I needed to go shopping. I was out of deodorant, and I needed some string cheese. And I had promised the Brit I would pick up some mother-flippin Chex Mix.
I needed … I needed …
Settle, Grace …
I needed to do laundry. I grabbed the hamper and sat on the floor, making piles around me while I took some deep, cleansing breaths. As I was sorting, I noticed that Jack had snuck some t-shirts into the hamper. Now I was doing his laundry? I smiled to myself, thinking of him silently throwing these shirts into my hamper, probably smirking as he did it, knowing that I would call him out on it later. He was so cute when he was smirking. I pressed each of the shirts to my face in turn, inhaling his sweet scent.
I looked around my room, where we had spent so much time over the last few days.
His guitar. An errant Melba toast. His jeans, thrown across the back of my chair. A Felicity DVD—he really was sweet to indulge my Ben Covington fetish. His stupid ball cap which, to his credit, he had not worn in my presence.
I picked up the ball cap. I stared at it, thinking of how cute he was when I took it off his head and messed up his big curls, smiling the entire time.
Why was the ball cap wet?
I was crying. Big, giant, elephant tears were pouring down my face foolishly, relentlessly. I was over-the-moon happy to be moving to New York, but I was so sad to leave him that it was messing with my head … bad. How was it possible that I was in so deep already?
The phone broke me out of my sad-sackery. It was Holly.
“Hey, asshead,” I said, sniffing up the last of my tears.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, why?”
“You’ve got that donkey voice, that’s why.”
“Donkey voice?”
“Yeah, when you’ve been crying, you sound like Eeyore.” I laughed aloud. I loved her so.
“Come on, meet me for coffee,” she said.
“Don’t you have to work, Holly?”
“Eh, all the Scientologists are on vacation. It’s been a slow week.” y
She watched me pull into the Starbucks lot, waving at me while I looked for a spot. While I was putting the top up, I saw two guys check me out and I smiled. I was still not used to attractive men checking me out. Once a fat girl, always a fat girl in your head. Although, I knew I was glowing lately. Must have been the round-the-clock orgasms I’d been receiving. They always did wonders for a girl’s complexion.
I walked up to the table where Holly was sitting outside and smiled when I saw she had already ordered for me.
“Hey, dillweed, nice of you to order for me,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and sinking into the chair across from her.
“Yes, I thought you could use some caffeine. Are you enjoying the view?
You’ve spent so much time horizontal lately—be careful now.”
“Who says we were only horizontal?” My face lit up at the thought of him, vertical, horizontal, or otherwise.
“I see … whore,” she whispered, laughing at me as I sipped my drink.
“Holly, I have to tell you, with the way it’s been already, you better get some earplugs for when we finally do the deed … ”
“What? Wait … he hasn’t even f**ked you yet?” she asked, or rather yelled, judging by the curious faces of everyone sitting outside at Starbucks. My face burned as brightly as my hair as I looked on apologetically.
“No. Jesus.”
“How the hell is that possible? Furthermore, how the hell is that possible?
All that screaming and moaning and groaning and grunting and thrashing about that you’ve subjected me to, not to mention the hole in the wall behind your headboard, and no—”
“—dick, I know. No actual dick, yet.” I finished her sentence, hiding my face in my hands. Then I looked up with a curious expression. “There’s a hole in the wall behind my headboard?” I smiled at the thought.
“Yes, I noticed there was drywall on the floor of my closet, so I went into your room and saw it. It’s being patched next week. Although, now I have a newfound respect for young Mr. Hamilton. All that yelling with no actual penetration, no bang bang?” she cried, her eyes wide. “So, then when is this momentous occasion going to happen?” she asked, still in awe that I had yet to ride the lightning.
“I don’t know. I wanted to wait … and now I’m leaving in less than a week … I … I don’t know.”
“Wanted to wait? Get on the stick woman. Literally. Get. On. That. Stick!” she yelled.
“Dammit, Holly, I know. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just wanted it to be special, OK?” I sank back into the chair, looking miserable.
