I hold back my chuckle, and I move my finger to his stubbled chin where I rotate his head to look at me, his nose once again grazes my breasts as I say, “Totally fine.”
I watch as his eyes widen. There’s a hitch in his breath as he quickly returns his gaze to the wall. “So, uh . . . lights.”
Chuckling, I smooth my hand over his and take hold of the light while I grip his shoulder with my other hand, massaging the tension. “Relax, Brig, talk about uptight.”
He doesn’t relax. He stiffens even more. “My nose grazed your boob.”
“So? It’s not like you sucked on my nipple. Although, at this point, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
“Wh-what?” he asks, still staring at the wall. I move my hand to his neck and massage the base of it, trying to get him to relax, while also hopefully sending a wave of goosebumps down his arms. His neck slowly moves to the side, giving me better access. “Uh, you said something about your nipple.”
Oh my God, he’s so cute when he’s turned on.
And how do I know he’s turned on? Well, his breathing is heavier, there is a wave of goosebumps on his arms, and he can’t seem to look at me—for obvious reasons. But when he did, lust was clear in his eyes.
“I did. I said you could suck on them if you wanted.” Bold, Ruth. Really freaking bold. I flinch, waiting for a response.
“Suck on, huh . . . that feels good . . . nips . . .” His eyes are lazy when he turns to me, his nose once again skimming my breasts, but this time, my nipples are hard. “Oh . . . fuck,” he whispers, as if he’s having a conversation with himself. “Uh . . . boobs,” he says, wavering on his chair, his body falling back. I catch him by the shoulder, pulling him back from falling, only for him to fall face first into my chest.
Oh dear God.
“What’s happening?” he asks, muffled, his mouth moving against my cleavage. I quickly release him, pushing him back. His arm flails, until he grips the wall and steadies himself.
Then we stare at each other, him looking up at me in shock, me looking down at him, stunned.
This escalated quickly and not in the best way.
A flush of embarrassment creeps over my skin. Oh God, did I just make him motorboat me? I know there was the subconscious thought, but did I actually make it happen?
Still shaken, he says, “Did you really want me to suck your nipple?”
Recover, Ruth. Recover from this humiliating moment.
Brush it off.
Miscommunication.
No, you weren’t trying to make a pass at him with your breasts. Well, I was, but there were boobs in his face, a nipple ready to be sucked . . . and he resisted.
I’m now wondering if I’m like Ginnifer Goodwin in He’s Just Not That Into You, where Justin Long’s character has to spell it out to her character that if the guy she likes is not calling, not reacting to her flirting, to her, that he’s just not into her. I swallow down the embarrassment. Am I Ginnifer Goodwin?
God, how do I get out of this?
Take the blame. Smiling wildly, I say, “I was making a joke, Brig.”
“Huh, oh . . . yeah. A joke.” He laughs but it sounds forced. “Joking about nipples, love joking about those little nubs.”
Oh my God. He’s flustered.
Hell, I’m flustered.
Like two ripe tomatoes, our faces bright red, we don’t say a word, just look at each other, trying to decipher where to go from here. What to say. Did things just get exponentially awkward?
I hope not.
Brig grips the back of his neck and sighs loudly. “What the hell was I doing?” He scans the wires and then presses his fingers to his forehead. “Hell, I have no idea what’s going on.”
Is he talking about the light or what’s going on between us?
When he turns back to the light, I have my answer. He fumbles with the wires with no rhyme or reason.
“You were attaching the wires from the wall to the new light.”
“Yeah, something like that.” He takes a deep breath and rests his head on the wall. “Christ, I can still feel your tit on my nose.”
Talk about the perfect icebreaker.
We both chuckle.
Thank God for Brig’s fun personality.
“I can still feel the short spurts of breath through your nose. You made my nipples moist.”
“Got to say”—he chuckles—“first time a girl has ever said that to me.”
“Glad I could be your first.”
He nods at my feet. “Maybe you can step down one rung, you know, so I’m not making your boobs moist.”
“Sure,” I say, scooting down one and extending my hands higher above me to hold the light. “That better?”
He turns toward me again but this time our faces are mere inches from each other. So close that I can feel our breath mix, the beat of our hearts growing closer, in sync with each other. The air thickens between us, electricity bounces off my chest to his, and it’s so clear that there’s something going on. Something brewing.
Even though I’m the one who put us in this position, I feel a bout of regret creep into the back of my mind because being this close to him, looking him in those penetrating eyes, I feel my resolve start to weaken.
I want him.
Bad.
My body leans into his, itching to be closer, needing to be held.
Do I press my hand to his chest? Steady my wobbling legs? Do I reach out, caress his face like the girls said? Do I pretend to swoon and then accidentally press my lips to his?
Indecision weighs heavily as the tension continues to build. Our eyes search each other, our minds both turning, wondering.
What would he do if I kissed him? If I pulled his head into mine and pressed my lips to his? Would he accept me or turn me away?
I try to tell myself he’d pull me in closer, convince myself of it, but my courage falls flat and just as I start to lean away, his hand falls to my hip, holding me in place.
Did I just sway? Or did he pull me closer?
