Can't Stop Wanting You: (Oakland Hills Short Story 1)

by Gretchen Galway

She couldn’t help but look into his eyes. Her stomach fluttered. I don’t know that at all, she thought. What was she going to do now? The levee had broken. The floodwaters were rising. She was a goner.

  Below them outside, a truck beeped as it backed up into the driveway. She moved to the window and looked out. “It’s the event supply people. With the chairs and tables, for the wedding.” Grateful for the interruption, she pivoted to the door. “I’d better go make sure they don’t trample my dahlias.”

  He rose to his feet, gathering the plates. “I’ll clean up.”

  “No, no, that’s not right.” She snatched them and hurried to the door. “You’re paying for real meals, not half a sandwich. Sit down, watch a game on TV, whatever it is you do to relax.” Without looking back, she jogged down the stairs, her pulse racing.

  What the hell was she going to do now?

  His voice drifted down after her. “How about we go over at noon Saturday for that cake?”

  She stopped on the landing, looked up at him over her shoulder, her breath tightening in her chest. “I don’t know,” she said. Her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

  “Sure you do,” he said. His smile made her knees weak. Just in time for the floodwaters lapping at her calves.

  7

  AROUND NINE ON SATURDAY MORNING, Simon looked out his bedroom window, watching people hang garlands along the folding chairs in the yard below for the wedding later that day. The vows were scheduled for noon, with the reception immediately after. Simon had met the groom (his boss’s brother) but not the bride. Liam Johnson, the fashion VP and former Olympian, was marrying a former preschool teacher and current owner of Liam’s company. Simon didn’t know how that unlikely love affair had taken off. He was a little curious to see them together.

  Especially if Jody would agree to walk over with him.

  He sipped his coffee, thinking about her. Some more. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. It surprised him that she seemed prepared to drop their years of hostility because of one little conversation. He’d always suspected her animosity had been born the moment he’d first gone out with Melissa—instead of her. That it was his relationship with Melissa, not the ending of it, that had made Jody furious.

  Was he a fool to think she’d been jealous? That she’d just been a loyal, protective friend?

  He frowned into his empty cup. He’d been so angry, so hurt, when she hadn’t given him the benefit of the doubt. All those years they’d been pals hadn’t meant a thing. She’d assumed the worst and gone on assuming it. Except he’d always wondered, always hoped…

  Well, looks like he was wrong about the jealous thing. She’d just thought he’d broken her friend’s heart, driving her to suicide and then abandoning her to her failed dreams of being valedictorian and Harvard MBA before her twenty-second birthday. That was more than reason enough to hate him. A secret obsession with his truly wasn’t necessary to explain the depth of her feelings.

  But he could hope.

  * * *

  Somebody was knocking on the kitchen window.

  Jody hurried over from the dining room and saw Trixie, in a cream-colored silk pantsuit, waving at her through the purple blossoms of the butterfly bush. In a flash, Jody, in her old flannel bathrobe, was opening the back door for her. The morning fog had just burned off, and a beam sunlight struck her in the eyes.

  “Are you coming?” Trixie asked, short of breath. Her elaborate corsage was missing a pin and was about to fall into the recycling bins next to the steps.

  Jody reached forward and straightened the flowers, replaced the pin, and smiled at her. “You look beautiful. I love daisies.”

  “Yes, thank you, but are you coming?”

  Until ten that morning, Jody would’ve said no, but watching the family and friends next door set up the chairs, hang the flowers, carry boxes of bottles and trays of food—she realized she had to go. It would be mean-spirited of her not to toast the happy couple.

  Jody unbelted her robe and held it open with a smile. “Of course I’m coming.” She wore a butter-yellow sundress, but hadn’t wanted Simon to see it until… well, until later. “I was putting on my makeup. What time should we come over?”

  Trixie beamed. “You and Simon—doesn’t that sound nice?—should hurry up and get over here as soon as possible. Bev’s walking down the aisle in fifteen minutes.”

