Somewhere Along The Line

14. James

My phone buzzes, and I pick it up to see a text from Piper—an address for today’s event, a note that she’ll meet me at four, and the prayer hands emoji. My exhale comes without conscious thought, the stale air escaping my mouth after building in my lungs each day since I last heard from her.

I tried to convince myself she’s busy, that she needs to focus on the gala, that her priorities don’t include me, and that I can’t expect them to because this isn’t a real relationship.

My brain didn’t get the memo though. I’ve been relentlessly bombarded with the thought that things went too far on Monday and that’s why Piper has backed off. I’m surprised you can’t see shrapnel wounds on my skin.

My thumb drags along the cool glass screen to heart the message before I slide the phone into the pocket of my sweats, the rap of my fingertips on the kitchen counter acting as the soundtrack of my nerves. I wander to my bedroom and flop face-first onto the mattress, the frame groaning under my weight as I sink into the blue comforter Mom bought when I moved in here.

If only she could see me now, completely destroyed by a woman who I swore not to mess with lest I end up just like this. She’d be smug—delighted to see that I do have a heart—and then she’d tell me to buck up and go get the girl.

She’d be right.

Sliding my feet to the floor, I push myself up until my legs support my body. I know I should get dressed, but that means confronting the question I can’t seem to answer. How do I show up tonight and be helpful but not desperate, interested but not infatuated?

Our relationship is a spinning plate, and an accidental nudge could crash it. I don’t want to be the one who knocks it down.

I settle on a suit, telling myself it’s because I have so few casual clothes and not because I hope to stay for the gala. I peel off the T-shirt I’ve been wearing since last night and roll it into a warm ball that I sink into the hamper before grabbing a white button-down.

The starchy fabric of the dress shirt grazes my arms as I stretch them through the sleeves. The buttons are done by feel, my fingers aching with the memory of this action in reverse when Piper was here, each round button a gatekeeper we excused for the night.

A pressed navy blazer with matching slacks completes the look, a sharp crease standing at attention on the front of each leg. I spread the collar of the shirt and leave the top two buttons undone. The outfit is relaxed—unpretentious—which is the vibe I’m hoping to project. A tie bulges in my pocket just in case.

My phone alerts at 3:15, so I pick up the pace. Tossing rolls of socks within the drawer, I find the ones with the navy and green stripes, sliding them on before reaching for my loafers—the ones with the scuff from Piper’s nail.

I roll some sticky pomade between my hands before roughing up my hair to create a looser style than I typically wear. Let’s hope the look says “I’m not trying too hard” even though I’ve never tried harder in my life.

I pull up at 3:58 p.m. to what looks like an abandoned warehouse, and while it’s not in a bad part of town, it doesn’t scream “event space.” Not that I have much experience with event spaces. I grab three of the boxes from my backseat and make my way to the loading dock.

Piper said she’d meet me here, so I wait, the cigarette butts and gasoline stains that line the concrete distracting me from the question of what I’ll say when she shows up.

A whistle comes from behind a half-wall as Piper rounds the corner, looking me up and down.

“ Damn, Banker Man ,” she says with a smile. “This was an Errand Boy task; you didn’t need to get fancy.” My teeth find the inside of my cheek and bite as I wonder if I should’ve skipped the blazer.

“The details online made it sound like a dressy event. Didn’t want to be unprepared.”

Piper gestures to herself, an old t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans hugging her body, with a bandana tied around her hair. “Well, you’re certainly showing me up!”

She says it with a self-deprecating laugh, and I think about telling her she’s never looked better, but I restrain myself. It feels easy between us right now, normal even, like maybe she truly was busy this week. I don’t want to push it.

She turns back to enter the building, and I follow her through a long hallway, past the lobby, and into an expansive room to the left. Lights are strung across the ceiling, casting a warm and inviting glow, and round tables surround a dance floor at the base of a stage with a few high tops at the perimeter.

The room is still a work in progress, as evidenced by the people who are scurrying around like ants pinning tablecloths and setting up centerpieces.

“So, how does it look?” Piper asks, wiping her forearm across her brow.

“It looks incredible, Pipes. Really well done. Your guests are going to have a great time tonight.” The boxes shift in my arms, awkward but not heavy, and she notices as I try to balance them on my hip.

“Let’s put those over there.” She leans in the direction of a younger woman near a high top. “I’ll have Sadye unload them and start doing place settings. Can you grab the other boxes and bring them here?”

