Текст книги "The Redhead Revealed"
Автор книги: Alice Clayton
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter 18
After Jack left New York, our relationship changed—for the better. We were more open and honest with each other. I held back nothing. I told him my thoughts and fears, and bolstered by my admissions, he shared with me as well. We talked every night, long past my bedtime, and while I did not think it possible, we fell more in love.
He’d been all over the place and hardly in L.A. since he came to see me, and he was still busy with additional Time obligations. Box office sales from the first two weeks alone had ensured that the film was now a franchise, and the studio had already green-lighted the second installment. The script was being written, and they’d told him shooting could start as early as February. He’d also been in negotiations for several other studio films, all of which Holly was overseeing like a hawk. They were both exhausted, but very happy with the way his career was shaping up.
Over time, the fallout from the pictures of him with the blonde died down, and shockingly, there was no fallout from our elevator groping at the Four Seasons. Whether those ladies had just not gotten the money shot, or they decided out of the kindness of their quilted hearts to keep the pictures for their own private collections, they never made the papers. Or TMZ. Or Access Hollywood, or anywhere.
I stretched out leisurely in my seat, removed my ear buds, and put them back in my bag. It was December seventeenth, and I was almost home. It was time to return all belongings and make sure my tray table was in its upright and locked position. I looked out the window at the familiar landscape and thought about the last time I’d been on a plane bound for California. What a disaster.
I finished the last of the warm chocolate chip cookies so thoughtfully provided to first-class passengers and sipped the last of my complimentary wine. Why I always felt the need to indulge in free alcohol I’ll never know, but I was pleasantly sauced. And happy.
As I gazed out at the unmistakable terrain of California, the plane banked left, and I saw the ocean for the first time. I thought about the last month, and what had now led me back to L.A.
The show? Well, it went…well.
When the reviews came out, I was thrilled to see it had been well received. They thought I killed it too! We still didn’t know if the show would be picked up or not, but this was encouraging. For all three weeks, we sold out every night, and the show was beginning to generate quite a bit of buzz. The Village Voice even wrote a little piece, which highlighted Michael as a talented writer and yours truly as a new voice in the world of musical theater. We were flying high.
So when we got word that the show wouldn’t be picked up for a full production—at least not right away—we were all a little surprised. Although, as Michael explained patiently during a teary cast meeting, sometimes even the best shows never see the light of day outside a workshop. But it was a tough pill to swallow. We’d worked so hard, and I’d put everything I had—and some things I didn’t know I had—into making Mabel real.
Nevertheless, the cast bid each other tear-soaked goodbyes, and Michael and I parted ways in a much better place than when we’d parted years ago. He had another project lined up, and he was headed to Connecticut to spend the holidays with his family, including Keili’s new baby. We promised to keep each other in the loop, and he said he’d let me know if he heard anything. I knew this time we’d keep in touch.
Which led me to here and now, back on a plane to L.A. I had some freelance writing projects I could pick back up, and Holly was already beginning to line up auditions for me in the new year. The life of the actor—always so close and yet so far away.
Ah, well. Actually, part of me was quite pleased to be heading back to L.A. My New York adventure had been grand and exciting, but I missed my home, I missed my friends, and I missed my Brit. He’d soon be back in L.A. as well after another quick UK press tour for Time (evidently London missed their Brit too). I couldn’t wait to be alone with him, in my home, in our bed.
I knew it would be hard to find another role as perfect as Mabel had been, but I’d adapt. And although it was little scary not knowing what would happen next, after so many years of knowing exactly what the next day would bring, I kind of liked not knowing. Plus, since I’d killed it with Mabel, I felt pretty sure I could do just about anything.
The plane began its final descent, and as I yawned to keep my ears clear, I indulged in a little daydreaming about my George.
Since I’d opened the floodgates, we’d talked a lot over the past weeks about some of my, and therefore some of our, issues. I actually finally had the nerve to bring up having kids again on the phone late one night. Being the emotionally mature one, turns out he’d been waiting for me.
“I wondered how long it would take you to bring this up again, Crazy. Come on, out with it.” I could hear him grinning through the phone.
“Christ on a crutch, you know me well.” I laughed, feeling my face burn a little at the knowledge that he was always—and would apparently always be—one step ahead of me.
“I know you better than anybody, but I can’t read your mind,” he said. “So tell me what you’re thinking. What you’re really thinking, Grace.”
