Grace

“Gracie Lou!”

Davis’s bellow carries over the Friday-night din of patrons drinking, laughing, and asking for beers. I cash out my current customer and smile before sending Davis a good-natured glare.

Vince and Jackie are at the bar with him, the three of them are wearing fresh-from-work clothes. My people: the young professionals.

In front of Davis’s seat, I pause. “You rang?”

“He’s an ass,” Vince offers in explanation.

“I have a nice ass.” Davis pegs me with a smirk. “Don’t I, Gracie?”

I don’t answer, instead rolling my eyes at Jackie.

She shakes her head in agreement. “They really are Neanderthals.”

“They are, aren’t they?” I move closer to a woman I hope soon to call my friend. I like her. A lot. She’s sharp. Feisty. Puts up with Vince, who I bet in his own way can be as big of a pill as Davis. “What can I get you to drink, miss? I feel as if you’ve earned it. What with babysitting these man-children and all.”

Jackie laughs and Vince emits an insulted “Hey!”

Davis leans past Vince to say, “Jackie-O is right at home, aren’t you, darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” Jackie lifts her eyebrows at me. “How about a shot of tequila?”

“Make it two,” Vince says. “On Davis.”

“Make it four,” Davis says. “Gracie, you’re doing one too.”

“I’m on the clock,” I argue lamely. I’m almost done, and he knows it. He only smiles and, as if beckoned, Candace taps me on the shoulder. “Get out of here, gorgeous.”

“Four shots it is.” I snatch up the bottle of Patrón, line up four shot glasses, and pour them all.

I have a hard time relaxing in my place of work. I suspect the tequila shot has gone a long way toward letting me. For example, I barely notice the guy who’s been waiting a few minutes too long for his drinks at the bar, and I can almost tune out the woman behind us who is complaining about her food arriving late.

I close my eyes and pull in a breath, endeavoring to stay in the moment with Vince and Jackie and Davis, whose hand hasn’t left my thigh since I sat next to him.

“I’m so glad we got to do this!” Jackie exclaims out of nowhere. Her gaze softens on me. “I’m also glad you and Davis worked things out.”

“Couples who work out, you know…work out.” Vince lifts and drops his brows three times and I burst into laughter.

Davis chuckles too. Vince has used that joke before, but Davis didn’t find it funny when he and I were dancing around the sexual tension. Now I’m part of the group. I like being part of the group.

“Seriously,” Jackie leans forward in her seat so she can look past the two men between us. “Neanderthals.”

“Darts?” Vince asks Davis.

“Yeah.”

“Shouldn’t we be invited?” Jackie asks, offense lining her pretty features.

Vince is standing next to his barstool looking slightly perplexed. “Do you…want to play darts?”

“No.” She gives him a sweet smile. “But it’s nice to be asked.”

He narrows his eyes and steals a kiss. I’m aware of Davis’s hand on the back of my barstool, so I study my empty shot glass, embarrassed. Not because Vince and Jackie are kissing but because I’m not sure if Davis and I are going to kiss in front of them. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a “relationship,” and the guidelines are fuzzy.

“Gracie. Another drink?” Davis offers, his low voice at my ear.

I turn my head to say yes, but before the utterance is out of my mouth, his lips are on mine. The kiss goes on for so long, and his possessive hand is wound in the back of my hair so obviously, that the guys at the L-shaped end of the bar clap and whistle.

Davis smiles down at me and finishes with a soft, full-lipped peck as my cheeks heat. Jackie shoos the guys away and asks Candace to bring us two beers. Once Davis and Vince are set up at the back of the bar at the dartboard, Jackie gets up and relocates to the seat next to mine.

“I like that you two are dating,” she tells me.

“He’s…surprising.”

“He is.” Jackie’s thoughtful for a moment. “He intervened when Vince and I were going through some things. I didn’t even know him that well then, but he showed up at my place—and at Vince’s—trying to set things straight. He didn’t want either of us to be unhappy.”

“Sounds like him.” I smile and take a swig of my beer. It’s ice cold and damn refreshing. It’s been a long night.

“He likes to take care of people.” She takes a swallow of her beer and we glance over at our guys. Davis throws every dart so close to center, Vince drops his head in defeat and covers his face with both hands. “I bet you they have money on this game. I know Vince’s I’m-losing-money face.”