A quick gesture to the left proceeds her next thought. “The auction items need my attention; they aren’t going to set up themselves!”

Piper walks over to a collection of rectangular tables where she drops a bag from her shoulder and starts unloading autographed posters. There are a variety of items lined up already, each with a sign describing the item, its market value, and a suggested starting bid. Bid sheets live neatly in front, a capped pen resting diagonally across each one.

There won’t be an empty sheet at the end of the night if I can help it—anything that doesn’t get a bid will come home with me.

“Absolutely. I’ll be back in a few,” I reply. I know she’s not asking for anything new, just the fulfillment of the agreement I made to drop everything off, but it still makes me happy to be needed by Piper.

Five minutes later, I’m back with the boxes and headed toward Sadye who is making quick work of her task. Who knew it was possible to fold napkins so efficiently? She is folding and placing and setting each table in a matter of minutes. It’s impressive.

Meanwhile, Piper’s hands are working furiously as I head over to the auction staging area, boxes and bags spilling out from underneath the tables, each one containing something else to unpack. I grab a bag, gently lifting a ceramic vase out the top and carefully unwrapping the packing paper that surrounds it.

“What are you doing?” She glances up and catches me there, and I wonder for a second if she thinks I’m trying to steal this.

“Unpacking this vase?” I say, speaking slowly and deliberately. “You said you needed to keep working on the auction set-up. I’m helping.” My shoulders shrug, tape sticking to my fingers as we talk.

“You really don’t need to,” she says, her eyebrows pulled together in question. A small grin betrays that she’s grateful for the extra hands.

“I know I don’t,” I reply. “I want to.”

We find a rhythm as we work for the next forty-five minutes. I untie bags and break down boxes, she places the items and sets up the detail cards, I lay out the bid sheets and she distributes the pens.

We don’t talk much, but it's familiar nonetheless, like our bodies have a sense of what the other will do and accommodate for it without thinking. When the set-up is complete, Piper steps back to take it in, cocking her head and narrowing her eyes to appraise our handiwork.

“It looks good!” My palm extends toward her for a high five, which seems like the lowest-stakes suggestion that I’m dying for her to touch me.

“It looks good,” she agrees, weaving her fingers through mine and giving a brief squeeze. She leans her weight into my side with a sigh, the rhythm of her breath slowing. It feels indulgent, this fleeting bit of contact, like she’s giving herself a single moment of rest before the madness of the gala starts in full.

I want to linger like this, to continue to have the weight of her body pressed to the side of my stomach, but Piper straightens quickly, pulling her hand away to smooth it down her thigh.

“Sorry, I… I need to change before people arrive in thirty,” she says, her lips pulling to the left to blow a piece of stray hair out of her eyes. “Thanks again for being here and for helping out.” Her body twists away from me as she scurries toward a corner door, throwing up a wave on the way.

This is my cue to leave. I know I should leave. Leaving is the smart thing to do.

I don’t leave.

Instead, I scan the room for another task. Chairs bang and clank as they are pulled from a stack, their metal legs dragging across the floor behind two women who place them around tables. No one asks who I am or why I’m here when I grab three chairs from the top and slide them into place, nor when I repeat the motion until every table is full.

I fill the time by filling needs, joining Hope First employees as they scamper to get everything finished. By 5:20 p.m. the place is shimmering, reshaped from a warehouse into a ballroom, lights glinting off cutlery and centerpieces with easy jazz wafting through the air.

It’s incredible.

Piper tears into the room five minutes later, and her transformation rips the breath out of my lungs. A short black dress has replaced her tee and jeans, and it hugs her curves effortlessly, highlighting the spot at her waist where my palm, now damp at the sight of her, fits just right.

Her hair drapes loosely over one shoulder and my heart bumps against my sternum every time it brushes over the jut of her collarbone. She moves with an authority I have never seen from her; she’s confident, almost aggressively so, as she directs folks to their places, her red heels showing off the cut of her calves with each step.

I’m trying not to stare, but it’s difficult. This dress makes me want to corner her—to wrap my hands around her wrists and pin her to the wall to steal the lipstick from her mouth.

She catches me out of the corner of her eye and stops mid-stride. I never made it clear that I planned to stay, though she never explicitly asked me to leave. My arm lifts my sweaty hand for a wave since that’s what we do, and she rushes over to me in ten seconds flat.

“James, I…” Her brown eyes are wild, as though she has one hundred open tabs in her brain and seeing me has caused the machine to freeze.