  “But you—it’s just family—we were—”

  “See you soon!” Trixie was already jogging across the grass to the temporary arbor set up between a pair of redwoods.

  “Nice outfit,” Simon said behind her.

  She spun around, the plaid flannel from the robe fluttering around her thighs. He was looking her over, a mocking smile on his face. When he saw the sundress—cut low on top and high below—he sobered.

  “Really, really nice outfit,” he said.

  Why did she have to blush so easily? She felt like she’d just put her face on the barbecue. “Thank you.” Her voice was thick, so she cleared her throat and gave him a look of her own. Navy suit, no tie, extra sexy. Oh, oh. She loved that look. Powerful but about to be naked. “Trixie is expecting us at the ceremony. She just ran over to make sure we’d come.”

  “Well, okay. I don’t mind. It’ll be fun to see Mark—my boss—all decked out as best man in front of everyone. He’s brilliant, but infamously shy.” He grinned. “Maybe he’ll faint.”

  “The lawn will break his fall.”

  “Exactly. I don’t have to feel guilty if I laugh.” He brought his hands to his collar. “I’d better get my tie.”

  “No!”

  His eyebrows went up.

  Her face took another turn on the grill. “You don’t need it. It’s a small family wedding.” She turned, taking off the flannel robe, and squinted out the window. “The other men aren’t wearing them,” she lied.

  “Well, all right. Shall we go?” He moved to the door and held it open. They looked at each other for a moment, the gentle sounds of a string quartet floating over to them. Her heart was pounding in time to the music.

  “I’m sorry I misjudged you, Simon,” she said.

  He looked away. “Yeah, well, everything’s better now, isn’t it?” He sounded a little grumpy.

  Not understanding his tone, she followed him down the steps to the small patio, then around the house to the rows of chairs. Heads of giant sunflowers dotted the grass in a row, lining the aisle with their happy faces. Garlands of daisies draped behind the seats and over the arbor at the other end, where a woman in a black robe and pink floppy hat stood, holding a book. Mark, the best man, already stood next to her, hands folded, looking awkward but happy. She realized they were late.

  “Here?” Simon whispered, putting a hand on her bare shoulder as he gestured to the last row.

  Shivering at his touch, Jody waved back at Trixie in the front row; they quickly took two empty seats near the aisle. The three dozen people were already sitting, some of them in dresses and suits that looked runway-ready, most more casually, in button-down shirts and khakis or inexpensive knit dresses like the one she wore. Quite a few of the men were extremely big and well-built thirty-somethings; Liam’s former swim teammates, she assumed. She tried to admire them, told herself she should look for the unmarried ones and enjoy the rare opportunity to meet new men…

  But all she could feel was an aching curiosity about the man next to her, stare at his tanned hands resting on his well-muscled thighs—they must be well-muscled, right? from all that cycling?—and inhale the scent of his shampoo, drawing it into herself like sexy oxygen.

  Suddenly everyone turned and stared behind them. The exhalation that people make when they see something cute blew across the scene: an adorable little girl with a serious expression began walking, throwing flowers ahead of her like a professional baseball player. She was followed by three women in sage-green dresses, none of them she knew, and finally, the bride.

  Bev Lewis, a raven-haired woman with bright blue eyes
, laughed and gave everyone a wave. Her dress was white, shimmering with seed pearls, and fitted to show off an hourglass figure like a 1940s film star. An older man who looked like her father patted her hand on his arm, and they began to walk. As they passed, Jody heard Bev mumble, “I’m gonna puke,” and the man’s gentle reply, “No you won’t.”

  Liam, the gorgeous groom, his blond hair mussed in the breeze off the bay, gazed at Bev with glittering love in his eyes. She took his hands and they turned to face the wedding official.

  Only two minutes into the wedding and Jody was already feeling dizzy. The second-hand love-fumes were giving her a contact high. She couldn’t help herself; she glanced at Simon, just to glimpse his profile. He caught her looking, and winked. Then shifted in his seat so their thighs were pressing together.

