Jocelyn thinks of those texts and she’s the one who has to swallow. “So what?” she asks. “Where does that leave us? Why are we here?”
He laces his fingers through hers, and she doesn’t pull away. “I was at a party, with Charlotte, and this guy was talking to her, and I thought ‘Maybe he’ll like her, and maybe she’ll like him, and maybe she’ll dump me,’ and I was relieved at the thought — I was hoping it would happen — and I knew that was crazy. And my next thought was, ‘Then I could go find Jocelyn,’ and so, I broke up with her.”
Jocelyn’s heart is lifting despite herself. Despite common sense, and her brain warning be careful. She wants to say, “Oh, thank God!” Wants to fling open the door and drag him inside. But she takes a deep breath. “When?”
His eyes wander to the wall, then back to her. “A couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh.” Her voice is flat. “So what happened to coming to find me?”
“I wanted to make sure. I don’t want you to be a rebound.” He takes her other hand, so he’s holding both, holding her focus — her attention. “I’m confused, Jocelyn. I am. I’ve never felt this way. I don’t know how this is supposed to work.”
She wants to be angry, but his words tug at her. They’re true. “I don’t know how it’s supposed to work either.”
And then he grins. “I know what to do.”
“You do?”
“We need to go on a date.” She loves his smile. Loves it even more when he’s asking her on a date. “I need to take you on a date. If you’ll come …”
Just like that, the confusion, frustration, hurt drop away. They’re just a girl, and a guy, who like each other. “Of course I’ll come! When? Where?”
“I need to think. I need to invite you properly.”
“OK.” Part of her hates this. Just leaving it. They’re so close, she wants to seal the deal now. But another part of her has wanted to know she can trust him. She has to trust him to go away, and still want to go out with her, and invite her. “I guess I can wait.”
He leans in. The skin of his cheek is smooth against hers. He must have shaved for tonight. “I have to go.”
“Why?” His breath, his words in her ear are weakening her resolve. Maybe just a kiss? Maybe they should just step inside for a minute?
“Because if I don’t, I’m going to dig through your pockets, and find your keys, and open that door, and do the things I’ve been thinking about ever since I met you, and while I’m doing that, I won’t be planning our date.”
More than her cheeks are flushed now. She’s warm and tingling head to toes. “What have you been thinking about?”
His swallow is loud in the quiet space. “I can’t, Jocelyn. If I start …”
“Just one thing.” She rubs her cheek against his. “Please …”
“Fine.” He lets go of her hand and slides his fingers between her legs. “I want you to sit on my face.”
“Oh …” She’s wet. “I’m wet.”
“I know.”
The desire is fuzzing her brain, hazing her vision. She can’t focus. It’s hard to breathe. “I want to sit on your face.”
“Jocelyn …” That swallow again; loud and deliberate. “I want to do this right.”
She shakes her head. “OK. Go. Fast. Now.” She uses every ounce of her willpower to step back, pull away from his hand, his warmth.
His eyes are glazed. “I’ll … I’m … soon.” He steps back, toward the stairs.
“Be careful,” she warns. “Don’t die on the stairs before I can fuck you.”
“Oh, God.” He swallows again, hard. “I’ve got to go.”
She watches him jog down the steps. He looks up every time the staircase turns. At the bottom twist, he winks. And that nearly does it. She almost runs after him.
Almost.
But. I want to do this right.
She does too. So she’ll wait. Even if it nearly kills her.
Chapter Twelve
(5:55)
THE MORNING–AFTER DOUBTS set in even before Jocelyn goes to bed.
Do this right … as if … do you really believe that, Jocelyn?
This isn’t a fairy tale.
I should have just slept with him while I had the chance. Then at least I’d have something to remember.
Jocelyn leans out the window, looking down at Beth and Jed’s dinner party for the second time tonight.
And then she changes into a t–shirt and yoga capris, and sneaks into their kitchen while they laugh with the remaining guests, and she starts to wash their dishes.