“Hmm, well, the thing is, it’s not that I suddenly want kids or anything—I’m still pretty convinced that I don’t…” I trailed off, trying to consolidate my own thoughts before throwing them out all over him.
“But,” he prompted.
“Don’t but me, mister. I guess I’ve just realized that while I’m still pretty sure I don’t want kids, my chances of having them are also getting considerably smaller.”
“Right, well, being forty-eight doesn’t help matters,” he said, the smile evident in his voice.
“No, forty-eight is rather old to begin a family. And it’s not that my clock is tick-tick-ticking, but when you realize the baby-making years are beginning to wind down, it’s a little scary. Just because I know the options are somewhat limited, I suppose. But seriously, what if you decide ten years from now that you want kids? You’ve changed your mind. At that point, for me, it’s not so possible. You could be giving up a lot being with me, ya know?”
I twisted down lower in the bed. He was in San Francisco doing press, and I was in New York, trying to seek comfort from a duvet as we talked about this very sensitive topic.
“Well, first, I’m flattered that you think you’d still have me ten years from now, so thanks for that.” He laughed, and I smiled underneath the covers.
“And sure, it’s possible that I might change my mind. Who knows? At my very young age, there could be a lot of things I’m undecided about. There’s one thing, though, that I am fairly certain about?”
“What’s that?”
“You. I’m fairly certain about my redhead.”
“Well, that’s good to know. I’m fairly certain about my Brit.”
We’d finally gotten to a place where we were totally honest with each other, even if we didn’t have all the answers. This is what I meant about falling more and more in love.
The plane touched the ground, and I felt my heart swell. Christmas in L.A. was unlike Christmas anywhere else, and I couldn’t wait.
***
Holly had some open time in her schedule that afternoon (amazing!), so she was the one who got to fetch me from the airport. As I walked through baggage after collecting my stuff, I texted her to let her know I was ready. She texted back almost immediately.
Thank God you’re home.
No one has cooked for me in ages!
I’ll be there in 5.
Your favorite bitch
I smiled to myself and gathered my bags. I’d shipped most of my things back, so they’d be arriving within a day or so. I was so happy to get back to life in L.A. and finally make my house a home that I exited the airport with the biggest shit-eating grin on my face.
Outside in the California sunshine, I breathed deep: smog and oranges and excitement. Yummy. I felt the breeze and sunbeams on my face, and I was home. Holly waited at the curb, flipping off several people honking at her. I almost didn’t recognize her. She leaned against the hood of a brand new car, looking fierce. She was on the phone as I approached.
“No, dear, you’re not hearing me,” she said. “He cannot take a meeting tomorrow…No. He’s not meeting with anyone until after the holidays…Nope. Not gonna happen…Okay, we’ll speak again after the new year. Great. Kisses,” she said, rolling her eyes and clicking her phone shut.
She finally spied me and grinned. “Asshead!”
“Dillweed,” I answered, nodding. I dropped my bags, and we hugged it out.
“Fuck, I’m glad you’re home.” She giggled as we embraced.
“Me too.” I laughed, then jumped as we heard another round of honking start.
“Oh, settle down! We’re moving, we’re moving!” she yelled as we piled my bags into the back of her new wheels.
As I settled into the plush leather seat of her Mercedes, I sniffed. I loved new-car smell. “So what’s up, Hollywood?” I asked, running my hands along the wood grain on the dashboard, admiring the lines of her newly chic ride.
“Shut it. It was time to upgrade, and I totally deserve it,” she said, swerving out into traffic and heading for the freeway.
“Yes, you do. I’m amazed you lasted as long as you did, frankly. You’ve wanted one of these since college.” I dug out my phone and began texting the Brit to let him know I’d landed.
“Are you texting Jack?”
“Yep, I told him I would when I got in. Why?”
“He has some interviews this afternoon. He’s so glad to be almost done with this press tour. I got him on an early flight from Madrid, and he should be here sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s what I heard. I’m so glad we have these few days here together before he goes to London,” I said as I sent the text.
Sweet Nuts,
Just landed and headed HOME!
What the hell time is it where you are?
I don’t care—call me before you go to sleep.
Love you and miss your body more.
Dorothy Zbornak
“He’s leaving on the twenty-third, right?” she asked, weaving in and out of traffic with the reflexes of Danica Patrick. L.A. driving could prepare anyone for that circuit.
