ten
T hough we had only known each other for a few days, that night was a turning point in our “relationship.” It was on. I knew that we were stupid attracted to each other. I knew that it made no sense at all that we were engaging in what was now beyond a mild flirtation. I knew that the nine-year age difference was huge and that whether I wanted to or not, it would eventually be something that I’d have to deal with. I knew that he was already Mr. Hot Shit, UK version, and about to blow up into a huge star. I knew that there was little to no chance that we would both make it out of this okay.
I knew that he was going to fuck me like it was his job.
And I knew that I was going to let him.
I was beyond the point of being able to resist. I was going to let my body take over and my brain worry about something else. All the mental junk got pushed into a box titled “Grace Will Deal with You Later, She Is Now Being Run by Her Oonie.”
The rest of that week we talked on the phone, we e-mailed, we texted, and we even made Holly our go-between. She was forced to relay messages over the phone, like “Tell Sheridan I saw a seagull this morning that needed a soft place to land” and “Tell Hamilton there is a sale on ChapStick if he needs to stock up. That bottom lip is looking a little ragged” and “Tell Sheridan that she should use Bengay if her joints are acting up. That’s what my dad uses” and “Tell Hamilton that the meter-reader guy put some on me last night, and it felt gooood.”
Eventually Holly refused to continue this telephone game, shouting, “Would you two just fuck and get it over with?”
We didn’t see each other until the following week. I really was behind on work. I was getting ready for the showcase and that night I was finally testing out my two songs at open-mike night. Holly and Nick were meeting me at a club off Fairfax. I was a little nervous but mostly excited. I needed to practice, and I was just becoming comfortable performing in front of an audience again.
I was also still working my way through the Time series. I was hooked. Was I reading erotica? Time-traveling erotica? Perhaps . . .
I had talked to Jack in the late afternoon. He’d been on set all day, doing reshoots at a studio in the valley, and was going to try to make it to the club in time.
“I’m not sure what time I’ll be done. They tell me I should be out of here by eightish, but that’s usually rubbish.” He sighed.
“Well, if you get here, you get here. If not, no big deal. I might be doing another open mike next week, too,” I answered, picking at a nonexistent piece of lint on my jeans. I was getting more nervous about tonight than I’d expected. This was good, though—good energy to have.
“Actually, I’m not sure if I’ll be here next week,” he said. “Holly said I have to start doing some more press. They’ve got interviews lined up for me all next week, and at some point I have to head up to Santa Barbara for a photo shoot.”
“Oh, okay. Well, whatever. It’s just an open-mike night. I understand,” I replied, shocked that this affected me so. I could feel my stomach tightening up as I realized that I had really been looking forward to having him hear me sing.
Grace, this isn’t your boyfriend. This is someone who hasn’t even seen you naked yet.
That wasn’t for lack of trying, though. Although I’d kept him away all week while I was working, he’d tried almost every night to talk me into going out, or at least letting him come over. After his front-door performance, I was sorely tempted. Nevertheless, I was being an adult and getting my work done first.
Was I maybe also playing a little hard to get? Hell yes.
“Grace, you know I’ll be there if I’m in town, right? You’re not going to get rid of me that easily,” he said. Then I heard someone talking in the background. “Right, then. They need me back on set. I’ll ring you if I can’t make it. Otherwise, I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll talk to you later. Hey, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“If I do see you tonight, you’re going to finish what you started,” I said teasingly, remembering what he’d promised the last time we were together.
He was quiet, and I thought he’d hung up until he said, almost in a whisper, “Grace, I will focus on nothing else in life until you come. I will start it and I will fucking finish it.”
Oh. My. God. The Brit was a little dirty birdie. I scraped myself off the floor and tried to start breathing again. “Hamilton, I have no words for you.”
“Good. I like you speechless. Now, let me go work so I can get to you faster.” He hung up.
Christ on a crutch . . .