Anything to keep her mind off Lucas.
***
“What are you doing?” Beth’s hand flies to her mouth. She spins around, once, completely, then stares at Jocelyn. “This place is spotless.”
Jocelyn shrugs. “Just wanted to help.”
“Joss, my kitchen is never this clean. Even when I’m not serving fourteen people dinner.” Her eyebrows fly up. “Or, twelve, since two left right before dessert … what on earth was that all about?”
Jocelyn gives the counter a final wipe. “Nothing. Just, you know, we had something to discuss.”
“Bullshit.” Beth sips the final slug of wine from her glass. “I’m sorry, but that’s such a lie.” She places her glass on the table and holds her hand out to Jocelyn. “Here, pass me one of those clean glasses. I’m pouring you a glass of wine and you’re telling me the truth.”
Jed appears in the doorway. “Holy shit! Who cleaned up?”
Beth turns to him. “I love you, sweetheart, but right now you’re going to go outside and entertain our guests, who are mostly members of your family, and you’re going to let me talk to Jocelyn for half–an–hour.”
“I am?”
“If you know what’s good for you, you are.”
Jed lifts one eyebrow. “I can think of something that might be good for me.”
Beth smiles. “We can discuss that. Later. If you leave right now.”
He laughs. “I’m gone! Bye …” He nods at Jocelyn. “Thanks for the clean–up.”
“No probs,” she says. “Anything for one of the famous Campbell brothers.”
When she turns to Beth, her friend’s mouth is “O”ed. Her eyes are wide. “The Campbell brothers,” she repeats. “Lucas. I should have known. How long has this been going on? What, exactly, is going on?”
Jocelyn lifts the wine Beth’s poured her, sucks back a generous slug, and looks straight at her friend. “I love him,” she says. “That’s the simplest way I can say it. I love him, and I’m terrified he doesn’t love me, and I’m terrified he does. And I don’t know what’s going on except everything about it scares me shitless.”
Beth steps forward, pulls Jocelyn — wine glass and all — into a smushing hug. “Oh, babe. You’ve got it bad. You’re going to have to marry him, or go trekking in Nepal for a year to get over it. And I, for one, don’t know who would be such a great neighbour to me and our kids, so I don’t want to see you heading to Nepal.”
Jocelyn sniffs against Beth’s dress. Tries to shake her head, but she can’t really move. “I don’t want to go to Nepal either.”
Beth strokes her hair. “There, there. I’m sure you won’t have to.”
***
Wham, wham, wham!
It took Jocelyn ages to get to sleep last night with worries, and doubts, and sexual frustration combining to keep her tossing and turning well into the early morning hours. But when she finally fell asleep, she fell hard, and now — Wham, wham, wham!
“What?” She lifts her head. Her left eye won’t fully open, smushed against the pillow as it was, and she may have been drooling.
“Jocelyn! Jocelyn! Open the door!”
Jocelyn swings her feet to the floor. “Beth? Is that you? What time is it?” She squints at the green numbers on the clock on her bedside table. 5:55 in the morning. Really?
“Oh, God, the kids have had me up since five thirty. Open the door!”
The call
ouses on the bottom of Jocelyn’s bare feet scuff the worn hardwood floor in the hall. She fumbles the lock, shoots it open and yanks the sticky door wide. “What is it, Beth? Are you OK?”
Beth’s hair is piled on top of her head, strands falling out of a messy ponytail. Remnants of last night’s mascara smudge the skin under her eyes. The plunging neckline of her robe doesn’t layer much modesty over her nightgown. She’s beaming, glowing, jumping up and down on the spot. She holds out an envelope. “You’re not going to Nepal!”