My fingers find her shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze.

“P, this dress… you look incredible.”

She blinks and comes to life again, giving me a grin. “Of course I do.” Her eyes dart around the room to make sure everyone is still playing their parts before returning to my gaze. “I didn’t expect you to still be here.”

“Like I said, I came prepared for a fancy evening.” I grab my lapels and tug. A chuckle slips between her lips before her expression changes, her eyebrows furrowing as catches sight of the empty bar behind me.

“Hey, actually, could you do something for me?” Her face transforms from concerned to pleading as she gives me the expression I recognize from each prior request—puppy dog eyes with an earnest glint and a soft smile.

It works on me now just like it always has. I nod and shoot her a curious glance.

“The bartender we hired isn’t here yet, and I don’t want to panic. Can you hang by the bar and pour some wine until he arrives? It shouldn’t be long.”

“Pipes, of all of the requests you’ve ever made, this is… almost my favorite one.” A grin stretches across my cheeks, heat lapping up my neck as the memory of Monday night—the way she asked me to touch her—floods my brain. She whacks me lightly on the arm before pointing me to the bar.

By 5:30 the room is buzzing with chatter and I’m the most popular person here as a line forms for drinks. Even better, my view of Piper is unobstructed as she navigates the crowd, schmoozing with donors, talking about auction items, and intermittently lifting a radio to her red lips to message her teammates.

She is effortless in this environment, floating between roles, and it’s remarkable to see. The nervous, unsure, stressed Piper I see on the train most mornings is gone.

This Piper is a handler and it’s sexy as hell.

An hour and a half goes by quickly as the meal is served and several clients share their stories from the stage, each one heartbreaking and galvanizing. Soon, Piper takes the mic, leading the crowd in a round of applause for the clients and sharing how the money raised will go toward bettering the lives of women and children in our city.

I’m biased, of course, but I would give this woman anything. By the look of the crowd, I’m not the only one. People are dropping checks in baskets at the center of their tables while others are pulling out their phones to scan QR codes to donate. The money is flowing as easily as the drinks.

The space transitions for music and dancing and Piper mingles, giving hugs and handshakes and pointing folks to the auction before it closes at 8:30. After a while—too long, in my opinion—she makes her way over to me at the bar.

“Need a drink?” I ask, cocking my head and lifting my eyebrow to accompany a smirk.

“Can’t drink on the job, sorry.” She shrugs but there’s nothing sorry about it. She’s glowing, a mix of pride and sweat from working the room clinging to her skin.

I hand her a glass of water and watch as she finds my cup behind the bar and gives it an intentional tink, holding eye contact as she takes a long sip before setting it down with a smile.

“The bartender officially bailed, I guess,” she laments while scanning the room as though she’d find him here now if she looked hard enough. “Thank you for stepping in. No one has complained about the drinks, so you must be doing a decent job.” Her eyelashes flutter along with her grin.

“Decent is what I’m known for,” I say while pouring a glass of cab for a waiting patron. “At least, I hope you think I’m decent.”

“You are satisfactory and respectable. Truly decent in all ways,” she replies with a small curtsy and a chuckle. “Seriously, though. Thank you. I’m not sure what we would’ve done without you here.”

Piper reaches up to gently grasp my cheek as she says it, making sure to hold my gaze. It sparks a fire in my chest that’ll stay the rest of the night.

“Time to check on the auction. Keep up the good work, Mr. Newhouse.” The wink she gives me before sauntering over to the rectangular tables damn near makes my knees buckle.

I redirect my focus to pouring drinks, some wine and some liquor with a few cocktails thrown in, and on singing Piper’s praises with every guest I serve. No one should leave here without knowing she’s behind this incredible event.

For someone who likes order, routine, and near-guaranteed results, I am having too much fun tonight. I’m making things up as I go and it’s working. It’s freeing to be here in this environment, to have to wing it, and to be successful doing it.

Maybe it’s okay to let go of the plan sometimes after all. Maybe things work out when they are meant to.

The night wraps up with a last call for bids and drinks and folks are happy, carrying newly won items in their arms and leaving tips on their way out. The staff starts to clean up as Piper finds me again, giddy from the compliments she received from donors as they leave.

I’m almost as proud as she is as I wrap my arms around her and lift her off the ground, kissing her gently under her ear before setting her back down.

A man clears his throat behind us, and I’m reminded that we’re not alone.