I arrived at the club early. Sitting at the bar to wait for my friends, I nursed a hot tea, trying to get my mind off Jack’s words. I was getting warm for his form just thinking about him, and I found myself wishing that the night was over so we could be together.
Girl, you got it bad.
Yes, but I was hoping to get it good.
I felt a pair of hands on my waist and smiled as I turned around. But it wasn’t Jack.
“Bitch, this redhead has been identified!” Nick was holding a copy of the TMZ picture from the beach, and he was not pleased. “Tell me you are not fucking him. Please, God, tell me you haven’t hit this.”
“Why would you assume that just by looking at this picture? Maybe we were just sharing a harmless lunch,” I said, protesting innocently.
“So, you haven’t slept with him? Oh, thank you, Lord. I was going to smash my head through a plate-glass window if you stole my British dreamboat before he knew he was secretly gay. I need some more time to convince him.” He laughed.
“No, Nick, I haven’t slept with him,” I answered truthfully, wondering how I was going to dodge this particular bullet.
“Not yet,” Holly piped up, sneaking around me to steal a cherry from behind the bar. “I give it another week before penetration happens.”
Nick’s face moved through all shades of red and on toward purple. “How could you? My dreamboat, my British hotness, my steak-and-kidney pie, my, my . . . ,” he stuttered.
I struggled not to laugh. “Nick, I am sorry for your loss, but he’s thoroughly, completely straight. If there were a chance that he wasn’t, I never would’ve kissed him. And that’s all I’ve done.”
“He felt you up the other day. Oh, and almost made you scream up against my doorbell,” Holly added gleefully.
“Not helping.” I seethed through my teeth.
“Well, at least he’s putting it to someone I know,” Nick said. “That makes me a little happy, and no one needs it more than you. Except maybe you, dear,” he said, suddenly turning on Holly.
She gulped, swallowing her cherry. “When did this become about me? I’m fine,” she said in protest, turning her own shade of red.
“Oh, please, it’s been months since you had sex with someone else in the room. And don’t try to lie. I am in tune,” he said fiercely, placing his fingertips to his temple in an attempt to divine the last time Holly had gotten some.
I pulled myself away from the conversation as they bickered back and forth, smoothing down my outfit. I’d settled on a tight, fitted black linen button-down, strategically leaving the top few buttons undone. I’d paired it with black swingy pants, finishing off with the Urban Shoe Myth: black patent-leather Mary Janes. My hair was down, and I didn’t even pretend to fool myself that it wasn’t for Jack. He’d told me on the phone one night that he loved my hair, especially when it was curly.
Yes, I was now analyzing what he said as if I were in junior high—which I practically was, when he was born . . . oh, man.
Grace, settle. You’ve been over this. Jack is just Jack. Forget the age difference. Focus on the prize. The package is the prize.
The package was indeed the prize. I’d been dying to peek at that package ever since the day I was straddling him on his bed. The boy was excited, and I had taken notice.
I kibitzed with Nick and Holly for a bit, and when performers started taking the stage, I scanned the crowd for Jack. It was almost nine thirty, and no sign of the Brit. Ah well, reshoots must have run longer than he’d anticipated.
When the host called my name, I climbed onstage with my guitar. I had picked two different songs, and I was happy with my choices. Watching Holly and Nick applaud for me, I let the familiar feeling that I got from performing take me. It always made me a little high. I closed my eyes, found my center, and when I finished the intro, I opened my eyes to sing.
Jack was by the bar, several feet away from Holly and Nick, and he was staring at me, smiling. I sucked in my breath with a whoosh and grinned back at him, feeling my tummy flip. I was so knocked out by this guy—it was seriously twisted, how into him I was.
As I began to sing, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his. They penetrated me all the way down to my tingling tiptoes, and it was all I could do to get through the song. I’d chosen “Strong Enough” by Sheryl Crow, which was perfect for tonight.
I focused on the lyrics, asking with my eyes if he was up for this, for all of it, for all of me. He nodded his head as the lyrics asked him all the questions that it was way too soon to actually ask. When it was over, he applauded louder and longer than everyone else did, adding a few wolf whistles.
