Hit the Spot

by J. Daniels

  “What’s on your mind, Legs?”

  Jamie’s voice lifted my head and my eyes off the counter. I turned to look at him.

  He had his shoulder leaned against the wall just inside the kitchen, arms folded across his wide, bare chest and feet crossed at the ankles. He was in his boxers. Nothing else. His hair was pulled back out of his face, a face that didn’t look a bit sleepy anymore. His eyes were bright. And he was wearing a smirk that read busted, like he’d just caught me staring at the spot on the counter I had to heavily disinfect earlier.

  “Nothing,” I lied around my bite, releasing my bottle and covering my mouth with my fingertips. “Just wanted a snack.”

  Jamie stared at me. He slowly lost the smirk. He wasn’t buying what I was selling.

  “Tense upstairs, babe. Felt it when I held you,” he shared, pegging me dead on.

  I swallowed my bite of carrot.

  “Tense before that when we were chillin’ on the couch, but you were hidin’ it better. Probably ’cause we were eatin’ and you weren’t thinkin’ about whatever it is that’s got you down here.”

  “Food has got me down here,” I lied again, holding up my bag of veggies. I shrugged. “And I’m not tense. I’m just not tired.”

  “Do I gotta fuck it outta you?”

  My head jerked back. I lowered the baggie to the counter, reading the seriousness in Jamie’s eyes.

  Mm. Now there’s an idea.

  “I’m out of Lysol,” I informed him.

  Jamie’s brows lifted. “Say again?”

  “I’m out of Lysol. If we do it in here, you can’t be banging me on the counter again. I don’t have anything to disinfect it with.”

  That smirk returned, only it looked ten times as sexy now because it was merging with a smile. And smiling Jamie had to be one of my top five favorite things to look at in the entire world.

  And I’d been to Paris. But the Eiffel Tower had nothing on Jamie McCade. He was beautiful when he smiled.

  He was beautiful all the time, but when he smiled? Boom. Billboard beauty.

  “Gotta whole house to work with, babe. I’m not limited to a counter,” he informed me.

  I immediately started cataloging hard surfaces on the first floor alone. My insides were tingling. I could stand here, eat, and continue lying, or I could have sex with Jamie and avoid his third degree.

  He thought he could get it out of me while we did it, but he was apparently forgetting that we didn’t work that way. Never had.

  He’d ask questions or affirm I felt a certain way, and I denied everything he was suggesting. We’d both get off, normally me a time or two more than him—Jamie was hardly selfish when it came to orgasms—he’d press once more for confirmation after we were finished, wouldn’t get it, and then we’d both end up dozing off or moving on to a different conversation.

  Fuck it out of me? Hardly. I was a vault.

  “Okay.” I freed my hands up, twisted away from the island, and grabbed the hem of my night shirt. I started lifting.

  “Hold up,” Jamie ordered. His voice was rougher. Firmer. Meaner even.

  I studied his face. He was no longer close to that smile since he was no longer smirking. His eyes were hard now. Mouth tight. He looked…knowing.

  Crap.

  That was not a good look for Jamie, solely because of how it was going to affect me. Not because he didn’t look sexy in this state as well. He did. Maybe even sexier.

  Hands frozen at belly level with my shirt bunched there, I held on to his eyes, waiting for Jamie to speak. But he didn’t speak.

  He straightened from the wall, moved farther into the kitchen, crossing in front of the stove, and started opening my upper cabinets and searching through them.

  Seeing this, I let my hands fall and released my shirt, covering up again. “What are you doing?”

  Jamie shut a cabinet door after retrieving a large mixing bowl. “Makin’ pancakes,” he replied.

  My eyebrows shot up. “Now?”

  Mixing bowl set aside on the counter, he slid my canisters containing flour and sugar in front of him, turned his head, and jerked his chin at the stove, saying, “I know you said it had to be at that diner, but I don’t feel like goin’ anywhere. We’re doin’ breakfast here.”

  I slid my eyes to the stove and saw the time, smiled, then looked back to Jamie, smiling bigger when I caught sight of the bright orange elastic band securing his hair—it was one of mine. I watched him move to my spice cabinet and take out the salt and baking powder.