“Davis likes to bet.” I smile at the memory of our own bet. “How do you think he got me to go out with him in the first place?”

“That’s not how I heard it,” she sings. “I heard you bet him money he wouldn’t take you out.”

“Not true,” I correct, enjoying her being in the know. “I bet him he wouldn’t ask out a nonblonde, and I offered to double his money if he asked out a redhead. I didn’t mean me.”

“Oh, come on. You had to at least hope it’d be you.”

I bite my lip, recalling the warmth in his eyes, his sexy lean with his elbow on the bar. The husk in his voice when he said, I win.

“Okay. A little,” I admit. “But he didn’t waste any time when I issued that bet.”

“Davis likes challenge. Likes to push himself. I’ll bet the bedroom is fun for you guys.” Her saucy wink is harmless but her words are heavy—like an elephant sitting on my chest.

“Challenge. Right,” I comment, my mouth turning down.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean you’re a challenge.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“Good.” Jackie pushes her shiny brown hair behind her ear. “I just meant that if there’s a way to excel, Davis will find it.”

“You mean like the way he was trying to date every blonde in the state?” I take a brief inventory around McGreevy’s and spot two single blond ladies, white wine in their hands, their eyes homed in on Davis.

“Grace.”

I turn to Jackie to find her expression one of concern.

“I’ve known Davis for a couple of years, not as well as Vince, but enough to know that he acts totally different with you. Those two.” She tips her chin at the pair of blondes she also noticed. “Have nothing on you. And the way Davis dotes on you makes me doubt they’ll even turn his head.”

“Thank you for saying that.” Oddly enough, I feel better. “I have a slight streak of jealousy because I’m nothing like those girls. How can he want them and me? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well.” She checks to be sure our guys are still out of earshot—they are. Vince pulls money out of his wallet and Davis snatches the bill with a grin. “Vince had a few flings after his divorce. We were best friends at the time, and he never told me. I found out and called him on it, and he said he slept with them so he could find his mojo or something.” She rolls her eyes and lifts her beer bottle. “Boys are dumb.”

I can’t help laughing at her astute observation.

“Boys are dumb,” I confirm, clinking the neck of my bottle with hers.

“I’m not sure what’s been going on with me lately,” I say after we drink. “Since things have…progressed, I think I’m getting nervous.”

Interest sparks in Jackie’s eyes. “What progressed?”

My laugh is born of nerves. “Oh, you know. Meeting the woman who raised him, sharing almost every night together…” Exchanging I love yous, I mentally add.

“It’s hard to cross boundaries at first, especially if there’s pain in your past. And who among us escapes pain?”

I picture my father and nod. She’s right.

“Did you date much before?” Jackie asks.

“Not…much. A few first, second, and even third dates. Some mediocre sex.”

“Right?” Jackie practically exclaims in agreement. “The awkward front-door drop-off.”

“Ugh. The worst.”

“The absolute worst.”

I smile at my newfound comrade. Yes, Rox is and always will be my bestie, but with her betrothal and all, I’m in the dust. Jackie and I are on the same page. Her relationship with Vince is new. Mine with Davis is new. And our guys are friends, so we have that in common as well.

“It’s nice when it’s not awkward, isn’t it?” she asks.

I assume Jackie is referring to our blossoming friendship until her eyes go to Vince, who does a silly dance as he plucks his darts from the board. Jackie’s brown eyes go melted-chocolate warm and she releases a contented sigh.

“When it clicks,” she says, “when things flow, there’s nothing better.”

Davis winks at me as he positions himself for his next throw. My heart fills and a similar contented sigh presses against my throat.

“It is nice,” I admit, propping my elbow on the back of my stool.

It’s time to give myself permission to let things be nice for a while.

Davis

Grace’s elbows are on my dining room table, the remnants of a homemade (thank you very much) steak dinner on her plate. Her chin is on her fist and she’s talking animatedly about what I missed at her shift tonight. I invited her here rather than go to McGreevy’s.

“And then,” she says with a laugh, “Dax comes out from the office and admits he found his keys. They were in the safe.”

