twenty-two
Two seventeen A.M.
I woke up with a start and felt Jack clutch me closer in his sleep. I had been dreaming bad dreams.
Sad dreams.
In the last one, Jack and I were standing on opposite sides of a busy street in a crowded city. We were trying to cross the street to each other and kept being buffeted back onto the sidewalk. Each time one of us would try to cross, another line of angry cars would rush past, making it impossible for us to reach each other. Finally, he was tired of waiting and turned from me, walking away. That was when I woke up. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out . . .
I pulled myself out of his embrace and, grabbing his shirt from the floor, went out to the sitting room. The fire had burned down to embers, glowing like rubies in the darkness. I buttoned up, running a hand through my hair, and noticed the moon over the ocean.
It was full and round and seemed to be very close to the earth. I opened the patio door, then grabbed the throw from the couch against the cool breeze. Wrapped in soft cashmere, I let myself out into the night and stood in the quiet. The only sound was the ocean. I breathed in the salt air, letting out the tension that had come with the dreams.
Watching the moon and the sea, listening to the waves roll in and out, I thought about what had happened earlier—the absolutely indescribable feeling of him inside me. Just thinking about it brought a flush to my skin.
You had sex . . . and it was good.
That was an understatement.
I heard footsteps behind me, and I smiled as I felt his hands creep around my waist.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a stage whisper.
I shivered as he kissed my ear. “Just looking. Did I wake you?”
“Yes. I woke up because my hands were empty—you took away my favorite pillows.” He swept my hair back to nuzzle the nape of my neck.
“We had sex,” I blurted out, and I could literally feel him smiling.
“We sure did.” He chuckled.
I giggled, but when he kissed my neck, my hands came up behind me and tucked into his hair. I pushed back against him slightly and felt him press into me, his arousal evident.
I sighed as I felt his hands sneak under the throw, under his shirt, and up to my breasts. When he found them, I groaned, my nipples hardening immediately beneath his talented hands.
He turned me around to face him, and I saw that he was still naked.
“Aren’t you cold, Sweet Nuts?” I asked, wrapping my arms around him and sharing my blanket.
“No, actually, you have me quite warmed up,” he stated, taking my hand and guiding it lower, encouraging me to grab some Hamilton.
Oh, go on, you deserve another . . .
I really did.
I wrapped my hand around him, relishing the way he moaned instantly at my touch. I urged him back inside the cottage, moving him backward toward the couch. Once there, I pushed him down and removed the throw, propping one leg up on the couch as I stood before him. Then I unbuttoned my shirt and leaned closer to him.
“How about a little more slap and tickle?” I asked in a husky voice. He just grinned that damn sexy grin at me. It made me insane when he did that.
Finished with the shirt, I let it fall to the ground. I took his hands and placed them on my hips, my leg still propped up, opening me up to him. I let one of my own hands dip below, dragging through my own sex, moaning as I did so. His deep green eyes were heavily lidded as he watched me touch myself.
He licked his lips; he was dying to taste me. I let my hand come up and extended one finger to him, running it across his lips, letting him take it into his mouth, suck enthusiastically. He groaned and tightened his grip on my hips. I leaned closer to him, placing my mouth right next to his ear.
“Now that you’ve made love to me, which was unbelievable, I want you to fuck me,” I whispered, feeling him tense beneath me. “Hard.”
His tongue darted out and licked my neck . . . hard. He grabbed my hips, leaving handprints on my skin . . . hard. His right hand came up and pulled my hair, angling my neck so that he could nibble at me . . . hard. He took my right hand and put it on his cock again . . . hard.
“You feel that? That’s all you, Crazy,” he said, looking at me with fire in his eyes.
He even looked at me hard. This would be the polar opposite of what had happened earlier. This would be a straight-up, old-fashioned pounding.
I placed a knee on either side of him and his arms came up to encircle my waist. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I felt him pressing against me. This time, instead of taking him in slowly, I took him in hard.
We both cried out at the suddenness of it, and I marveled again at how well we fit together. I rose back up again, almost withdrawing all the way, and then slammed my hips back down.
“Oh fuck, that’s good,” I moaned, and he went crazy. He gripped my hips tightly, rocking me back and forth furiously on him, grinding into me as his mouth sucked my nipples.
I arched my back and pushed my breasts farther against him, riding him as I had wanted to for so long.
Nonsensical words were pouring forth from my mouth. I no longer had the power of coherent thought. He, however, was able to say the most deliciously nasty things.
“Fuck, Grace, you feel amazing . . . Christ, Grace, I love watching you ride me . . . God, your tits are brilliant.”
These were said in my ear as he pounded into me, moaning and groaning and speaking in that heavenly accent. The more into it he got, the thicker the accent got. The closer we both got, the faster and harder he fucked me. He was finally, blessedly, fucking me like it was his job.
I came hard, screaming his name loudly, and he grinned at me while I thrashed about on top of him, feeling his hard cock inside of me, stroking my J-spot over and over again.