Jocelyn takes it, her eyes focusing on the handwriting on the paper. Jocelyn. She looks up at Beth, who nods. “It’s his handwriting. It’s almost the same as Jed’s. I saw him riding his bike away when I let the cat out so I ran up here and, sure enough, this was on the floor in front of your door.” She claps her hands together. “What’s in it? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”
“I …” Jocelyn doesn’t want to open it in front of Beth. She’s not even sure if she wants to open it right now. There’s a world of delicious possibility behind the flap of that envelope. Once she opens it, the suspense is gone.
But Beth listened to her for an hour last night. Beth told her everything would be OK. Beth ran up here in her nightclothes to wake her up.
Jocelyn shrugs. “OK.” She runs her finger under the flap of the envelope, pulls out a sheet of paper with the spiky, slanty handwriting she already loves. Let’s go back to the beginning. Where we first met? Same place, same time? I hope you’ll be there …
“Oh!” Beth says it while exhaling, and the word takes on a breathy, dreamy quality. “‘Back to the beginning.’ I love it! I’m so excited! What time is ‘same time?’”
“Why?”
“Because you have to come home first so I can help you get ready. This has to be awesome!”
“I can’t. I met him after work. I won’t have time …”
Beth grabs Jocelyn’s wrist. “You’ll make time! That’s an order. You’re leaving work early today, and you’re going to knock his socks off when he sees you. Or, hopefully, much more than his socks …”
“Gross, Beth! He’s your brother–in–law!”
Beth nods. “Yup, and I’m not blind. He is hot. I’ve always thought so. You have to make this happen, Jocelyn.”
“What do you think I’ve been trying to do, Beth?”
“Oh, Joss, you’re there. I mean it.” She turns and skips back down the stairs, calling behind her, “I’m so happy for you!”
Chapter Thirteen
(19:19)
JOCELYN’S AT THE SIGNPOST and Lucas isn’t. When she first arrived, and he wasn’t there, she was OK about it.
I mean, yeah, she was hoping to be able to sashay up to him, letting him notice how the wrap skirt Beth loaned her split when she walked, flashing quite a bit of thigh.
But, she got over that disappointment quickly. He was probably just around the corner. He’d be there any minute.
In the meantime, she just had to keep her shoulders back and look cool, and pretty, and not bothered.
Then two minutes ticked by. And three.
Do not check your phone.
Four. And five.
Do not fidget, slouch, twirl your hair, or pick at your nails.
This was going past a watches–being–out–of–sync situation to a lateness situation.
Unless he’s not late — unless he’s not coming … shit, Jocelyn — don’t think that!
Finally she gives in; pulls out her phone. I’m here.
That’s reasonable. He’s late. There’s no other way to interpret it. Late, late, late.
Her phone buzzes. I know.
Her eyebrows furrow and her phone vibrates again.
I’m watching you.
She whirls around. Where is he?
You are so hot.
Now her skin is warm all over. She doesn’t know where he is, so he could be looking at any part of her. She stands straighter, smooths a hand across the flat of her stomach, tugs at her skirt …
Buzz … Do that again.
What?
The thing with your skirt. Sexy.
She does something a little different. She eases the wrap apart — just a bit — then turns slowly in a circle.
Nice.
She thumbs back. This isn’t fair.
Why not?
I want to see you. She presses send. Adds, I want you.
Look at the river.
What? Why? Whatever … She does. Turns and faces the river while the breeze licks between her legs, ruffling her skirt and cooling the damp fabric of the crotch of her underwear.
Two arms go around her waist. Strong and firm. They trail across her stomach while Lucas’s soft breath warms her ear. “God, you’re fit. The minute I saw you touching yourself here, I wanted to touch you, too.”
“Oh yeah?” She leans back, pushing against him. “So, what about if I touch myself here?” She knows he’s watching over her shoulder while she trails her hand to the V between her legs.
He groans. “Oh, Jocelyn. I think we’d better go out for dinner now, or we’re never going to make it.”
Never going to make it sounds pretty good right now.
Except.
Except this is the re–start button. This is doing it right. They should go out for dinner. If nothing else, at least the food will give her the energy she needs for the rest of the night.