I thanked the audience and strode purposefully through the crowd. I was taking what I now considered mine, and damn the consequences.
“Grace, that was amazing—” I silenced him with my mouth, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his face to mine, forcefully meeting his lips with my own. With my other hand I grasped his wrist, placed his hand on my ass, and then pushed him against the bar. His eyes were wide with surprise but quickly mirrored back my own growing need.
I couldn’t think, I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t focus on anything except him and the fact that if I couldn’t feel him very soon, I would literally burst. As I pressed my tongue against his frantically, his hands grew urgent, pulling me closer against him, and I was ready to mount him on the freaking bar. Luckily there was enough of my brain working and enough of his British manners to prevent this, and as we became aware that the clapping had shifted from my singing to our very public groping, we reluctantly separated.
I looked at him, his blond curls messy and sexy, and nearly lunged again. As it was, I had already started trying to kiss his neck when I felt Holly’s hand on me.
“Grace, there’s a lot of people watching. And there are at least ten girls who recognize Jack. Settle,” she said, warning me, attempting to step between us.
Jack wasn’t having any of it and kept me tucked against his side. “Fuck all that. I don’t care who they recognize,” he said, his hands working their way up and down my back.
Holly exhaled, and I dragged my eyes away from Jack’s long enough to look around. She was right. There were at least three groups of girls staring at us, and one was pulling out her phone.
“Shit,” I swore, backing away from him. He grimaced and tried to pull me back.
“Hold on. Just wait a minute. Holly’s right,” I said. He tried to interrupt, and I placed a finger over his lips. I heard the fangirl posse closest to us collectively hiss.
I removed the offending finger, so as not to antagonize the seething posse, then I continued. “Holly’s right. And I think Holly would also like to remind me at this time that she and Nick are going out for a late dinner—isn’t that right, Holly?” I turned to look at her as a slow grin began to creep across the Brit’s face.
“We are?” Holly asked, looking confused. Nick just looked happy to be standing so close to Jack and was trying to accidentally-on-purpose touch Jack’s elbow with his own. None of this was lost on Jack, by the way.
“Yes, I believe you are. And I also believe that you’ll be gone for at least two hours,” I added.
“Two hours?” Jack interrupted, looking insulted. “A really good, thorough dinner will take at least three to four hours, maybe even longer. It depends on how hungry you are and how satisfied you want to be. When I have dinner I usually can’t stop at just one course. I practically insist on multiples,” he said, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me back against him. His eyes were on fire as he looked at me, and I could no longer feel my legs. What was directly above my legs, however, I could feel intensely.
Nick had begun to breathe rather heavily during this last speech and was leaning on the bar, fanning himself. Even Holly’s eyes got a little glazed over, to say nothing of the bartender, who was now leaning across the bar, looking quite beside herself.
I peeled myself off the Brit, looked at Holly, and said, “Okay, you heard the man. Dinner right now, you two—and at least three hours. If you come home before that, I make no guarantees that you won’t see a little ass.” Then I turned back to Jack. “You and me, let’s roll.”
He grabbed my hand and started to pull me toward the front door.
Holly stepped in front of him. “Hey, can I be your manager for just a minute? It’s not a good idea for you to be photographed with anyone, and there could be cameras out there. Not to mention, you know, those girls are all watching you like a hawk. It’ll be all over the Internet tonight if you leave with Grace, especially holding her hand—which I personally think is sweet.” She flashed a quick smile at me. “You should stay here for a few minutes, talk to them, let Grace get out of here. You can meet her at my house in just a little while.”
Jack thought for a minute and glanced at me. I shrugged. I didn’t care. I just needed the man so badly at this point, it didn’t much matter how it happened.
“I’ll do this your way, but then you have to do something for me,” he told Holly.
“What’s that?”