“Yep.” I sighed. I was glad he was going home for some time with his family. He needed it. When I saw him in recent interviews, my Brit just looked totally exhausted. But still pretty…oh, still pretty.
“But you have all this week with him. Any plans?” she asked, missing a Bentley by mere inches on the 405.
“Nope, just the Christmas dinner on the twenty-first.”
Since most of our friends were staying in L.A. for the holidays, I’d volunteered my house as Holiday Central. We were having a dinner party to celebrate together, and everyone was in charge of something. Jack and I were cooking, and Holly was bringing wine. Nick was providing the entertainment (which terrified me a little), and there would maybe be a few more dropping by.
We chatted and laughed and giggled and swore as we made our way through the Hills of Beverly and on up to my house. As we turned on to Laurel Canyon and the trees closed in around us, I was reminded why I loved this street so much. Growing up in the Midwest, it was easy to think of L.A. as a very cheesy, very plastic, very shiny place. And it was, in certain parts. There was definitely some cheese in this town. But I truly believe you see what you want to see. And if you looked past that, L.A. was beautiful. The pocket neighborhoods, the architectural mishmash, the palm-lined streets. And then there were the canyons: Coldwater, Topanga, Benedict, and finally Laurel. There was something mystical about Laurel Canyon: the way it wound around the mountain, the houses dug into the landscape, the ancient trees, the stillness at night.
And there was my bungalow. Cozy and warm. When we pulled in, I sighed contentedly.
“Happy?” Holly asked as she shut off the engine.
I heard birds chirping. I inhaled and smelled…lemons.
“Hell, yes,” I answered.
She helped me get everything inside, then paused when she saw the Post-it on my fridge next to the picture of Jack and me in Santa Barbara.
“You wrote yourself a welcome home note?” she asked, laughing.
“I sure did. I knew I’d be coming back,” I said, gazing at the picture of me and my Johnny Bite Down.
“Okay, fruitcake. I gotta head back to the office. There’s a war going on about who’s gonna play the lead in some remake. Can you believe this town? Adios, asshead!” she fired over her shoulder as she walked to the front door.
“Adios, dillweed,” I shot back, and began to plan which bag to unpack first.
“Hey, Grace?” she said
I looked up at her. “Yeah?”
“Glad you’re back.”
“Me too, dear.”
I smiled, and she showed me her middle finger as she left.
I looked around, and my eyes settled once more on the Post-it.
“Welcome home, Grace,” I said out loud with a smile, and then I went to work.
Well, actually, first I just walked around my house for a while, overwhelmed by everything I had to do. But then I sprang into action. Thankfully, the housekeeping service I’d hired before I left had kept ahead of the dust, and the house was basically clean. But having never been lived in, it was missing some essential items. I put my clothes away and made a list. The list to end all lists.
After list-guided trips to Target, The Container Store, and Ralph’s, I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening putting stuff away and arranging. My things from storage were arriving the next day, and I was anxious to start hanging pictures and personalizing. But even now, my home was beginning to look lived in. Clothes hung in the closets. There was soap in the soap dish and peanut butter in the pantry.
At ten-thirty that night I stood in the shower with my eyes closed and my hands braced against the wall. I was beat. The strain and ache of the day had taken its toll, and my brain was still partially on East Coast time. I stood under the water, letting it beat down and wash away some of the knots in my neck. I mentally planned everything I still had to do, everything I wanted to accomplish before Jack came home tomorrow. As I packed my tired ass into bed, I started another list. Included in the boxes coming from storage were all my Christmas decorations, which would need to be put up. I’d done some of my Christmas shopping in New York, but I still had a lot to do. Before I turned out the light, I reviewed my list from earlier today, crossing out what had been completed, and adding to it a bit. I still needed to get my Christmas tree and get my boughs decked with holly. Holly the greenery, not the best friend…
As I settled under the covers, I heard my phone beep. A text!
Dorothy,
Just waking up. No clue what time it is or where I am.
France, I think? I’m connecting thru Chicago
and should be there sometime late afternoon.
I’ll call when I land. Can I come straight to your house?
Love you, and I miss your body as well.
