Page 65 of Running
“Vanilla meaning…not good?”
“Yeah, mainly. I don’t think the guys—and definitely not me—knew what we were doing enough to relax, for starters. Now that I’m getting a little older, I’m more aware of the ways to have fun and be creative. Those romance books and listening to my girlfriends talk about their experiences has broadened my horizons a bit.”
I’m still feeling the blush on my cheeks, but it’s not stopping me from being honest. Something about Johnson makes me feel safe talking about this.
He, in turn, looksquitecurious.
“Creative, huh?”
“Yes, I was a bit of a late bloomer. I skipped a grade in elementary school, and I was always behind my classmates socially after that.” I bite my lip as I know I’m about to say something that’s going to move this conversation in a…particular direction. “But I think I’m ready to catch up now.”
His eyes go dark. “Grace, I have to say, I’m trying to connect the dots here in my brain. I assumed we’d go slow on that front, and I don’t expect anything tonight.”
I tilt my head, leaning towards where his hand is still playing with my hair. “I do appreciate that.”
He clears his throat and then shines a knowing smile at me. “But I’d very much like to help youcatch upin whatevercreativeways you’d wish for.”
I can’t help the giggle that comes out. I’d have expected this conversation would make me nervous, but at this point, it’s the opposite. I’m proud I told him what I want. “Would you now?”
“I’d never have thought that all of this was swirling aroundthat brilliant head of yours.” He looks thoroughly pleased by this revelation.
“It’s the way I was raised. Underneath the polite and quiet surface of being a good girl, a good daughter—there are lots ofthoughts. And you make me comfortable enough to say them.”
His eyes soften at my words. “I want to hear all of them. Tell me anything.”
“I will.”
It hits me again how different this is from any of my past dating experiences. For the first time, I trust that a guy will listen to me, genuinely care. We’re past the question of whether there’s an emotional link. We already have one—I just don’t know its complete scope yet.
“Sarah Hartbright swishes in a mid-range jumper to pull the Surge up by eight with seventy-three seconds left,” the announcer says from Johnson’s TV.
The mention of Sarah brings my attention back to the screen. “Oh, I hope they pull this off.”
Johnson hums in response and, while turning his head toward the screen too, runs his hands through my hair again. It seems he’s obsessed with my blonde locks, as my new nickname suggests.
We watch the game to its conclusion that way, letting out little cheers when the Surge make a play. It takes a lot longer than seventy-three seconds with all the timeouts and commercial breaks, but the Surge do eventually win.
“They’re so strong,” Johnson says. “Hopefully we’ll bring multiple titles to Orlando this year.”
I lean into him. “I know you guys have it in you.”
His hand drops from my hair as he wraps the same arm around my body, pulling me in close. “Football talk another time.”
“Mmmm,” I hum.
Suddenly I feel every place we’re touching. Tilting my head so our eyes connect, I see he’s grinning down at me.
We both move at once. I twist my body around to get a better angle, and he rapidly closes the space between our faces.
And then we’re kissing. The tension rising up from our conversation, the desire we’ve been hinting at, spill over from the moment our lips meet. With the assurances we’ve given each other, there’s no hesitation, no holding back.
If I’m not as forward yet with words to describe how I feel, Ishowhim.
He mirrors me, the intensity of our kiss escalating, minute by minute, as I sense his unbridled, sincerewantcome through. Our occasional soft nips break up the hard press of our mouths, demanding what we desire.
It all feels laden with the promise of so much more to come.
Once the next game starts in the background, Johnson finally pulls away slightly, moaning with regret.