“Who are you? Blossom? Grace, you have a twenty-four-year-old man in your bed every single night, and you are not letting him into the sanctuary?
A man, by the way, that women all over the country are lining up to f**k the brains out of?”
“Believe me, he’ll be let into the sanctuary! And thanks for reminding me about all those other women. That’s a great visual for me to have when I’m walking around Manhattan. Can we please talk about something else?” I begged her to change the subject.
“Yes. Why were you crying earlier?” she asked, switching topics quickly. I grimaced and took a long pull on my iced mocha.
“I don’t know. It has just been a whirlwind the last week, and there are many different things banging around in my head. I’m so jazzed about this show, and you know I’ve always wanted to live in New York, even temporarily. And my house, I’m leaving it right as I was going to get to move in!”
“And?” she asked, pushing me.
“And I backed out of the showcase. I feel terrible about that.”
“And?”
“And I will miss you, of course … you’re like my Dirty Martini Bitch,” I said, my eyes flashing warmly to her.
“And?” She smiled gently.
“Oh, God, and I don’t want to leave my Brit … I mean, I really don’t want to,” I sighed heavily, my hands coming up to my hair and running through it.
“And why would that be exactly … ” she asked one last time. I was quiet, chewing on my lip. Then my face broke out into a huge grin.
“Because I haven’t gotten the dick yet?” I asked brightly. She couldn’t help but laugh as she let me off the hook.
“Look, whether you want to say it out loud or not, it’s obvious, Grace. And it’s obvious to anyone with eyeballs that he feels the same way.” I fiddled with my wallet, my way of telling her this discussion was over.
“One last thing, if I may?”
“Yes?” I asked warily, looking at her over the rims of my glasses.
“If you don’t want to tell me, at least tell him. You should, you know,” she said, sipping at her own drink.
“I am considering all options,” I answered. We were quiet for another moment.
“So, really, all that with just his hands?” she asked again.
I smiled proudly. “And his fingers. And his mouth. And his—”
“Stop it, you’re making me blush.”
We dissolved into giggles to the entertainment of all who had coffee at the Starbucks off La Cienega that afternoon.
After coffee with Holly, I headed back to the house. I had gotten a text from Jack about dinner tonight:
Gracie,
I’m meeting a friend for coffee after looping and then running by my place for a bit.
Dinner tonight? Wear something sexy, not that this would ever be a problem for you.
George
His text made me smile, but I was also feeling a little blue. Which friend was he having coffee with, was it this Marcia?
You were supposed to stop saying it that way …
I know, I know.
I went upstairs and grabbed my iPod and headed out to the terrace. I wanted to soak up as much California weather as I could, although autumn in New York was truly beautiful.
I settled into a lawn chair and breathed in the sunshine. People said L.A.
was smoggy, and it was, but there are parts of Southern California that just plain smell better than anywhere else. I could smell sun, grass, oranges and honeysuckle. It was late in the day, and the warm golden glow of the sun bathed me. I felt wrapped in it. I loved L.A. I would miss it.
I dozed in and out and finally took out my earbuds when I noticed that the sun was low in the sky. It was later than I thought. I stretched in my chair like a cat, and I heard Jack’s car pulling into the driveway, the unmistakable putta putta of his silly little car. He called out to me as he came in through the kitchen.
“Out here, George!” I answered him, bouncing in my seat, waiting to see him for the first time that day like a little schoolgirl. He rounded the corner.
Wow.
He was dressed for the evening. White button down, black jacket, black pants. He was clean-shaven, my favorite stubble from the last few days gone. He smiled that super sexy grin and closed the distance between us.
“Hello,” he said, placing his hands on the lawn chair armrests on either side of me. He leaned down, bringing himself closer.
“Hello, yourself,” I answered, a little high from the hit of Hamilton that was just blasted at me.
He leaned in and kissed me slowly. He had hesitated just before his mouth touched mine. He was so near I could feel the energy zapping between us, but he still held his lips there for two agonizing seconds. All I could hear was his breathing—mine had stopped.
I would never get tired of kissing this man.