Please say you will let me be on top of it soon…
Stanley Zbornak
Okay, I’d officially made him watch too much Golden Girls if he knew Stanley’s name. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
Chapter 19
The next morning I was up and out before eight a.m. I zipped through Starbucks to grab a Venti Carmel Macchiato with three sugars (a drink Leslie had started me on—I would really miss that little shit) and ran all day. I got all my errands finished and even managed to pick out a fantastic Christmas tree. If you shopped for a tree on the right side of Doheny (which I did), they’d deliver it to you! I also picked up a new iPod for Nick. He’d left his at the gym a month ago, and every email I’d gotten from him since lamented the loss. I even got him a Hello Kitty case, because I was a bitch like that. And I knew he would secretly love it.
I got home just in time to sign for all the boxes delivered from storage, and I set to work immediately. By early afternoon, it was really starting to look like my house. Pictures were placed, although not hung yet. Books were back on the bookshelves, dishes were in the cupboards, and I was a mess. When I got the text from Jack saying he was getting ready to leave Chicago, I knew I only had a few hours left, so I kicked it up a notch.
I got all my Christmas decorations out and arranged them around the house. I probably owned more Christmas decorations than anything else—more than half the boxes from storage were marked XMAS. I raced around like a madwoman with my ass on fire, and I finally placed the last Santa mug on the kitchen counter and hung the last of the stockings by the chimney with care. I had added a new stocking this year, for the Brit.
I glanced at the clock and realized Jack’s plane was due to land any minute. I quickly prepped the dinner I’d planned by dicing vegetables for the salad and setting the table. I wanted to test out my new gas grill and make Jack play BBQ man for me. I set out the steaks to take the chill off and was frantically chopping shallots for the salad dressing when the phone rang. It was the Brit.
“Hey,” I said, running around the kitchen like an insane person. I still had potatoes to peel and asparagus to clean. I was panting.
“Hey yourself. Are you out for a run?” he asked.
“No, just finishing up a few things. Where are you?” I asked, trying to slow my breathing.
“Just got in a car, and I’m headed your way. I can’t wait to see you, Gracie,” he said, his voice low and full of intent.
My heart flipped—at both his voice and the realization that he was so close and I still hadn’t had a shower. Why the hell had I decided to cook tonight? I should have just ordered from Chin Chin’s.
“Mmm, I can’t wait to see you either. I’m just getting ready to run through the shower.”
“Hmm, I could use a shower too. Sure you don’t want to wait for me?”
Jesus Lord, that was tempting. I quickly sniffed my armpit. “Um, no, I’m going to go ahead, but there will be fresh, clean towels for you when you get home.” I smiled as I thought of him naked in my shower. Where he belonged.
“Okay, I’ll see you soon. And Grace?”
“Uh-huh?” I said, struggling to take off my shoes and stay upright at the same time. I was heading straight for that shower.
“I’m hungry,” he growled, then hung up before I could say anything else.
Once again, Jack Hamilton had made me lose all power of speech.
***
Twenty minutes later I stood in the bathroom with wet hair and a bloody armpit. What was it about razors and my pits that seemed to argue every time? I dabbed Neosporin on it, contemplating whether I had time to dry my hair or not when I caught a look at the clock in the bedroom. Nope, wet hair it is. I ran a comb through it and made sure to put on some lotion. Which burned the shit out of my freshly shaved legs. I hobbled into the bedroom, looking for something to put on. I threw on the shirt I’d slept in last night, my white polo, while I decided what to wear.
I went into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine to steady my nerves. As I poured, I noticed I hadn’t lit the candles on the table yet, so I quickly did so. I wanted everything to be perfect. As I glanced around the kitchen and dining room, everything seemed to be in place.
Table set? Check.
Salad made? Check.
Potatoes prepped? Check.
What was I forgetting?
Fucking put some clothes on, Grace.
Right!
I threw the dishtowel back toward the counter and started for the bedroom. However, I miscalculated, and the dishtowel fell short—right on top of one of the candles. With a whoosh, it ignited. I squealed and turned to run to the sink for some water when I tripped over a footstool that I’d not yet found a home for and went down with a splat.
“Ooof!” I grunted as all my breath left me. I was struggling to stand when I saw a blur run past me and dump a bottle of water on the dining room table. As I lay on the floor in my white polo, legs twisted and naked bum showing, I parted my hair so I could see.
There stood Sweet Nuts, dumping the rest of his bottle of water on the now smoking dishtowel and appraising the situation. He turned to look down at me, dropping his duffel on the floor.
He cocked his head and smiled curiously. “What the hell are you doing on the floor when your house is on fire, Crazy?”
“Oh, shut it, Hamilton,” I sighed, banging my head against the tile floor. Ouch.