“So sorry to interrupt,” he says apologetically, “but I just wanted to tell you, Piper, what a wonderful night this was and how thrilled we are to partner with Hope First.” Turning to me, he raises his empty glass. “And I didn’t know you were with this fine young man. Best Old Fashioned I’ve had in years thanks to you.”

He smiles and Piper grabs my hand, pressing her fingers between mine.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Goldstone,” she replies. “I’m so glad you and Ginny could make it. It’s always a joy to see you both.” Her shoulder tucks under my arm as she continues, “And yes, James does make a good drink.”

Mr. Goldstone watches us for a moment before adding a final thought, as though it’s a postscript and not a bomb. “You know, I’m so thrilled these single women have you to look up to, Piper. It’s important for them to have an example of a healthy relationship.”

While it’s too dim to confirm, I am positive every ounce of color drains from my face at this exact moment. Piper keeps her hand in mine, gripping tightly, as she gives Mr. Goldstone a loose one-armed hug, thanking him again before he turns to find his wife.

Our gazes catch as we stand there, hands linked, feeling the weight of his words.

But after a moment, Piper turns and drags me to the floor to join the clean-up effort, effectively making the call that we shouldn’t talk about the exchange with Mr. Goldstone… or at least not right now. I follow her lead, tidying and organizing and ignoring the elephant in the room.

If she wants to bask in the afterglow of a successful fundraiser, I won't stop her.

“So, Piper,” a woman pauses with a trash bag in hand as she cocks her hip, “are you gonna tell us who this man is? Or do you want us to nag you incessantly until you relent? Totally your call!”

A shit-eating grin commands the lower half of her face as she bends down to retrieve a bent program from the floor.

“Wow, Jenny, how gracious of you!” Piper replies with an eye roll. “This is James.” She places a hand on my arm with a pat. “You all should be grateful for his help.”

Jenny makes a show of an exaggerated bow as though I’m the king of England and she’s a loyal subject. I tip my head back to her.

I’m acutely aware Piper didn’t define our relationship or explain how we know each other. The only reason I wanted her to was to give me a clue about the way she views me. It would be easier to keep my distance if she called me a friend.

Instead of keeping my distance, I pull closer to her and watch her as she works. It’s striking how content she looks even as she’s sweeping pieces of sticky confetti into a dustpan. Like she’s had her fill of something delicious, or her pumpkin pie won first prize at the fair.

I recognize it as the same satisfied look she had when I pulled her onto my lap on Monday.

I want it there all the time.

We continue our cleaning for about an hour, me stacking chairs and Piper organizing donation envelopes while varying members of the team clear plates and strip tablecloths, collect signage, and finagle a standing banner back into its case.

When everything is in good shape, she starts giving hugs and thanks, picking out specific ways that each member of the team was instrumental tonight and expressing her gratitude for it. She is nothing but heart, this one.

We make our way through the maze of the building to my car sitting alone in the back lot. Piper replays the night’s events aloud as we walk, giving context and sharing tidbits about her conversations and what they could mean for Hope First.

She’s practically skipping—the phrase “a pep in your step” comes to life in front of me as she moves—like a girl at Christmas who got everything she wanted and can’t keep her excitement contained. The perma-smile it puts on my face has my cheeks aching.

Piper turns in front of me as we approach my car, blocking me from opening the passenger side door. “What was your favorite part of the night, Mr. Bartender?”

She eyes me eagerly as she waits for me to give her another moment to relive. I reach for the handle of the door and find my hand on her waist instead.

“My favorite part,” I say, keeping my hand planted firmly and my eyes locked on hers, “was watching you pull the whole thing off. This night and all the good that will come from it happened because of you . Seeing you in your element was incredible.”

She grins up at me before reaching for my hand and nesting hers within it.

“There was one thing, though…” I add with a half-smile, “...something that bothered me most of the night.” Her hand tenses, bracing herself as she narrows her eyes to read my expression.

“I didn’t get to dance with you,” I say before taking a large step back, her fingers still wrapped up in mine, and then pulling her in so we’re chest-to-chest. “Is it too late?”

“Dammit, James!” She tries to convey anger, but her laugh undoes the effort. Wrapping her arms around my neck, Piper rests her head on my shoulder with a sigh. I reach around her, pulling her to me tightly as we rock side to side.

“You know, this would be better with some music,” she says.

Not true.

“I’m not sure anything could make this better.”

We sway in silence, my chin nuzzled in her hair and my heartbeat keeping time. I remind myself this proximity doesn’t mean anything—she’s high on adrenaline and positive feelings. My body, however, only knows she’s pressed against me and reacts accordingly.