Either way, he’s holding me tightly, our noses almost touching. Our lips mere inches apart.
This could be the opportunity I’ve wanted for so long.
Seize the moment . . .
Kiss him, Ruth.
Take what you want and kiss him.
“You almost fell,” he says softly right before licking his lips.
“Lost balance,” I say breathlessly. “Thank you for catching me.”
“Of course.” His eyes fall to my lips as I wet them with my tongue. “Wouldn’t want my girl to fall off my ladder.”
“Your . . . girl?” I reply, my heart running a mile a minute.
“Yeah, my best girl. Best friend.”
My face falls, hope for seizing the moment plummets to the floor, and once again, I feel like any progress I’ve made for an us has been pushed back further and further.
“Wait, is that too soon?” he asks reading my sullen expression.
Trying to regain my composure and act like him putting me in the friend zone once again isn’t absolutely heartbreaking, I say, “You consider me your best friend already?”
“Maybe,” he says, reaching up and tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “I’m always with you. That has to mean something.”
His fingers linger. Maybe all hope isn’t lost?
Baby steps.
Pull down the blinders, even if they keep snapping back up.
“I was thinking the same thing. It must mean something,” I say, using my free hand to snag a finger in his jeans pockets to keep myself close. He takes that moment to turn on the chair so he’s facing me. Feigning being off balance, I bring him a little closer with a tug on his pocket.
Like the gentleman he is, he takes the cue and steadies me by gripping my hip again but this time, he doesn’t move his hand away.
“Should we get best friend bracelets?” he asks with a lazy smile that paints him in such an adorably sexy light that all I want to do is throw my body ar
ound his, forget the fixtures, and lie on the floor with him, kissing him whenever and wherever I want.
“Friendship bracelets? I don’t know. That would forever put us in the friend zone,” I say, alluding to more. Frankly, I’m shocked the words came out of my mouth.
And I’m not the only one who’s shocked, because his brows shoot to his hairline followed by a sly curve of his lips. “Not wanting to be permanently in the friend zone?”
Oh God.
Be cool, Ruth.
Casual, fun.
Don’t expose all your feelings and thoughts and possible love for this man.
“Friendship bracelets forever seal the deal of eternal friends. That’s risky. What if when we’re both forty, still no love prospects, and we don’t want to die alone? If we have friendship bracelets, we’d never be able to marry to ensure we’re not alone for life.”
“Like a marriage pact.”
“Exactly. Friendship bracelets would ruin that.”
His thumb grazes my hip, sending a shot of lust straight between my legs. He thought it was easy to turn him on. All it takes is one stroke of the thumb for me. “You know, I’ve never heard that rule, but the more I think about it, the more I believe it.”
“So that’s a pass on the friendship bracelets?” I ask, tugging on his jeans.
“That’s a pass.” He smiles and says, “Does that mean we’re making a pact? If we’re both single at forty, we get married?”
I shake my head.
“No?” he asks, confused.
“If we’re both not married at forty, then we bang first. I have to test the equipment before I commit to it for life.”
“Are you saying I might be bad in bed?” His hand slides up my side, and it takes everything in me not to shiver.
Not to cheer.
Not to swoon right here on this ladder.
“Possibly.”
“Who’s to say you’re good in bed?” he asks.
Slowly, my hand climbs up his chest, skimming his abs, gliding over his thick pecs. I love the way he takes in a sharp inhale from the pass of my hand. I move up to his neck, my thumb to his chin, and then the bottom of his lip where I tug on it.
When his eyes darken and his mouth slightly parts, I say, “You don’t have to worry about me, Brig. I’m excellent in bed. Flexible, adventurous, and I love going all night. Plus, I give good head.”
He must swallow wrong, because all of a sudden, he starts coughing and turns away. He hops off the chair and digs his hands in his hair, looking up at me in disbelief.
“I, uh . . . I just remembered. I have to make a phone call. Let me go do that. I’ll just be . . . yeah. Okay. Yup.” He takes off, leaving me with a light fixture in hand and a winning smile on my face.
* * *
“Good morning,” I say, bouncing up and down in the bra I know affects Brig the most.
And as I predicted, his eyes go straight to my chest before quickly pulling away.
Okay, so flaunting my body was my last resort. I’d rather have the guy fall in love with my mind, but that failed and I was quickly placed back in the friend zone. So now, I’m reminding him that hey, his friend has boobs—boobs he likes to stare at.
He finishes closing the space between us and stands next to me awkwardly. Not letting a second go by, I slip my arms around his narrow waist and pull him into a hug, pressing my boobs against his thin shirt. My nipples are hard from a brisk chill in the air this morning, so I hope he can feel that through my shirt.
Yup, I’ve resorted to making my nipples do the heavy work. My brain and my mouth have been tagging him along, but I had to bring in the heavy guns this morning.
The tits.
I feel a little cheap being overly exaggerated with my flirting, but the girls are right: he’s blind.
He’s so blind.
Just the other day I was talking about summer being my favorite season and after we discussed it, he pushed his hand through his hair, chuckled, and said, “Whoa, I feel like I just had this conversation.”
Talk about wanting to shake some sense into him.