He pressed something into her hand. “Get dessert, too. It’s on me.” With that, he tapped on his watch and held up ten fingers, smiling devilishly at me. He bit down on that perfect lower lip, and as I felt my tummy go silly, he walked over to the first group of girls, who began to squeal as he started to sign autographs.
I ran to my car. Thank God I waxed!
As I drove home, I began checking off what I’d need for my British tryst.
Sexy lingerie? Already wearing it.
Hot music for the background? Got it covered.
Clean sheets? April fresh.
Condoms? Yep, and the pill too.
Wait, condoms? That was a trick question . . . are you sleeping with him tonight?
I put that question in the “Grace Will Make That Decision Later” box and focused back on the fact that yoga had made me very flexible, and I knew he was going to be very pleased. Then I would most likely be very pleased.
He would be all about pleasing me.
I let out a hyperactive little squeal as I thought about how thoroughly I was about to be worked. I had the top down and the stereo loud as I drove through the streets of L.A. on my way to Mulholland, singing Dramarama at the top of my lungs. I was driving up Coldwater Canyon when I saw headlights behind me.
They came up fast and didn’t back off. I could see a car swerving in my rearview mirror and could hear the engine revving. I pressed my foot on the accelerator as I drove higher up the mountain. When I took a tight curve, I saw the car get even closer and I realized that it was an old, beat-up MG. It was Jack, driving like a bat out of hell . . . and gaining.
He was pushing me to drive faster.
I smirked and put my left hand out of the window, motioning for him to bring it. Then I shook my hair out of the ponytail I usually wear when I drive with the top down and heard him honk in appreciation.
He was chasing me like Kelly McGillis chased Tom Cruise in Top Gun. Tires were squealing, brakes were being stomped, other drivers were yelling and pissed. I was already breathing heavily in anticipation of what was waiting for me when we finally got home.
When I got closer to Holly’s driveway he swerved up next to me and sped ahead, getting into the spot first. He had parked, jumped out, and was halfway to my car before I had even killed my engine. Music from my stereo screamed into the night as he stalked over to the car.
“You’re fucking nuts!” I yelled, watching him walk toward me.
“I thought you needed a little push.” He closed the distance in three quick strides and then had his hands in my hair, running through it.
I turned my car off and the music cut off sharply.
Silence.
“Get out of the car, Grace,” he commanded quietly, holding my face between his fingers, pressing the tips to my lips. I kissed them gently and slid from the car.
When I turned to shut the car door, he was on me. Arms slid around my waist, hands slipped under my shirt, lips pushed against my neck, hips pressed against my own. The breath was forced out of me with a rush, quickly followed by a moan. He was everywhere all at once.
My hands found his hair and I tugged his mouth toward mine, greedily kissing him with everything I’d worked up since I’d left the bar, my hands wild, in his hair, on his face, gripping the back of his neck as he assaulted my own with his kisses. His hands moved to the front of my shirt, popping two buttons almost instantly.
I was suddenly reminded of where we were and pulled back a little. “Hey, let’s take this inside, Hamilton.”
“That’s the plan, Sheridan,” he whispered hotly against my neck, moving his hand down and applying pressure against my center. “I’m trying to get inside.”
“Oh. My. God,” I moaned, my eyes rolling back in my head. I pressed into his touch, deliciously increasing the friction. I was literally panting and beginning to see stars. He continued to move his fingertips, finding more and more ways to make me moan.
I was a screamer when it was done right, and this man was going to make me lose my voice for days.
I could feel myself beginning to build already, and I didn’t want the first time Jack made me lose my mind to be in the driveway.
“Hey, mister, come on. Let’s go in the house,” I said, continuing to kiss whatever was closest to me. In this case, his ear.
“If you insist, but then you’re all mine,” he snarled, pulling me off the car and toward the house.
There was a frantic moment at the front door when I couldn’t find my key, and once inside, we raced toward the stairs. As we climbed our kisses slowed a little, becoming more and more tender, less frenzied. I walked him down the hall to my room and we stood in the doorway, hesitating. Things were about to change—for the better, hopefully, but definitely change.