I laugh with her. Not because the owner of McGreevy’s locked his keys in the safe but because Grace is gorgeous when she’s turned on. I like turning her on—it’s my favorite pastime—but she’s equally gorgeous when she’s turned on by her work. She loves her job as much as I love mine.

“Do you have any aspirations to own your own bar someday?” I ask.

Her smile holds, but there’s a tremor of concern behind it.

“I didn’t mean for that to sound like you don’t have any. I’m just curious.”

“Oh.” She blinks and shakes her head slightly, confirming that was exactly where her mind went. “Sorry. My mother has been down my throat to become a lawyer for years, so my career is a bit of a sore topic.”

“Ah, parents.”

“Your grandmother encouraged you, didn’t she?”

I nod. “She told me life was short and to make sure to do something I loved.”

“What did she do before she retired?”

“She was a teacher and a poet—still is a poet.”

“Really?” Grace leans on her folded arms, stretching closer to me. I can’t blame her interest—my grandmother is fascinating.

“Yup. She was published several times under a pen name, but she kept her day job teaching because she loved encouraging the country’s youth—her words.”

“I like her so much.” Grace’s smile is reverent.

“Yeah, so do I.”

“She told me the same thing she told you, you know. Only do work you love.”

I know. I overheard. I opt not to share that with Grace.

“I don’t want to own a bar.” She says it like it’s a major confession. “I don’t want the headache. I like showing up and then leaving. I’m a manager, but other than scheduling snafus, there aren’t too many issues to worry about. Once I ordered vodka instead of rum and we had to buy bottles from a local liquor store. If running out of rum is the worst of my fears, I’m okay.”

“Captain Jack Sparrow would disagree.”

She grins. “Why is all the rum gone?”

“Your pirate accent needs work.”

“Yeah. I’m rusty.” She wrinkles her cute nose. Just fucking adorable.

“It suits you, Gracie—the bar gig. You’re great at what you do.” I lift my brows. “Plus, you look smokin’ hot doing it.”

“What about you? Are you going to analyze stocks forever?”

I laugh at her generic term. “You have no idea what I do, do you?”

“Not…completely. But the details of your work don’t matter to me. You’re great at it, and you do well.”

“I do very well.” Hey, it’s not bragging if it’s true.

“Number one.”

Yeah, she pried that nugget out of me.

“And you’re good to your grandmother. Quite the catch.”

I resist the urge to toe the linoleum. I’m fine with complimenting myself and behaving like a cocky ass. I’m always uncomfortable when someone else does it.

“Not only because you bought her a fifteen-hundred-dollar computer. She relies on you for more than that, doesn’t she?” Grace waits for my answer. Reluctantly, I nod. “Those facilities aren’t cheap. My grandmother—my dad’s mom—was in a place half that nice. She had dementia. The expense of her care was substantial, and a topic of grief between my parents for years.”

This isn’t the first time Grace has brought up her parents’ fighting. “Your dad liked to argue, I take it.”

“He was a lawyer,” she says in explanation. “So’s my mother. She excels at it.”

“Is that why you didn’t go into law?”

“Arguing for a living doesn’t hold much appeal.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to be anything like them. I suppose that’s unavoidable, isn’t it?” Worry creases her brow.

“Gracie.” I reach for her hand on the table. “You’re not going to turn into either of your parents. Yes, you’re like them—that is unavoidable. I bet your mother is drop-dead gorgeous, yeah?”

A soft blush dusts her cheekbones.

“That’s what I thought.” I wink. “We inherit some things, but others we do on our own.” I swallow after I get the words out, because for years I didn’t believe that. I thought I inherited my dad’s poor taste in flighty women after Hanna hightailed it from our wedding. I wondered if I was doomed to repeat his past—a tragic love story preceding my untimely death. Things aren’t turning out too badly for me.

“My dad texted me.”

“When?” This is the first I’m hearing about it.

“Last night. He wants to see me on occasion. For tea.” She grunts.

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him I’d think about it.” She gives me a tight smile. “I want to, but I’m scared.”

“Of getting close and then losing him.”

She nods, her eyes going to where my hand rests on hers. I give her fingers a tender squeeze.

“Better to have this time with him than not. Even if it hurts,” I offer.

