Somewhere Along The Line

15. Piper

James’s phrase rattles around my head as his car maneuvers the pothole-lined street leading to my house.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Those five words pierce the bubble I’ve been living in, quickly deflating the protective cover I wrapped around my heart to guard against my thoughts this week. Thoughts about how reckless I am around James.

About what happened with Mr. Cargill.

About how stupid it is to let myself be distracted.

I’ve been pushing those thoughts aside, wrapping them up along with my common sense and tucking them away. I’ve been leaning into positive self-talk. I’ve been trying not to catastrophize. Trying not to let my fears ruin a night like tonight.

But hearing those five words slip out of James’s mouth?

The bubble is gone. With one startling pop it disappears, a flashing neon DANGER sign materializing in its place. His casual reminder that we aren’t responsible for or accountable to each other is a puncture wound to my heart.

We aren’t a “we” at all.

James Newhouse could disappear tomorrow, and I wouldn’t have any right to be hurt.

Here I am bringing this man into my life, introducing him to my roommate, showing him off at my work event, fumbling an important meeting, and for what?

He doesn’t owe me anything either .

Shit.

Driving home after our tryst in the parking lot, the cold leather of his passenger seat raises goosebumps on my uncovered legs. My mind works overtime, spinning through the memories of the evening and wondering when and how things went so far off course.

James, on the other hand, is not spiraling. A happy hum leaves his lips as he rests his right hand comfortably on my thigh, occasionally tracing his fingers on my bare skin where my dress stops. It seems he’s been able to manage what I have not—enjoying the fun of this arrangement without getting invested.

“What’cha thinking about, Pipes?” His curious blue eyes scan my face before the light turns green, drawing his attention back to the road.

“Currently? I’m thinking about what Mr. Goldstone said at the end of the night.” I swallow hard, not knowing where I’m going with this but needing to address it. “About us being a good example for the women I serve.”

He nods slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the windshield. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know what to say, really.” (This is the most honest phrase I’ve ever spoken to the man.) “It just has me thinking.”

James gives my leg a quick squeeze, the warmth of his fingers sweeping away the lingering goosebumps.

“You’re a pro at thinking,” he says softly, and I’m not sure if it’s a compliment, an observation, or a subtle dig at my anxiety. “Do you want to hear what I think?”

I keep my face turned toward the window as I nod.

“I think you threw a great party, raised a ton of money, and impressed everyone in the room. Don’t let an offhand comment overshadow all the good you did tonight. Mr. Goldstone might not have gotten every detail right, but you are a fantastic role model, and those families are lucky to have you.”

Somehow, James ignores the elephant in the room—the part we’ve yet to say aloud—about how this charade has gone beyond the train, beyond the police station and the threat of a trial to bleed into our real lives.

Or maybe it’s just my life and my career? Whatever is happening between us isn’t impacting James’ job; he keeps me compartmentalized. And yet I’ve failed at that. Twice now.

“Thank you,” I offer weakly. “Though I guess the exchange with Mr. Goldstone is evidence our fauxmance passes the stranger test. Seems we’ve become very convincing.”

I don’t tell him it’s because I’m not pretending anymore. I want him to tell me it’s not a fauxmance.

“Seems we have.” A small smirk graces his mouth as he pulls up to the house in front of mine. I reach to open the door before turning back to give a last “Thank you.”

He responds with his usual, “Of course.”

Not knowing what to say next, “I’ll text you!” spills out of my mouth as I wave goodbye. What will we text about now that the gala is over and a trial is still up in the air? Hell if I know.

“I’ll be waiting,” he replies as he mirrors my wave and then pulls into the street.

Waiting for what? Another half-baked reason for us to keep seeing each other that we both know is a farce?

I don’t think I have it in me.

It’s nearly ten o’clock when I walk through the door to find Sami waiting for me in the living room.

“How’d it go, lovey?!” She releases a squeal as she rushes over for a hug that almost knocks me down.

“It was perfect!” I exclaim, trying to reactivate my excitement from the event to cover my messy feelings about James. “It went off without a hitch. The speakers were compelling, we sold every auction item, and it looks like we exceeded our donation goal, though the official count will happen Monday.”

“Ah, I’m just so proud of you! Could not be prouder. Want some champagne?” Sami walks around the couch to grab a bottle off the coffee table. Three-quarters of it is already gone. “I can grab you a glass!”

“Thanks, but I’m good.” I flop myself onto the sofa and peel my stilettos from my feet. The relief feels almost as lovely as the orgasm earlier. “Want to guess who showed up for the fundraiser?”

“Let me think…” Sami taps her finger to her lips like she’s pondering, “Beyonce?”

Cue my rolled eyes.

“I mean… Ann Patchett?”

And again.

“Okay I’ve got it. George W. Bush!”

I burst out laughing, the intensity of it breaking up some of the pressure in my chest.

“You were sooooo close,” I snark, “but alas, it was not a singer or an author or a former President.”

“It was James?” Sami grins as she settles deep into the chair across from the couch and curls up like a cat, her glass newly refreshed with bubbly.

“It was James,” I sigh.

“And how do we feel about that?”

It’s always “we” with Sami. She is so committed to Team Piper she’ll adopt any possible emotion I might express. Gratitude blooms in my chest when I hear that “we.”

“Well, I expected him to show up, drop off the boxes, and then leave. I thought it would be a blip.” I run my hands down my face, stretching the skin of my cheeks up and down as I recall the events of the night.

“But instead, he was his usual helpful, respectful, so-infuriatingly-handsome-it’s-almost-painful self the entire night. He pitched in with set-up and clean-up, he charmed our donors, he served drinks when the bartender didn't show up. Then, when the event was over, he made sure I was… taken care of.”

My hand finds a throw pillow and I bury my face in it, as though the gesture could stop Sami from prying.