  He was making us breakfast at midnight. I wanted that to be our thing, one of many things, and Jamie was giving me that.

  I glanced down at my baggie of cut-up veggies and pushed them aside. Nobody wants you.

  “So I guess we’re eating first, then getting to the sex?” I asked, hoisting myself up onto the counter and swinging my legs. “I’m good with that.”

  “Depends,” he replied.

  I tiled my head. Depends? “On…”

  Jamie pivoted around and crossed in front of me to get to the fridge, saying as he went by, “You give up why we’re down here instead of upstairs sleepin’ and I’ll give it to you after we eat. You don’t? We ain’t fuckin’. I ain’t stupid, Legs.”

  My eyes bugged. What?

  We ain’t fuckin’?

  WHAT?

  I watched, mouth open, as Jamie took the milk, eggs, and a stick of butter out of the fridge, nudged the door closed with his elbow, and walked back to his work area next to the stove.

  “Excuse me?” I asked when he got there.

  “I ain’t stupid,” he repeated with his back to me.

  “Okay.” I laughed a little and tucked my hair behind my ear. “What’s that got to do with us having sex after we eat?”

  After setting everything down, Jamie turned around to face me and braced his hands on either side of him, gripping on to the counter.

  “I know how we fuck, Legs,” he began. “You don’t give up shit. But usually that don’t matter ’cause I know what you’re thinkin’ anyway. And straight up, I don’t hate it. That’s our game. Wanna keep doin’ it for as long as we feel like doin’ it. Difference right now is, I ain’t solid on what’s got us down here. I got no fuckin’ clue what’s goin’ through your head.”

  “I told you, I just wanted to get a snack.”

  “Bullshit,” he shot back, voice growing louder. “Somethin’s got you tense and I wanna know what it is.”

  “I’m not tense,” I argued.

  “You’re tense, babe.”

  “No.” I tipped forward a little. “I’m not. I was just hungry.”

  “Tori.”

  “I’m not tense!”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head, then tilting it when he asked, “Do I need to call Sunshine? Get her in on this? Probably catch shit from Dash but fuck it.” His shoulders jerked. “If it’ll get you talkin’...”

  I scowled. Damn it. He’d do it, too. And I didn’t want to disturb Syd and Brian. It was the middle of the night, and knowing Syd, she’d most likely start bawling again and keep Brian up.

  “I said forever and you didn’t say anything, okay? There.” I huffed out a breath, twisted, and grabbed my bottle of Pure Leaf, unscrewed the lid off the rest of the way—I had only loosened it earlier—and brought the bottle to my lips.

  My eyes connected with Jamie’s as I sipped, which, seeing the way his eyes were looking now, his whole face for that matter—gentled, sweet, soul-touching—I got one mouthful down before I was forced to stop sipping for fear I’d suck sweet tea down the wrong pipe.

  I knew that look. I’d seen it on Jamie’s face a handful of times now. One of those times being that very night I showed up at his house begging for sex and he promised me I’d never be worrying about Wes again. Another time being in front of the fire before we made love when I told Jamie he was the best man I’d ever known.

  I couldn’t sip tea right now. Not with Jamie looking at me like that. Not
when I knew the next words out of his mouth were going to hit my soft, sink in deep, and stay there.

  “You couldn’t sleep ’cause I didn’t tell you I was with you on that,” he suggested, eyes soft and voice lowered.

  I wiped my hand across my mouth, then I nodded my head and lowered my eyes, staring at the label on my bottle.

  “Look at me, babe.”

  I lifted my eyes again.

  “Tense all night. Worryin’ I wasn’t feelin’ you. That wasn’t the case,” Jamie began to explain. “Just came in a woman for the first time. That woman bein’ you. I was processin’ shit. Not three weeks ago you wanted nothin’ to do with me. Now we’re here, you’re talkin’ about forever—”

  “I know,” I interrupted him, sighing heavily. See! Never should’ve said it. “I was being stupid, okay? I didn’t—”

  “You don’t know,” Jamie shot back, interrupting me this time. “And you weren’t bein’ stupid. You were feelin’ something and you shared it. That happens, no matter what it is you’re tellin’ me, that ain’t you bein’ stupid.”

