Never Got Over You -Whitney G. Page 0,48
James’s address was the only one on this street. It sat right at the edge of Lake Tahoe’s clear, sparkling waters and was nestled behind a row of pine trees.
I parked behind the row of repaired luxury cars in his driveway, and walked into the garage.
“Hey,” I said, stepping in front of the engine he was fixing.
“Hey?” He turned off his drill and tilted his head to the side. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to the symphony right now? Your performance is in a few hours. I was about to head there when I got finished.”
“I’m done with the cello now. Professionally, anyway.”
“What?”
“I’m taking your advice,” I said. “Driving down my own lane instead of riding in someone else’s. I’m going to start graduate school in the early fall and cancel the rest of my cello touring days.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “What did your parents threaten to do when you told them?”
“Nothing. They just said they were severely disappointed, and hoped I enjoyed being basic like everyone else.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not. I’m getting the silent treatment anyway. I’m expecting it to take at least six months for them to get over it, but by that time I’ll be able to get my inheritance and get the hell away from here. I also have a boyfriend to help me pass the time.”
“Good for you,” he said, caressing my back. “They’ll definitely get over it, and I’ll come pick you up the next time you want to come out here.”
“Can you come get me every day?” The words tumbled out of my mouth. “I mean, if you don’t mind, and if I won’t be a distraction.”
“You distract me even when you’re not here.” He laughed. “Let me show you something.” He clasped my hand and led me to his porch that overlooked the lake. Three luxury boats were tethered to the end of his dock.
“Do those belong to your clients?”
“No, all of those are mine,” he said. “I’m going to take you out on that one later today, though.” He pointed to an all-white luxury boat with screened -n glass. “I’ll do it after I finish fixing the Cadillac. In the meantime, you can sit out here on this since I just finished making it for you.”
Letting my hand go, he tugged on a white tarp—revealing a beautiful white wooden swing. It was suspended by golden ropes that hung from the edge of his second floor. “When you mentioned the swing that you wanted in your dream house, were you thinking about something that looked something like this?”
Exactly like this. I nodded, speechless.
He sat down on it and pulled me next to him.
“Why are you crying, Kate?”
“I’m not crying.”
He wiped away a few of my tears with his fingertips. “Tell me.”
“This is the first time that someone actually listened to me, the first time someone cared enough to get me what I wanted, you know?” I let out a breath. “Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Unless this is the standard when you date someone, and you always build something over the top for your girlfriends.”
“I don’t.” He cupped my face in his hands. “You’re the first...And hopefully the last.”
...
Kate
~ March 20, 2009 ~
MY LIFE WAS NOW DEFINED by my time with James. We spent the remaining winter nights on his side of the lake—our bodies coated in the glow of the moonlight. We rode on the lake as long and as far as we could, until the sky gave way to darkness.
I made my second home in his bedroom, spent my free moments on my custom-made swing.
Every morning at six a.m., he picked me up and we rode to his place where he gave me the most intense orgasms and explored my body for hours. We showered together and I studied marketing while he slid under classic cars or tinkered with yachts. He listened to me play in moments when I felt compelled to—helping me regain the passion for the strings that I’d lost over the years.
I slept in his passenger seat while he made cross-state drives and occasionally, I’d wake up in Vegas and we’d spend the night in a casino or luxury hotel courtesy of one of his filthy rich clients. As far as I was concerned, nothing else mattered but me and him.
I enjoyed watching him work with his hands, seeing his clients pull up in expensive cars and leave thoroughly impressed with his work. Every now and then, I’d see them slip him