He pulled back when I clutched at him, and I stuck my tongue out at him.
He laughed.
“Grace, get ready for dinner.”
“Dinner schminner. Let’s stay in … ” I purred, parting my legs, trying to pull him between them.
“Ah ah. I’m taking you out,” he scolded, trying to stay away from my arms and legs as I did my best to ensnare him.
“Why don’t you skip the out, and just take me?” I whispered hungrily in his ear. My talk with Holly today had made me question this whole “special” thing.
I could see hesitation in his eyes as he looked at me, weighing his options. To further entice him, I placed my hand directly over the noticeable bulge in his pants.
I squeezed.
He groaned.
I was going to win this one.
He gave in, pulling me up from the chair, snaking his arms around my waist and crushing me to his chest. Jack lifted me straight up off my feet, lips planted firmly to mine, and carried me backward through the house toward the stairs.
My arms wrapped around his neck. He was holding me against him as though he was dancing with me standing on his toes—except my toes barely brushed his knees. I loved how tall he was. We locked eyes like laser beams. There were no words. We both knew where this was going.
Yeah, let’s get after It …
“Hi, fuckface, I’m home!”
He stopped dead on the stairs, my feet swinging like a hanged man. He closed his eyes in frustration, and I sighed into his shoulder.
“Holly,” we both said at the same time. He put me down on the step, kissing my forehead.
“Dinner?” he asked wearily.
“Give me twenty minutes,” I groaned back, giving him a chaste kiss and hopping up the stairs. He gave my ass a smack, and I squealed on the way to my room.
Twenty-two minutes later, I walked into the kitchen and was greeted with whistles from both Jack and Hol y. I had chosen wel , apparently. I was wearing a deep green swing dress with tiny straps and an empire waist. The neck dipped low enough that it was sexy, but not slutty, thank you. I wore my hair down. Luckily, I had let it air dry this morning and my natural curls were lazy and soft, exactly the way Jack liked it. I finished off with gold kitten heels and lots of sparkle.
And my boobies were definitely sparkly.
I felt gorgeous, and the way Jack was staring at me with a dropped jaw told me I had done well. The green of my dress exactly matched the green of his eyes, something that I didn’t realize until I saw him in front of me, his eyes burning as he took me in.
“Grace, wow, you are … ” he stammered in a low voice.
“Now, now, be nice,” I teased, anxious to hear what he would say.
“Illegally beautiful,” he finished, brushing my hair back to plant a soft kiss where my neck meets my jaw. My toes, freshly painted with I’m Not Really A Waitress, curled. I literally shook in my heels from that one touch of his lips.
“Ahem,” I heard Holly say, bringing me back from orbit, although only slightly as Jack was now planting baby kisses from my neck to my collarbone.
Sweet Sassy Molassey, he is off the charts tonight …
“Guys, a moment?” she asked, throwing a grape at Jack and hitting him in the mouth.
“Hey, bitch, don’t mess with my Johnny Bite Down. I’ll kick some ass,” I snapped, removing the grape and tossing it in my mouth. Jack chuckled, and we both turned to her.
“No messing with the, wait, Johnny Bite Down? Forget it, I don’t want to know. What I would like to know is how you are gonna explain this?” she asked, in a serious tone.
We both turned to her and saw she had her laptop open. Curious, I stepped behind her and looked over her shoulder. Jack stayed where he was.
TMZ had posted the picture of the two of us at Yamashiro’s, with me kissing him on his neck, exactly the same way he had just been kissing me. There was no way to misinterpret the intimacy of this shot, especially the way he was holding my hand. The look on his face as I kissed him implied that there was definitely something between us. The caption read: “New star, Jack Hamilton, dines at local L.A. eatery with unidentified redhead.” Then, there was another picture of us at FatBurger, I hadn’t even seen the cameras that day. “Time hunk Jack Hamilton and mystery redhead.” Finally, there was a picture of he and I holding hands again, walking out of Whole Foods. He was laughing, and I was gazing up at him adoringly, with a simpering look on my face. This time there was a paragraph.