  “Okay,” I said, mouth twitching. That was nice to hear. Still, there was a problem. “But now I’m, like, twenty steps ahead of you,” I pointed out.

  He smiled then. What the hell?

  “This isn’t funny, Jamie,” I hissed.

  “It’s funny, babe,” he returned, reaching up and scratching his jaw. “You thinkin’ you’re ahead of me is fuckin’ hilarious.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s embarrassing.”

  He smiled bigger.

  “Stop smiling!” I snapped.

  “Catchin’ up,” he muttered.

  I squinted at him, head tilting slightly. “What?”

  “You,” he said, hand lowering back down and curling around the counter. “Catchin’ up.”

  It hit me then, what Jamie was leading at. He’d been twenty steps ahead of me this entire time.

  Breath catching, I righted my head and stopped squinting.

  “You get what I’m sayin’ now?” he asked, still smiling but doing it softer.

  “I get what you’re saying.”

  “Good.” That smile he was wearing grew brighter again. “Now, are you gonna keep sittin’ there or are you gonna come here? I wanna hold you without you bein’ wound tight.”

  I set my tea aside and slid off the counter, then I started moving.

  “It’s really only been three weeks?” I asked when I reached him, thinking back to what he’d said. My hands curled around his smooth hips.

  Three weeks didn’t seem right.

  “Just about,” he answered, his arms around me, his head dipping down and his mouth pressing to my forehead.

  “It feels longer than that,” I said, feeling his arms tighten and give me a squeeze in response. I slid my hands around his back and pressed closer, face lifting to hide in his neck. “I know I said forever,” I murmured. “And I know you said you’re with me on that, but I’m good with us taking the rest of the steps as they come. Together. We can go slow. We don’t have to keep skipping ahead.”

  “I want you movin’ in with me,” Jamie shared.

  My back snapped straight. I leaned away and gaped at him. “I just said we don’t have to keep skipping ahead,” I repeated, voice rising an octave higher.

  Did he not hear me?

  “How the fuck is you movin’ in with me skippin’ ahead?” he questioned, brows drawn, his arms still keeping tight hold on me as if he was preventing my escape. “Just said forever, babe. What do you think that means? I’m not gonna shack up with you?”

  My shoulders sagged. He had a point.

  “Well…” I paused, wetting my lips. “I don’t know. I just…why can’t you move in here? My house is nice.”

  Jamie smirked. “Ain’t as nice as mine.”

  My eyes narrowed as I tipped my chin up. “Your house is only nicer because you have a better view,” I argued. “It’s way too big, Jamie. What do you have, seven bedrooms? You don’t use them. That’s just space that collects dust.”

  “Won’t be once you start poppin’ out my kids. We’ll fill it.”

  My eyes were no longer narrowed. They were taking up the majority of my face. I just knew it.

  Poppin’ out his kids? KIDS?

  “Babe,” Jamie laughed, looking down at me.

  Yep. Totally taking up my face.

  “I said quit skipping steps!” I cried, rolling up onto my toes to get closer.

  “You’re freakin’ out,” Jamie observed, mouth stretched wide and dimples showing.

  “Of course I’m freaking out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re…” I paused, staring at Jamie’s smile, his dimples, his bright blue eyes.

  Why was I freaking out?

  “I don’t know,” I answered finally, voice quieter. I rocked back onto my heels. “You can’t talk about that stuff unless you really mean it,” I blurted out.

  There it was. That was my why.

  “Legs, for real, you’re movin’ in. What’d you think is comin’ down the road, babe?” Jamie asked, laughter faded out now but the smile he had going with it still holding.

  I blinked up at him as I thought on that, down the road with Jamie, and all that could entail, not thinking I looked a certain way while I envisioned it but apparently I did.

  Jamie’s smile faded even more until there wasn’t a trace of it left. The brightness in his eyes dimmed. His arms were no longer holding tight to me because his hands were coming up to cup my face.

