get on birth control after having Lainey? I mean, I know why. I didn’t expect to have sex for a long, long time. Though James and I didn’t technically have sex in the traditional sense, there was a lot of bare skin on skin action and bodily fluids, and…What if I get pregnant again? Already, it’s hard to catch my breath as I think through the consequences if that were to happen. I have to push those thoughts away because if I don’t, I’ll start panicking for real.
Inhaling deep through my nose and out through my mouth, I finally unlock and open the door. James is sitting silently on the edge of the bed facing the bathroom, and I immediately drop my gaze to the floor. I can’t meet his eyes. I’m afraid of what I might see on his face—if he’s upset by what just happened or angry that I ran out on him again as soon as we were done.
I take a quick peek at the babies using my phone’s flashlight, then keep my head down as I climb into bed on the opposite side of James and pull the covers up to my chin. I lay on my side with my back to him and hear him sigh. The bed shifts as he stands, and I hear the click of the bathroom door closing, then the sound of the shower running.
He’s much quicker than I was, though I pretend to be asleep already when he comes out of the bathroom. I open one eye a smidge to see him walk around the bed wrapped in just a towel around his narrow waist, and I mentally chastise myself for wishing he hadn’t bothered with the towel. He rummages in his suitcase for a minute, then quietly leaves the bedroom carrying a wad of clothing.
I notice he’s left the door ajar as he did earlier, and I try not to think about him sleeping alone on the couch after what we just did. Try not to think about how wrong it feels to sleep separately after being so intimate with him.
Not that I meant for it to happen. I didn’t. After last night, when I first lost my mind and offered to comfort him, I never expected to do it again, not when I felt like I had taken advantage of him. When I sat on the couch next to him earlier, I still wasn’t thinking of comforting him. It just happened.
Of course, I’ve always thought he was attractive, and we’ve grown extremely close, but I never thought we’d actually cross the line into having some kind of a sexual relationship—much less one that I initiated—since I know he was silently freaked out when he found out I’m still in high school. I’m forced to admit to myself that my feelings for him go way beyond just simple attraction. Beyond simply caring about him and the unusual friendship I’ve developed with the quiet, older neighbor across the street.
I’ve spent so much time with James and Grayson that it’s almost like they’re mine—my James and my Grayson. But they aren’t. They can’t be. Not when he is a grown man who already has his life set up with his own home and career securely in place. Not at this point in my life when I’m still undecided about where my future—Lainey’s future, too—is headed after high school.
Thirty minutes later, I’m still failing at not thinking about him, about the way he gripped my hips and made me cum on his fingers and called me his angel. He’s called me an angel several times before, which I thought was flattering, but calling me his angel is different. Warmth had bloomed in my chest and settled in my belly when he said it, and I liked the idea of being his in some way.
I also wonder how he was going to finish his sentences before he cut himself off. “I’ve never—this is the first—” Did he mean he’s never fingered a woman? Or has he never touched a woman intimately at all? I don’t know why either of those scenarios gives me a little tingle in my lower belly. I’ve never done any of this before, either, even though I’m not a virgin.
There’s the sound of shuffling feet just outside the bedroom door, and I open my eyes the barest amount. James steps into the room and walks around to the opposite side of the bed. I hold my breath, waiting to see what he’s going to do.
I slowly let it out when the mattress dips behind me under his weight. There’s a brief flash of cold air when he lifts the covers and slides under them. My heart starts racing as I think about sleeping in the same bed with him. He stays on his side for a few long minutes, twisting and turning and trying to get comfortable, I imagine. Just as my racing heart starts to slow, he shifts.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he inches his way closer like he’s afraid he’ll wake me, and I’ll tell him to leave. He still hasn’t touched me, but I can feel his body heat at my back. A shiver travels down my spine when his warm puffs of air fan the back of my neck with my hair pulled up in a bun like this. I don’t move a muscle, but he has to know by now that I’m awake simply by how fast I’m breathing.
We lay like that, not touching for a few more minutes until he finally, tentatively, lays his hand on my waist, resting it lightly in the dip between my ribs and the curve of my hips. He blows out a breath that tickles my ear, and I finally give up the pretense of being asleep.
I peek over my shoulder and whisper, “James?”
“Is this okay?” His voice is low and smooth and so sexy that I clench my thighs together. His palm slowly shifts forward until his elbow rests on my waist, and he splays his hand wide over my shirt and stomach. I would feel self-conscious about him feeling the post-partum softness of my lower belly if I hadn’t seen how his eyes had flared with lust when I took my shirt off earlier.
I nod, afraid of what I’ll sound like if I answer him out loud. I even scoot back a few inches until my back is pressed against his lean chest, his body heat enveloping me. He bends his knees so they’re resting behind mine, and I finally, finally fall asleep with James spooning me, holding me like I really am his.
His angel.
Chapter 13
James
Shayla and I tiptoe around each other all morning as we eat our room service breakfast, then get Lainey, Grayson, and ourselves ready for Dad’s funeral. She’s a somber vision in a knee-length pleated black skirt with a black button-up blouse tucked into the high waist. I’m dressed in a similar black long-sleeve button-down and pressed black trousers she picked out for me.
I revel in her soft touch when she points to a kitchen table chair for me to take a seat on and then proceeds to comb out and slick back my hair so it looks tidy for once. I want to take her by the hand and pull her around the chair onto my lap when her fingertips skim along the back of my neck, causing goosebumps to rise along my arms. My hand twitches half a second from doing just that when she clears her throat and walks away.
I keep trying to make eye contact with her, but she’s not having it. I want to take her chin in my hand and beg her to look at me. I want to tell her that sleeping next to her all night was one of the best nights of my life. I’ve never slept next to a woman before, and the fact that my first time was with her makes the experience all that much more special.
I want to tell her that I want her in my bed every night for the rest of our lives, even if she never wants to be intimate in a sexual way with me again, as difficult as that would be. I would be content with simply holding her all night long, just as I did last night with my palm spread wide over her torso and my face buried in her pale, silky hair.
But I won’t tell her. Not yet, at least. Not when she’s so skittish, and I’m scared my intensity and obsessive need for her will make her bolt.
The only upside to all of this is that it’s kept my mind distracted from thinking about how much I regret the strained relationship I had with Dad, one I’ll never be able to fix.
When we get to my parents’ church, we pile out of the minivan I rented this morning. Shayla carries Lainey, dressed in a dark purple and white argyle sweater dress on her hip, while I carry the diaper bag and Grayson in his matching argyle sweater and black pants as we quietly walk up the front steps and into the building. Mom is standing up front with Dad’s sister, my Aunt Carol, greeting everyone as they arrive. She has her glasses resting on top of her head as she dabs at tears in her eyes with a tissue, and the anger I’ve held onto toward her fades marginally.
I bend to hug her and kiss her cheek, and for a few seconds, she leans into me. My heart softens more toward her, but then she straightens, scowls at Shayla, and turns her back to greet the next person.
Just like that, my heart hardens again.
I love my mom because she’s my mom, but the protective feelings I have toward Shayla and Lainey flare to life. If we weren’t in a church, and if this weren’t Dad’s funeral, I’d pull her aside to confront her about how she’s treating my angels.