  She tried to take in a complete breath and pay attention to the show.

  The ceremony included a funny poem and a few traditional vows; at least Jody was pretty sure that’s what she heard through the haze of her distracted lust, longing, and love. Simon had moved his arm to rest along the back of her seat. Coherent thought was impossible.

  “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve ever needed,” Liam was saying, holding both of Bev’s hands.

  Jody felt pricking behind her eyelids. Oh, wow, that’s sweet.

  Her thoughts drifted to when the man next to her had been sweet. When she’d blown up the pile of bark chips in their grade school playground, every other boy had ran for safety, leaving her to face the music on her own.

  Except for Simon. He’d watched the others flee while he kept his ground (what hadn’t been blown away) next to her. He’d let them assume he’d been the one to make the gunpowder and bring the lighter to school, as both were crimes the teachers readily attributed to male delinquency, but she’d immediately corrected them. Damned if she was going to let him take all the credit. Or blame.

  How could she not love him forever after that?

  “I now declare you married,” came a loud, happy voice, and the crowd held its breath for a moment as Liam and Bev came together in a long, slow kiss. Jody stopped breathing.

  Like a defibrillator, the crowd’s burst of applause shocked her out of her empathetic love coma. Barely aware of the wedding party dispersing, she gripped her elbows and hugged herself. Simon’s body pressed against hers as they turned to watch the end of the ceremony. The flower girl, her face as serious as before, marched ahead of Liam and Bev, blowing bubbles. Several adults along the aisle, also holding bubble-gum pink plastic bottles, added bubbles of their own to the dancing cloud rising up into the blue sky.

  When the wedding party was laughing in an informal group near the lavender hedge, the rest of their small row stood and filed out to the other direction, while she and Simon remained in their seats. Jody was hyper-conscious of his knee pressing into her right thigh, his left arm draped across the back of her chair.

  She looked down at his hand, heart skipping in her chest, and watched his fingertips brush her bare shoulder. Her limbs felt weightless, as if she were floating up into the air with the bubbles.

  It was the most sensual out-of-body experience she’d ever had in her life. She and Simon sat, frozen except for his hand, which now cupped her upper arm and stroked, gently, upward.

  She didn’t look at him, afraid if their eyes met, it would stop. The touching would stop. She didn’t want the touching to stop.

  Oh, no, don’t, don’t, don’t stop.

  “Jody,” he said roughly. His hand slid over her shoulder to the curve of her neck, up to her jaw. Electrical shivers ran through her veins. Desire pooled between her legs.

  He paused, as if waiting for a sign. For permission.

  She tilted her head, pressing her cheek into his palm, to give it to him. But still she didn’t look at him.

  “Jody,” he said again. His breath was hot below her ear.

  She’d kissed him once before, behind the privet lining the playground of their elementary school. Back then, he’d wiped it off with the back of his hand, horrified, discouraging her from making any other romantic overtures in the future.

  She thought of this now as she felt his lips brush her temple, felt his strong fingers tunnel into her hair.

  Still superstitious of making eye contact, she closed her eyes as she slowly turned her head, her breath so shallow she was hardly breathing at all. The moment their lips touched, what had been slow suddenly went into overdrive, a race to get closer, to burn on impact. His mouth slanted across hers, open and demanding; she slid her tongue past his teeth, just wanting to be with him like this, after so, so long, finally, so sweet and hot and wet, inside and outside, together.

  She could feel how he wanted her. She’d always wondered, never known if it could be true. When he’d been with Melissa, she’d been devastated, too young to tough it out, convinced he couldn’t possibly ever want her if he’d agreed to date her friend.