Can you see where this is quite infuriating? Do you see what I’m dealing with? What’s a girl to do?
You’re probably thinking if you’re so infuriated, just tell him he’s the guy. Well, yes, now wouldn’t that be easy? But it’s hard when you’ve been pining after a guy for so long and that he keeps talking about this mystery woman that he likes who is technically me but still . . .
Don’t you roll your eyes at me.
Ugh, okay, fine, I’ll admit it.
I’m a coward.
There, happy?
Grow a set of ovaries, Ruth. I hear you, but give me more time, okay? Hang in there with me. Baby steps for me.
The hug with hard nipples is a step in the right direction.
When I pull away from the hug, I pat his chest and say, “You’re quiet this morning.”
“Am I?” he asks, looking confused.
“Hey.” I slip my arm down his, lightly stroking it. “Is everything okay?”
His Adam’s apple bobs.
His eyes float down to mine.
His chest rises faster than before.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, reaching to the back of his head where he tugs on his hair.
“Are you ready to go, then?” I ask, chuckling.
“Go where? Oh jogging, yeah. Sure.”
“You’re being weird.” I reach up, tussle his hair, and then start jogging.
He doesn’t catch up right away, but I do hear him moving. Once he’s by my side, I bump his shoulder with mine and say, “Think you’re going to talk this morning?”
“Yeah, I’m going to talk.”
“Okay, then tell me about last night.”
“Um, I watched some TV.”
“Wow, riveting. What did you watch?”
He’s so stiff. A bout of panic hits me, wondering if I’ve made him too uncomfortable. but then I remind myself that he reciprocated my hug this morning.
Arms around my shoulders.
Cheek resting on my head.
One hand slowly moving up and down my back.
“I watched Schitt’s Creek. Have you seen it?”
“Ew, David,” I say in my best Alexis impersonation.
Brig laughs. “That was pretty spot on.”
“Love that show. I started watching it from the beginning. I’ve always had a crush on Eugene Levy.”
“What?” Brig laughs harder. “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever heard say that.”
“American Pie. I don’t know, there was something about him that just made me fall in love.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“Are you judging me?”
“Maybe.” He winces when I glance at him.
“Okay, so tell me your secret celebrity love.”
“It’s only a secret if you’re ashamed,” he says giving me the side-eye. “Are you ashamed, Ruthie?”
“Never,” I say with confidence. “I love him and I’ll nuzzle his chest if given the opportunity.”
“Things I never thought we’d talk about on our runs.”
I bump his shoulder with mine. “But glad you are, right?”
“Very glad,” he says, and my heart takes off. Not because of the pace we’re running, but because of the way the man next to me smiles genuinely.
* * *
“Ruth, how are you?” Griffin Knightly asks when I step into The Lobster Landing.
That smell. Sugary confections, old wood . . . it’s a warm hug I haven’t felt in a while.
The Lobster Landing gives me a sense of home, of being wrapped up in my parents’ arms again. When I was young, my parents took me to The Lobster Landing every other Sunday and let me pick out something sweet from their fudge counter or bakery. Then we’d step outside, sit on the harbor wall, and eat our treats while staring out at the water. Just me and my parents.
I can’t remember th
e last time I did that with them before they passed. But since it’s my mom’s birthday today, I decided to honor her the way I always honor my parents: hoping they’ll join me in spirit.
“I’m good, Griffin. Thanks.” I step up to the counter and glance over all the cookies in their bakery case.
“What brings you in?”
I give him a small smile. “My mom’s birthday.”
I don’t have to say any more. It isn’t the first time he’s helped me on this date.
“Well then, let’s get you something special.” He uses the tongs to point at different cookies when he says, “S’mores cookies are new, and some have said they’re better than the real thing.”
I chuckle, loving the sweet charm of Brig’s oldest brother.
“Then we have cherry macadamia nut with shavings of coconut; we brought those back for the summer. And the classics.” He points and says, “Peanut butter chocolate chip, your mom’s favorite.”
I lift my head up and say, “PB chocolate chip please, and one of the cherry ones. My dad would have drooled over it. I think it would have reminded him of Hawaii. He always loved it there. They went twice.”
“I hope to take Ren at some point, maybe next summer.” He bags up the cookies.
“Ever think about proposing to her while you’re there?” I ask with hope.
He winks. “Two steps ahead of you, Ruth.” He hands over the bag and says, “On the house. Happy birthday to your mom. She was a beautiful, welcoming soul.”
Emotions climb up my throat as I give him a soft smile. “Thank you, Griffin. That means a lot to me.”
“Anytime, Ruth.” I start to walk away when he calls out, “My brother being good to you?”
I glance over my shoulder. “He’s been extremely helpful.”
He slowly nods and then says, “Has he pulled his head out of his ass and realized how amazing you are yet?”
And just like that, my skin prickles, every hair on my arm standing at attention. I know Ren wouldn’t divulge anything from girls’ night, but Griffin seems to know something . . .
He catches my hesitation and adds, “Ren has said nothing to me, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just observant. Hang in there, Ruth. He’ll figure it out.”
That Swoony Feeling Page 16