  “Hey,” he murmured, eyes filling with warmth. With love.

  My chest tightened.

  He loved me. Jamie McCade loved me and wanted down the road with me.

  My God. That felt amazing.

  And right. And perfect. And I no longer felt that fear holding me back.

  And since it was no longer holding me back, I hurled myself forward, nothing stopping me.

  I slammed Jamie against the counter he was already leaning on, causing him to grunt, drew my arms tight around his back, and crashed my full weight into his chest—which forced his hands to slide to the back of my head and palm there. Face turning, I flattened my cheek on his beating heart and closed my eyes.

  I didn’t say anything and neither did he.

  But he did shift his hands a little, one staying on the back of my head and the other sliding lower and then curling around my waist so his arm was holding me, too. His head dipped down. I felt his breath blowing across the top of my head.

  This felt right, too. And perfect. So perfect I didn’t want to move.

  But then my stomach made a noise like I had an animal in there and it was dying of hunger.

  “Um…” I murmured.

  Jamie started laughing a second before I did.

  Then we separated, but only so I could watch Jamie make us homemade pancakes and staying glued to his front made that a challenge. When it was time to eat and we’d made it to the couch, I was back to pressing close. I sat on his lap, feeding him and myself from the same plate while Jamie channel surfed.

  I was right. We did eat before we had sex. Only Jamie didn’t fuck me like he originally implied.

  We made love.

  It was slow. It was sweet. It was unbelievably hot. It was a little sticky, on account of the syrup.

  It was right.

  It was perfect.

  * * *

  The wind was in my hair. The sun was beating down on my skin.

  I had my arms circled around Jamie’s waist, hands locked together on his stomach. My eyes were pinched shut and my face was buried in his back.

  You’d think I wasn’t enjoying my first ride on Jamie’s bike, but I was totally enjoying it.

  I was too scared to open my eyes. I was terrified of the other cars around us. But this…felt…amazing.

  And Jamie knew I was liking it. Even though I had a death grip on him and my body was rigid and showing signs of anxiety, my laughter and squeals every time h
e sped up were letting him know differently. Plus, every time we stopped, I hollered out, “This is awesome!” over the rumbling of the pipes.

  It was awesome. I could totally get used to traveling like this and hopefully open my eyes eventually.

  Last night Jamie asked me to move in and expressed his desire for everything a future could hold with me, then we made love and I fell asleep with one of the biggest smiles on my face, happier than I could remember ever being.

  That happiness was possibly getting trumped today.

  The sun was high in the sky, on account of it being close to noon. It was a beautiful day. Jamie was taking me to work and then picking me up after, and then?

  Then we were starting the process of me moving in.

  Pack. Discuss what was going with me and what I could either sell or get rid of. Talk to Jamie’s dad about eventually listing my house and all the details involved in that.

  I wasn’t scared. Not anymore. Not one bit.

  Clinging to Jamie as he whipped us down the highway with what felt like lightning speed, I was terrified. Enjoying it, but terrified.

  But moving in with the man I wanted down the road with, nope. Not at all.

  Bring. It. On.

  The bike slowed down and I peeked an eye open, thinking we were coming to another red light but then seeing the side of Whitecaps, its worn white wood and boat-style windows, and realizing we’d arrived.

  The parking lot was nearly full, meaning we were slammed already, and there were also groups of people walking up from the beach and others heading back down the sandy path that led to it with bags in their hands.

  That was typical for a Saturday when it was still warm out. People either came in to eat to get a break from the sun or took their food to go.

  Either way, Whitecaps was going to make a killing today by the looks of it.

  The gravel popped under the tires as Jamie pulled us into the parking lot. I sat up tall, both eyes open now, and watched heads turn and gazes follow Jamie, especially the women who were outside.

  Really couldn’t blame them. He looked exceptionally sexy on a bike.

  All that hair blowing in the wind. Those tanned arms thick with muscle peeking out from his T-shirt. Sexy.

  I released my arms from around him and maneuvered off after he pulled us into a space and cut the engine. Then, standing beside the bike, I threw my hands into the air and pumped my fists, yelling, “That was coolest ride of my life!”