I let my hands slide over the fabric of her dress as we move: up and down her back, around to her sides, to her neck, to weave my fingers through her hair, and back down to the base of her spine. I’m getting hard being this close to her, and she must feel it. Her breath catches as I bring a palm to her ass and squeeze.

“You liked that,” I whisper with a smile she can hear, nudging the hair away from her ear to be sure.

“Is it that obvious?” A laugh slides out of her as she drops her arms to my lower back.

“It is if you’re paying attention.”

Piper lifts her eyes to meet mine and they’re steady. Assured. “What else have you been paying attention to?” The challenge in her voice makes my heart race.

“This spot behind your ear, for one.” I reach a hand toward her jaw and turn her face away from me, exposing her neck so I can place a wet kiss there. Goosebumps erupt on her skin when I pull away, my hand still cradling her face.

“And here.” I drop slow kisses down the side of her neck, pausing after each one to build tension.

“There’s this spot,” my lips find her lips, softly at first, before I nudge her mouth open and tangle my tongue with hers. She lets out a small moan as we deepen the kiss, her hands pulling at my hair as the urgency increases.

I guide her backward until she’s pinned against the car, exactly the way I wanted her the moment she appeared in this dress.

“What else?” Her voice is shaky with need, punctuating those two words.

“And this spot here,” I bring a hand to her ribs, just under her breast to swipe my thumb across her nipple. She pulls my bottom lip between her teeth with a stilted breath.

“And my favorite spot,” I whisper as I drag my hand down her side and slip under her dress, pushing away the fabric of her panties to dip inside her. She arches into me with a moaned exhale. “You’re already so wet for me, P.”

“That’s what happens when you pay attention.” The words come out choked before she strains for another kiss.

My hand works her up and down, alternating focused pressure and stretching her with my fingers until she’s trembling. I can tell she’s close, but I’m not done with her yet. Pulling away just an inch, I pause for a moment to adjust myself in my pants, flinching at my own touch.

“Why’d you stop?” she asks desperately, her mouth moving furiously on mine. The tension in her voice makes me want to continue this for years.

“I stopped because you were getting too close.” My quiet laugh tickles her lips as I slow down the kiss until it’s deep but tender.

“That’s when you’re supposed to NOT stop!” Piper gives a firm tug to my hair like it’s a punishment and not a turn-on.

“Only if I want you to finish,” I whisper, finding the spot where her neck meets her collarbone and sucking gently. “I am not eager for this to be finished.”

She shudders and I steady her, licking kisses to her ear. “Though if you are, you can ask me for it.” The trail of my lips continues across her jaw to her mouth.

She stops me there, meeting my gaze with no inhibition as she grabs my hand and brings it back between her legs.

“James,” she says as she arches into me, “please make me come.”

We dive back into the kiss, zero to sixty, the heel of my hand rubbing back and forth over her as I bring my other hand to the strap of her dress and slide it down to expose her breast. I twist at her nipple slowly until it’s hard, a sharp inhale in her chest when I pull roughly.

“ Shit , James,” she whimpers into my neck. The words burn like sparks on my skin as she writhes beneath me.

“That’s it, just like that,” I encourage, increasing my tempo to match her small thrusts. If I move an inch, the friction of my pants would cause an explosion I’d regret. I focus on Piper’s breathing as it becomes erratic, nipping my teeth at her ear. “You feel so fucking good I could come just from touching you.”

She collapses into me as her pleasure spills over, her muscles tensing and squeezing, her arms tight around my back. We stay this way until our breathing slows and she brings a hand to my zipper. I intercept it with my own.

“Not tonight,” I whisper, cradling her head against my chest. As much as I’m desperate for release, this night is about her. I don’t want her to think the price of her orgasm is my own.

I keep Piper wrapped up, feeling her heart rate fall and her shoulders relax after a few minutes. She’s melted into me, her body filling every gap in mine.

“Hey,” she says quietly, looking up at me with a soft smile. I tuck a loose wave behind her ear.

“Hey,” I reply, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“Thanks for giving me space. We had such a great night earlier this week and then the morning happened which made me spiral. I shut you out. I’m sorry about that.”

My palms move from her waist to hold the sides of her face gently, locking my eyes to hers. “You don’t have to apologize for taking care of yourself, you know that?” She nods. “You should do whatever you need to do. You don’t owe me anything.”