“This is my room,” I said quietly, almost shyly. I motioned for him to enter and he did. He looked around, checking the pictures on the dresser, the books on the shelf, the CDs by the stereo, finally settling on my iPod in its docking station.
“I’m dying to know what you have cued up.” He laughed, pressing play.
“No, wait, don’t!” I started across the room, cringing at the inevitable.
Jack burst out laughing as old-school gangster rap screamed into the room, and he sank onto the bed. The mood had shifted. There was still that smolder, that burn, but this was us. There would be laughing along with the loving.
I stood in front of him, letting his hands slink up around me to hold my bottom as he nestled his face against my stomach. I could feel his hot breath on my skin and it tickled, pleasantly.
“Ah, jeez, Grace, you kill me. Only you would have this in your iPod.”
“Hey, man, I’m old-school. Don’t make me bust out the Eazy-E and the NWA. I will go straight-up gangsta on your ass. No one is more hard-core than a rich, suburban white girl,” I teased, pressing his face closer to me, running my fingers through his hair the way I knew he liked and scratching my nails through from the top to the bottom.
He made my new favorite sound, the “Jack’s Happy Sound” that I’d been replaying in my head for the last week. He smelled amazing, again that mix of sun, chocolate, pipe tobacco, and pure unadulterated Hamilton.
He kissed my tummy, turning his face up toward mine as he sighed again, seeming completely at peace. I loved that I could do that for him—make him look so peaceful and content.
But hello, what was this? He was unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom up, gently pulling it apart. Taking in my black lace bra peeking through the linen, he sighed again.
“Grace,” he whispered, kissing me through my bra, bringing me to attention immediately.
I laughed when I realized a fabulous but not very mood-appropriate song was still playing.
“Hey, I’m just going to go freshen up a minute. Why don’t you find something else for us to listen to? Your choice.” I pulled away quickly when he frowned, clearly not pleased about letting me go even for a minute.
“You’re already fresh. Cheeky even,” he said teasingly, giving me a playful swat on the butt as I turned to walk toward my bathroom.
“Cheeky? Oooooh, are you going to say more British words to me tonight?” I said, teasing him back, only half joking.
“Nope, not until you come back,” he said, leaning on his elbows, looking for all the world like a sex god.
“That’s a deal. Now, pick some music, Hamilton.” I swished across the room and had just made it behind the door when he playfully grabbed me.
“You have only as much time as it takes me to pick something out, and you better have some good shagging music on this thing,” he said as I shook my head in amusement.
I looked at my reflection. My hair was crazy and full, blown out by the wind from the drive. My lips were kiss-swollen and rosy. My shirt was open, and I looked good. Good enough to seduce a twenty-four-year-old? Oh hell, I sure was going to try. I wanted to make this last.
I quickly checked my breath, ran my fingers through my hair once more, and readjusted the girls, cinching my cleavage up just a little more. I felt confident in saying that Jack was a boob man, and I really wanted to make sure that he was happy. So, I began to formulate a plan in my head on how to make sure that he, um, well, that he . . . first . . . oh hell.
Just say it, Grace.
I was dying to get him off.
Even thinking this thought brought color to my cheeks as I imagined what he would look like when I brought him to where I was craving to bring him.
Maybe I should just go for it. Yeah, guys like aggressive women. I’d go out there, get control of the situation, and then . . . Wait a minute. What song was he playing? Was that . . .
He’d chosen one of my favorite, most infinitely sexy songs from the iPod.
All thoughts of his “going” first left my head as I opened the door to see him standing there, smiling and waiting for me. The Psychedelic Furs filled the room, and the first words of “Until She Comes” rang out.
“Nice choice,” I said, leaning against the door frame.
“I thought you would approve,” he answered, holding out his hand to me and winking.
I went to him. Willingly. Wantonly. Wickedly.
Prepare yourself, Grace. This will likely be earth-shattering.