“You know I can see your business, right?” he asked, bending down to offer me a hand.
“I’m aware of that. Maybe this is the homecoming I had planned,” I said, mortified.
He swiftly pulled me to my feet and slapped me on the bum.
“That’s how to keep your lady: barefoot and half-naked in the kitchen.” He laughed.
“Ass,” I said, wrapping my arms around him. He smelled like airport and gorgeous.
We hugged for a moment, swaying gently in the kitchen while the scent of wet, burnt cotton bloomed around us.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered into his chest.
“Me too. Otherwise it would have gotten a little crispy in the kitchen.” He kissed the top of my head.
I looked up at him, rolling my eyes. “Hey, I need a real kiss, please,” I pouted, sticking out my lower lip.
“Oh, I haven’t begun to get to the real kissing yet,” he said softly, bringing my face closer to his and brushing his lips against mine. I sighed into his mouth and his hands tightened on my waist. As things became more intense, I heard a knock at the door.
“Dammit, if that’s a carload of Joshua-seeking women, I’m not here.” He groaned, then lifted his eyebrow as I flashed him my naked buns on the way to the door. “Don’t you think you should put some clothes on before you open the door?” he asked.
“Hmm, you could be right. If it’s the Christmas tree man, tell him I’ll be right there. If it’s a carload of women, you’re on your own, dear.” I laughed and skipped off to the bedroom to find some shorts.
Turns out it was the Christmas tree man. As I supervised the placement of the tree, I encouraged Jack to go take his shower and get comfortable. I was going to do all I could do to get him in the holiday spirit. Including a little stocking stuffer…
Once the tree was in the corner, beautiful and smelling piney, I tipped the guy and closed the door. With a smile on my face, I headed to the bedroom. I’d heard the shower turn off moments before, so I was hoping to catch him before he had a chance to cover up that fantastic body. I crept into the bedroom, and there he was. Sprawled out on the bed in his boxers. Hair standing on end, legs akimbo.
Sound asleep.
I smiled as I watched him, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. He looked so sweet, so vulnerable. I sank down on the bed next to him, and he rolled over toward me in his slumber. His arms reached out and he mumbled, “Tits, please…”
I sighed and slipped into his arms. Snuggled in, with his ever-present hands on my ever-constant boobies, I let my Brit sleep. I loved him, you see…
***
I must have fallen asleep as well because when I opened my eyes, it was full dark. I forgot where I was for a second, and my body tensed as I became aware of someone in the bed with me. As I struggled to sit up I heard, “Shhh, sweet girl. It’s me.”
I felt his warm breath in my ear, and I remembered where I was—and who was with me. I sank back into his arms, his lips still near my ear.
“Mmm,” I moaned, then sighed as I stretched out against him. My legs tangled with his, and I clutched his hands against my breasts. His mouth kissed my neck and slowly worked down toward my shoulder. He nudged my shirt down a little so he could kiss my shoulder, and I felt my toes curl.
“That feels nice.” I sighed again with contentment, my tummy flipping at his touch.
“That’s good to know,” he whispered in my ear, his tongue darting out to lick my neck.
“Jesus, that feels nice too.” I chuckled and arched my back, pressing my breasts into his hands in a very pronounced way. His fingers swept across me, unbuttoning my shirt slowly. He moaned in my ever-loving ear as his hands, warm and soothing, touched my bare skin. As I arched again, I pressed my bottom into him, and he hissed as I made contact with a very specific part of him.
“Now that? That feels nice,” he said, pressing into me further, his boxers barely concealing his—ahem—intent.
His hands found my now-naked breasts again, and he slowly began to tease me, ghosting his fingers across my heated skin, dragging up and down the sides, sneaking underneath, finally capturing my nipples in his hands as he groaned in my ear again.
Sweet Jesus, the man was talented.
I snuck my arm behind me, clutching his hip and pulling him closer. His right hand left my breast and his fingers walked down my side to my hip, Yellow Pages style. I giggled as they slipped beneath the waistband of my shorts and grabbed my curves. He pulled me back against him suddenly, and we both moaned at the contact.
“Gracie…” he said, in that accent, in my ear, and I felt every molecule in my body reach out and call to him.