“Maybe you’re right.”

I stroke her thumb with mine for a few seconds until she pulls away. The topic drops along with her hand into her lap.

Grace inhales and does that cute move where she hoists her shoulders and drops them again. “So now what do we do?”

“Three guesses, and your first two don’t count.”

“Zombie television? Sex? Oh! Scrabble.”

“You ordered those in a curious fashion,” I point out. “It’s like you put the sex in the second slot because I specifically said it wouldn’t count.”

She stands and sits on my lap. I pull her close and she kisses me. I love to kiss Grace. She kisses with her whole body. Her hips wiggle, her fingers explore my hair, and her tongue and lips fight for the lead.

It’s intoxicating.

When she finishes the kiss, she slides from my lap and takes the dishes, telling me not to move. You cooked, I clean. I let her do it. Watching her ass move side to side while she scrubs a plate is damn fun.

My mind wanders, though, and soon it’s back on the night at the hotel. The “I love you” I didn’t plan on saying.

I hadn’t dropped that three-word bomb since Hanna. By the time we were about to get married, she recited it like it was a chore. I’m not sure if she meant it at the end. She couldn’t have, right? Or she wouldn’t have left.

An ugly thought creeps in. Did Grace echo what I said to avoid an awkward silence? That doesn’t sound like her, but we haven’t exchanged I love yous since. I won’t corner her again.

She pauses in her dish washing to look over her shoulder and shake her ass, and those three words lunge against my tight-lipped smile.

I’m not going to say it. Not because I don’t mean it but because I don’t want to trap her.

She’s already trapped me. And I don’t even mind.

“I was thinking…” She rinses a dish and rests it in the wooden drainer. I stand and grab a dish towel. She makes a scolding tsk sound but lets me help.

“What were you thinking?” I ask as I stack the plate on top of the others in the cabinet.

“Oh, um…that we could go out with Rox and Mark sometime?”

The emphasis she put on making that a question was excessive.

“Sure.” I take a wet plate from her hand. I’m playing it cool here, because I sense that she doesn’t normally introduce her dates to…whoever those people are. “Who are Rox and Mark?”

“Roxanne is my best friend. Mark is her fiancé.” She dips her head in a curt nod.

“Awesome.” I’m unsure what the nerves are about. “Are they weirdos or something?”

“What? No!” She laughs and some of the tension releases from her shoulders. “I just don’t…I’m not usually…” She shuts off the water and takes the towel from me to dry her hands. “I’m not used to having a boyfriend.”

The word reverberates off the ceiling and bounces around the room a few times.

Boyfriend.

It’s almost…ominous.

I hadn’t thought of us being boyfriend-girlfriend. The rational part of my brain insists it isn’t a big deal, so what’s with the sudden onslaught of PTSD?

“Davis?”

“Right. I know. No boyfriends.”

“I’ve dated. I just…never labeled it.” Her voice dips, cautious now. “Anyway. Now that you and I are, I don’t know, dating or whatever, I thought it’d be nice if I introduced you to them. I don’t have any rad grandmas tucked away.”

At the mention of Grandma Rose, I shake off my bizarro reaction to the “bf” thing. God. I can’t even think the word. That’s weird, right? I’m being weird?

“I’m your guy, Gracie.” That moniker doesn’t cause a rogue wave of panic. “I’ll meet your friends. Name the time and place.”

“Well…” She clenches her teeth and grimaces. “It’s an engagement party.”

I wait for the full-on Nam flashback to hit.

Nothing.

Huh.

I shrug. “So I’ll wear a suit.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes brighten.

“I’ll even let you pick.”

“Hmm. I like this one….” She walks her fingers up my tie as she steps into the circle of my arms. “But I prefer your birthday suit.”

“You don’t say.”

“Mm-hm.” She nods as she wraps her arms around my neck. “But I don’t want anyone else to see it but me.”

“That rule goes for you too.” I palm her supple hips, taking possession of what’s mine. “No one but me, Gracie.”

“No one but you, Davis.”

“We’re officially exclusive,” I say.

“We were exclusive a long time ago,” she says, and she’s one-hundred percent right.

She tugs my tie, and me with it, and I follow her upstairs to the bedroom.