CHAPTER FIFTEEN ~ ABBY ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
“Want some juice?”Graemeasks.
“Since when do you have juice?”
“I always keep some on hand.”
I picture the contents of his fridge.He’s got cans of pop, a couple of bottles of the fruity carbonated water I’ve been obsessed with since we arrived in Scotland, and then the rest is food.
The twinkle in his eyes tells me I’m missing something.Although, to be fair, some variation of that twinkle is almost always present these days.
The others left five days ago.I changed my flight to May twenty-second, which will get me home three days before graduation.The others were shocked but thrilled when I told them I wanted to stay in Scotland for two more weeks.Drew had immediately turned to Brodie and said, “Can we stay too?”A mix of emotions flooded through me, ultimately ending in guilt.It would have been amazing to spend more time with her here, but I wanted to be alone with Graeme.When Brodie reminded Drew she’d agreed to volunteer at an elementary school in Kingston until the move to Toronto, it stirred up a strange combination of disappointment and relief.
Later that day, I confessed my feelings about the exchange to Graeme, and he assured me I wasn’t a bad friend.“And if you are, then I am too, because I want you all to myself for the next two weeks.”
Now, as we sit in the living room after a day spent in the border town of Jedburgh, I can’t help but laugh at the expectant grin on Graeme’s face.
His low chuckle makes my skin tingle.It’s followed by a wave of shivers as it occurs to me I’mallowedto feel this way.For so long, I locked away my feelings for Graeme, ignoring the physical sensations he stirred up in me, while ruthlessly blocking out any romantic inclinations.For the last five days, we’ve been acting like a couple—kissing, holding hands, going on dates, sharing lingering looks and touches.Every night, he kindles that fire he’s lit inside me with a scorching good night kiss...and then I go to the spare room to sleep alone in the bed he ordered online the night I agreed to stay.
“Okay, MacKinlay, what am I missing?”I ask.
“‘Juice’ is used for a multitude of drinks in Scotland, and can vary by region,” he says.“It encompasses any soft drinkandactual fruit juice.Some people call carbonated soft drinks ‘fizzy juice’, and I have a mate from Glasgow who calls any fizzy drink ‘ginger’.”
“Well, that’s not confusing at all,” I say wryly.“So if I wanted an Irn Bru, I’d ask for fizzy juice?”
“Or a can of juice.”He chuckles again at whatever my expression is.“When I first moved to Canada, it took some getting used to because everyone specifically names each drink or the brand.”
“In a way thatactuallymakes sense, you mean?”
“Och, away.”His arms dart out, and I brace myself, assuming he’s going to either tickle me or tackle me to the couch.Instead, his strong hands grip my hips, and the next thing I know, I’m straddling his lap.
Breathless laughter spills out of me.Graeme has always been affectionate and easy-going, but I’ve seen a whole new side of him since we’ve been on our own.I was worried things might be awkward as we navigated this new side of our relationship, but I quickly discovered Graeme will use any excuse to touch me, and I love it.He’ll take my hand or put his arm around me when we’re walking; lay his warm palm on my knee while he’s driving; brush the small of my back or my shoulder as he passes behind me.The touches, ranging from casual to lustful, have shown me I’m not the only one who’s been holding back all these years.
The way his hands slide from my hips to my ass now can only be classified as possessive.The laughter fades from his eyes as his gaze sweeps over my face, lingering on my lips.We haven’t talked about the physical side of our relationship, but it hasn’t progressed past kissing and a bit of light over-the-clothes exploration.As much as I want to take things further—and god, do I want to—I’m hesitant, partly because it seems like the point of no return, and partly because I’ve only ever been with Tripp, and I’m worried my inexperience will be a turn-off for Graeme.
Although if the hard bulge pressing against me where our bodies meet is any indication, I don’t think I have to worry about Graeme not wanting me foranyreason.
I lower my mouth to his, humming softly when his tongue sweeps over my bottom lip.The other day, after an involuntary moan escaped me when he rocked against me during a makeout session, I learned something new about Graeme: he likes it when I’m vocal.I’d never been able to fully release my inhibitions with Tripp, and had always stayed quiet while we kissed or had sex.He’d commented on it once, which made me even more self-conscious.But after I let out that moan the other day, Graeme’s hands had tightened on my hips, and he’d kissed me so passionately I felt like I was being devoured.