  His fingers splayed across her cheek, holding her in place as he continued to kiss her. From across the lawn, the rich music of the string quartet drifted around them. Jody put her hands on Simon’s broad, warm chest, thinking through her haze of lust that the cello was the most erotic instrument ever played. Who knew classical music could be so hot? Haydn, you sexy devil…

  Perhaps because they weren’t sixteen anymore, they both seemed to remember where they were, stopping themselves from diving headlong into the grass and ripping each other’s clothes off. Barely. Simon’s hand had moved under the thin strap of her sundress, his thumb caressing her collarbone as his fingers tickled the hollow between her breasts. At the same time, they each softened the kiss, withdrawing just until their foreheads were touching and their breath, coming raggedly for both of them, mingling together with the music.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that,” Simon said.

  He did? Could this be real? “Me too,” she said.

  They stayed as they were for a long moment, breathing each other’s breath, thinking each other’s thoughts.

  “I think I’ve always loved you,” he said.

  Her heart shuddered, seized up, stopped completely.

  “Jody?” He sounded worried. Drawing back a few inches, he brushed her hair away from her face and looked into her eyes.

  Her mouth was dry. Desire would’ve been enough for her; but love, too?

  It was too much to take in at once.

  She gazed into his eyes and let him see everything, all the raw need, the hope and the longing, the love.

  The crease between his brow melted away. A wolfish smile formed as he caressed her mouth with the tips of his fingers. “Thought so.”

  “Please,” she said. “You did not.”

  “Did too.”

  She put a few more inches between them, but he kept a strong arm around her shoulders, and his other hand continued to stroke her throat. “Then why didn’t you do anything about it?” she asked.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She licked her lips. They felt bruised, hot. Her heart began to pound, imagining the quiet, empty house behind them; her big bed; his big bed.

  “I felt guilty about Melissa,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh, “so did I.”

  “You shouldn’t. Neither of us should.”

  “I like the way you think,” he said. “Can we go now?”

  A giggle bubbled out of her. It really was happening. “We’ve been so rude. People must be staring at us.” She glanced around, still trapped in his arms, and saw a few people to their left lifting champagne flutes from a caterer’s tray. “We should stay for the toast.”

  “And then we can go?”

  She cupped his jaw, savoring the feel of his skin. There was so much of him she wanted to touch. Nodding, she broke away from him to stand up; her knees wobbled beneath her, and she nearly fell over on the sloped lawn.

  “Easy.” He hooked an arm around her waist. “I’d better hold on to you. Wouldn’t want you to h
ave an accident.” He pulled her close and kissed her again. Hungry for him, she pressed her hips against his and felt all that hard desire pressing into her pelvis. What few clear thoughts she held burned off like the morning fog.

  He broke away and said roughly, “We’ll toast them privately.” Grabbing her hand, he tugged her behind him into the aisle and across the grass, through the laughing crowd—were they laughing at them? She couldn’t bring herself to care—to the back steps of her grandmother’s house. He pushed her through the door ahead of him and kicked the door shut behind them. She heard the dead-bolt click.

  The journey up the stairs to his bedroom raced past in a blur. Her shoes littered the living room carpet, his pants fell on the stairs, her dress landed on the bannister. For every garment he removed from her, she claimed one of his, and by the time he was throwing her on the bed and she was reaching for him, gasping and laughing, they were both completely stripped, as naked as the day they were born.

  It was no surprise the first time sped by in a shaky rush; a lifetime of foreplay was too much for either one of them. They fell upon each other, starving for taste and smell and connection, penetration. He drove into her with a kiss. She cried out and scratched at him, years of frustration shattering with rising pleasure. They moved together, hard and mindless, nothing between them.

  Her climax struck; she cried his name and broke into pieces.

  “Jody,” he gasped, following her off the cliff.

  8

  THE SECOND TIME WAS SLOWER. It had to be, since they were in the shower, and the soap kept falling onto the tile and one of them had to reach over and retrieve it, which led to more groping, giggles, slippery kisses, and inefficient penetration. No man had ever made her feel so beautiful, so fun, so loved.

  Late afternoon, they curled up in Simon’s duvet under a beam of sunshine and gazed into each other’s eyes, two empty champagne flutes on the bedside table next to them.

  “Is your grandmother going to be annoyed with me?” he asked.

  “If she is, will you move out?”