He quickly removed my shorts and pressed his hand between my legs. I cried out at the feel of his fingers as they moved into me. I struggled to drag his boxers down as well, needing to feel him flush against me, with nothing in between. His hands left me for mere seconds, and when he returned, I could feel his warm skin press against mine in the most heavenly way. We both made quick work of my shirt, tossing it to the floor. He remained behind me, and as he worked me with his fingers I rocked my hips against him.
“Inside, please. I need you inside,” I cried.
And he obliged. He pressed into me, sliding in and invading me completely. He anchored my hips with his hands, and as I pushed back against him, he stopped his motions, then pushed in again, making us both crazy.
“God, I missed this,” he said softly, and I nodded in response.
I couldn’t speak. The feeling of him back inside my body was overwhelming, and I was stunned silent.
We kept a slow pace, our hips moving together, our hands entwined as he kissed my neck, my shoulders, my back, my cheek. I turned my head so I could take his sweet tongue in my mouth, gazing into his eyes as he worshiped my body with his own. Making me his once more. We moved and slipped and slid and rocked, and what was mine was his.
His hands clutched my breasts once more, circling fingers and pinching and teasing and tantalizing me with his love.
My hands were lost in his hair. I kept my body flush against his as I lost myself in the waves of pure, intense pleasure that worked their way from the tips of my toes to the center of my being.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I whispered, and I began to shiver and shake in his arms, in his embrace, with him inside me. He drove into me, chanting my name in my ear as he felt me coming around him with quiet submission. I was silent as my own tiny universe cracked open and left me floating. I was aware only of his love, his touch, and the feeling of him as he stayed in my body, in my mind, in my heart.
He collapsed against me, cradling me to him as tightly as our bodies would allow. He told me he loved me again and again, and I smiled into my pillow as I felt him kiss me. Bliss.
Moments later, he rolled away and sat up. He stretched and messed his hair with his fingers. As he scratched his head I could see how long his curls had gotten. He gazed around the room, then glanced down at me.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” I answered, smiling up at him.
“Did I totally ruin dinner?” he asked sheepishly, looking at the clock on his side of the bed. His side.
“Yep. You owe me thirty bucks for the steaks, moneybags.” I laughed, poking him with my toe.
“Grace, what’s this on the nightstand?” he asked. I grinned and didn’t need to look. I knew what it was. I’d put it there.
“What does it look like?”
“It looks like a bowl of candy.”
“You’re a genius. That’s exactly what it is.” I laughed, sitting up against him and peeking over his shoulder. There, on his nightstand, was a crystal dish with individually foil-wrapped candy.
“You’re sharing candy, Nuts Girl?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, I’m sharing. I’m tired of being the emotionally stunted one in this relationship. I’m an adult, and I can share. Besides, I have my own. On my side,” I said, pointing to the identical dish on my nightstand.
“Wow, that’s progress.” He whistled, laughing at me.
“I know!” I said, launching myself at him and stealing a candy from his dish.
“Hey!” he said as I unwrapped it.
“Shhh,” I answered, placing the chocolate between his lips.
“Don’t say I never gave you anything.” I smiled. He grinned that sexy half grin and kissed me sweetly. He tasted like S’mores.
***
The next morning in the shower, we discussed our plans for the coming days.
“So, I’ve got interviews this afternoon, and then I’m supposed to go to this party thing at some restaurant, but I can get out of it if you want me to—the party, not the interview. Spin ‘round,” he said.
I turned so he could rinse my hair. As soon as it was clean, I grabbed some shampoo and began to wash his hair as well.
“No, it’s cool. I’m having dinner with Holly tonight, so I’ll just see you back here afterward. At some point we need to pick a menu for this holiday shindig. Anything particular you want? Okay, rinse, please,” I instructed, trying not to notice the way he was rubbing my nipples persistently.
“Nope. I want a traditional American Christmas dinner, so make what you’d normally make,” he replied, releasing me so he could stand under the water.
I began to lather up with shower gel and offered him some. “Okay, well then I need to head to the store today and start getting shit together. We only have two days.”
“Let me know what you need help with, and I can always pick up some things on my way home tonight.”
“What the hell are you going to drive, by the way? Your car is toast, and I need my car today.”
He grinned sheepishly and stood under the water again. He didn’t answer.
“What’s going on?” I nudged him out of the way so I could rinse off. He smirked. “What did you do, George?”
“Well, I might have bought a new car. It’s being delivered today. I hope you don’t mind, but they’re bringing it here,” he said, shutting off the water and getting out. He grabbed two towels and handed me one as he started to dry off.