It takes wrenching effort, but she steps forward, away from him, turns to face him. “OK. Let’s go. Right now. Before I change my mind.”
***
“No.” She shakes her head when he leads her to the pub, that pub, the pub of wonder, the pub of frustration.
The pub where Ade works.
“Why not?”
“I …” She hesitates.
“You slept with the waiter.”
She lets her flushing cheeks answer the question.
“I can’t believe you slept with the waiter!”
“Yes, you can. You’re the one who guessed it.” She gives him a sideways glance. “So, what was it like not sleeping with Charlotte after you met me?”
He hooks his arm around her neck, pulls her in for a kiss. “It’s sexy how smart you are.”
She sighs. “You know what? OK. Let’s eat here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Start as we mean to go on. Out in the open.” She bites her lip. “I hope.”
He nods. Takes her hand. “Yes.”
“Good.”
They sit down and it’s awkward. At least it is for her. She does, and doesn’t, want to be sitting here, ordering a pint of beer and a grilled chicken salad. Does, and doesn’t, want to be asking him, “So, what’s new at work?” Does, and doesn’t, want to be keeping her toes — kicked out of their sandals — from wandering to his bare legs; want to be keeping her eyes steadily on his, instead of wandering to the scar on his chin, the muscles in his forearms, the sinewy strength of his hands.
Does, because this is good. Does, because this means they’re a normal couple. They’re more than just sex. They don’t just lust after each other; they also like each other.
Doesn’t, because all this is keeping her from stripping him naked, from stripping naked next to him. From having him as deep in her as he can possibly thrust.
She shudders.
“Are you OK?” he asks.
“I, uh, yeah. No.” She smiles a lopsided grin. “Sort of.”
“What’s wrong?”
She leans forward, whispers, “I’m on fire.”
“What?”
“I want you.”
“Oh, God, Jocelyn.” The waiter — not Ade, thank God — sets down their pints. Lucas grabs his, glugs half of it down and, with a shaking hand, lowers it back to the table. “I’m sorry,” he says to the waiter. “Can you please cancel our food order and bring us the bill? Something’s just come up.” He winks at Jocelyn and she claps her hand over her mouth.
“Drink up,” he tells her.
She lifts her gl
ass, lets the cool, slightly bitter beer slide down her throat — as much as she can swallow — while Lucas fishes bills out of his wallet, tucks them under his pint glass. “Let’s go!” He holds his hand out, and she takes it and lets him drag her outside with the booze and the lust swamping her brain.
On the sidewalk Lucas circles his arms right around her and hauls her tight against him. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”
“Yes, please,” she says.
“Yes, please,” when he opens the cab door and she stumbles in.
“Yes, please,” when, sitting next to her in the back seat of the taxi, he slips his hand between her thighs.
And, “Yes please” when they stumble up his front steps in the lowering dusk, and he pins her against his front door, and kisses her harder than she’s ever been kissed before.
She fishes in his pocket and finds his keys, pressing them against his skin. “Open,” she gasps. “In!”
They’re stumbling in, and the only light washes down the hall from the digital display on the stove announcing that it’s 19:19 — is that all? They work their way down the hall with her pressing him to the wall, then him flipping her and pushing her against it. They come to an open doorway and she nearly falls. He grabs at her shirt and the seam tears at the shoulder — the stitches ripping louder than her pounding heartbeat.
“Oh … God … sorry …” He pants the words out between heavy breaths.
“No, it’s hot.” She reaches for the neck of his shirt, and yanks, and a button pops off.
“You …” He pulls on her shirt again, and more of the seam parts so it hangs in flaps, exposing her shoulder, falling away from her bra. “Mmmm …” He presses his face to the bare skin.
She tugs at his belt. “Get. This. Off.”
“Go ahead.” His voice is muffled as he uses his teeth to peel her bra cup back from her breast.
Love Locked Page 8