“Taken care of,” she says as she swirls her champagne like red wine, “that sounds interesting .” She adds a wink for effect.

“It wasn’t interesting , Sami, it was ridiculously hot. By far the best sexual experience I’ve ever had while being fully clothed. And in public.” I peek out from behind the pillow to see her eyes grow wide and her smile grow wider.

“Piper Elise Paulson, I couldn’t be prouder!” She walks over to the couch and snatches the pillow from my face before snuggling up beside me. “I know I said that earlier about the gala but honestly, this might take the cake. It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself for once.”

“Enjoyment was certainly had.”

My chuckle surprises me, joined by a flood of gratitude for what my life has become—this apartment with Sami, our friendship, my job, the successful event tonight, and even these last few weeks with James (concerns notwithstanding).

I feel like I’m living again.

“So, what’s the problem exactly? I’m not hearing a single problem about James or this evening.” Sami scoots to rest her back against the armrest, digging her toes under my leg for warmth.

“Where do I start? Problem number one is I was distracted all night. The biggest event of my brand-new career, the possibility of a promotion and a raise on the line, and I’m glancing over constantly to see what James is doing, what expression he’s making, what person he’s charming. When he’s around I can’t think—all reason goes out the window. It’s going to get me in trouble.”

I don’t tell her it already has with the lost scholarship money.

“Problem number two is people in my life are starting to get attached to him. You, obviously, but also my coworkers—they think he hung the moon after tonight. Problem three is I’m starting to get attached to him, and he doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.”

I swipe the glass from Sami’s fingers and take a long sip before handing it back.

“What makes you say that?” She shrugs. “I can’t think of a guy who pays for shit, willingly runs errands, and gives mind-blowing orgasms who’s not interested.” She has a point, especially considering the quality of men she’s been dealing with recently.

“It’s this arrangement. He’s playing the role of a doting partner and he’s doing a great job of it. But I keep laying down opportunities for him to admit we’re not playing anymore and he doesn’t take them. James seems perfectly happy to keep hanging out and hooking up and pretending to mean something to each other without any strings.”

I throw my head back against the cushion and slide down, letting the couch support my weight as my feet dangle near the floor, legs outstretched. Sami nods, sitting up to rest a hand on my knee.

“I want to be the kind of person who can keep this casual, Sam, but that’s not me. I also can’t pressure him into a commitment that would end terribly for both of us. Most importantly, I won’t risk losing focus on the life I’m trying to build and the promotion I need. Not because of some man who doesn’t care enough to admit he likes me.”

“You know I love you, right?” Sami cocks her head to the left while she waits for me to meet her hazel eyes. I nod.

“If you want me to tell you to cut and run, I will. Your getaway car and getaway girl will await whenever you need. But, Piper, you’re treating James like he’s Henry. He’s not. He’s been giving of himself from day one, which is something Henry NEVER did, even when he claimed to love you. James isn’t an arrogant asshole who only wants you for what you can offer him.”

She softens her tone as though she wants me to really hear this next part.

“Piper, you don’t know things would end terribly between you two, or that James doesn’t care about you. Besides, you’re not the same Piper you were a few years ago. Even if things with James go south, it won’t wreck you. You’ve welded yourself back together—you’re not as breakable as you think.”

Gosh, I don’t deserve Sami.

“So, what do I do, then?” I scootch back up on the couch, moving from my wallowing position to sitting.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. It’s only been a couple of weeks. You could let the relationship continue to play out organically and try to temper the anxiety that says you need an answer now.”

That is a terrible plan. Absolutely awful.

“Or you could tell him you’re falling for him for real and see if he reciprocates.”

I like this plan even less.

“Or,” I interject, “I could call the whole thing off and go back to being a focused person who has her shit together.”

Sami gives a hearty laugh, rumbling out from somewhere deep in her chest. Whatever she’s about to say will be true.

“Piper, the day you met this guy you were only wearing one shoe. You have never been a focused person who routinely has her shit together and that’s okay . Your people love you despite that and because of it.”

She pulls me in for a side hug, and I lean my head against hers with a sigh.

“You don’t have to decide what to do this second or this month,” Sami says softly. “If you need to take a step back, you can do that while you figure out what you want.”

She straightens and clears her throat, putting on an air of authority before she continues. “And if you want to bail, I’ll happily be your escort while you do it.”

The image of Sami dressed in head-to-toe black with a stern expression appears in my mind, making me grin.

“Thank you, Sam. I think I’ll sleep on it. The whole day has been tiring, and some of this anxiety is probably left over from the event. You always know how to keep me in line.”

I steal her champagne and finish it off before sliding the glass to the coffee table.

“Stealing the rest of my drink is a heck of a way to say thank you!”

Our giggles fill the room, and I feel ten times lighter than I did when I walked in. Sami reaches for the remote, and we settle into our usual Saturday night routine, spending forty minutes debating which movie to watch before deciding on Titanic .

My phone buzzes with an email from my boss, stealing my attention away from Leo. I open the message with trembling fingers. My relationship with her has been tense since I fumbled the meeting with Mr. Cargill the morning after my night with James.

Sherry Adkerson, Executive Director, Hope First: Piper—just a quick note to congratulate you on an excellent event. We needed the fundraiser to overperform, given the loss of the funds we had expected from Mr. Cargill, and we certainly made up the difference.

Great work tonight. Loved seeing what you’re capable of; can’t wait to see more.

Once I’m able to pick my jaw up off the floor, I let the compliment settle into my bones. Maybe the promotion isn’t off the table? Maybe it could be possible to see where things go with James and not entirely ruin my life and career?

A thread of hope weaves around my heart, but my anxiety knows not to trust it. This entire night has been a whirlwind. It’s going to take a few days to wrap my head around all of it.