He felt my multiples as deeply as I did, groaning each time another wave started, pumping into me firmly and holding on to my hips, anchoring me and moving me the way he knew I needed it.
I came back just long enough to say in his ear, in a sex-filled voice, “Jack, you fuck me so good.” And then he came. He came with a groaning bellow that shook me to my core and made me come again.
We were covered in sweet sweat as he pulled me down onto the couch with him, sighing, grinning, stroking, touching, rubbing, and caressing. We sank into the pillows with him still inside me.
“Jesus . . . ,” I said.
“. . . Christ,” he said, finishing for me, and we laughed.
We were quiet for a moment. Then I said, “Well, I did make you promise to make me see God this weekend.” I chuckled, sweeping his hair back from his forehead and kissing it lightly.
“And did I?” he had the nerve to ask.
“Yes—and all the saints,” I answered, grinning.
The next morning, I woke up early. It surprised me that Jack was already awake. I normally had to drag his ass up, using all manner of temptation to do so. I slipped back into his shirt again and padded out to the living room, where he was on his cell. When he saw me, he put up a finger.
“Right, then. Ten miles from here? Excellent. Right, see you then,” he said, hanging up the phone.
“Who was that?” I asked, walking over to him and snuggling into his arms for a hug.
“Just making plans for the shoot later today. You hungry?” he asked, hugging me to him. He had already showered and smelled like soapy goodness.
“I’m starved. Someone made me work up an appetite last night,” I purred, pressing closer into his embrace.
“Well then, let’s get you some breakfast.” He planted a kiss on my forehead, started pulling me toward the bathroom.
“Wait—I was thinking maybe we could order in. You know, a little room service.” I winked at him, and he smiled.
“Grace, don’t you think it would be nice to go out for breakfast?” He headed toward the bathroom again.
“Actually, no. I was thinking we could have a little breakfast in bed, if you know what I mean,” I said teasingly, reaching out to pull him closer to me.
He laughed but still held me at arm’s length. “I always know what you mean, Grace. Subtlety isn’t one of your gifts. But I need to square some things away for this shoot today, and this way we can spend part of the morning together.”
He patted me on the head like a child.
“Now, be a good girl and scoot. Off you go,” he replied, finally succeeding in pushing me into the bathroom and closing the door.
“Good girl, my foot. You sure wanted me to be a bad girl last night,” I muttered, wondering at this odd morning behavior.
“What was that, Nuts Girl?” he asked through the door.
“I said, good girl, my foot! You sure wanted me to be a bad girl last night!”
His response was silence . . . he really was in rare form this morning. I turned on the water, realizing this was the third solo shower in a row, and I missed my chief hair washer. Ah well, better get used to it.
As I stripped down, I heard a rustling. The little shit had shoved a note under the door. What, were we twelve?
I picked it up and read:
Grace,
You are my favorite girl, good or bad. But I must admit I’m leaning toward bad.
Johnny Bite-Down
I laughed, wetted my fingertip, traced the shape of my hand with my middle finger pointing up, and then shoved the wet note back under the door. Even over the water, I could hear him howling.
It was so easy to crack him up.
Fifty minutes and two blocked attempts at nooky later, Jack had me seated in the restaurant and was ordering us breakfast. He was looking fine, with about two days’ worth of insanely good stubble. We were both dressed casually. He was in jeans and a black T-shirt, while I went with my standard yoga pants and camisole. Since I didn’t know if I’d be going to the photo shoot today, I had a backup plan to go for a run on the beach.
We talked about silly things, inane things. The amazing hotel, whether or not to go out for dinner that night, whether we would have time to do some sightseeing tomorrow before we had to head back to L.A.
My flight to New York was on Tuesday at noon, and while I was excited, I still got a little lump in my throat every time I thought about it. Jack’s week was shaping up to be busy. He had three interviews on Monday and one scheduled for Tuesday.
We ate our pancakes and drank our juice, and he buttered my toast for me. I noticed at least one table that had figured out who he was, but he still showed as much affection for me as he did when we were in private. I found this both sweet and a little infuriating. It was as if he was determined to show Holly she was wrong about his fans, and I wasn’t crazy about being the sacrificial lamb.
When I was finished, I stretched my arms over my head and noticed he was done as well.
“You ready to go back to the cottage? We still have a little time left before you have to leave . . . we could have some sexy times,” I teased, running my fingers down his arm in a seductive way.
“Oh, Gracie, you’re killing me,” he said, reaching for me. “Last night, it was really great, you know?” he replied, bringing my hand up to his mouth, kissing my fingertips.
I heard a gasp from behind me, and I knew the girls who’d recognized him were either fainting or plotting my demise. I understood; I’d had the same feeling when I found out Alyssa Milano was dating Corey Haim.
I still harbored ill will toward her.
I tried to pull my hand away but he kept it tightly in his grip.
“Hey, you know what Holly said. We’re not acting very smart.” I smiled at him, trying to get him to understand.
“Bollocks. I say we do what we want and act how we want,” he said firmly, his brow furrowed.
“I agree that it’s bollocks—except that when these pictures come out, it’s me that’s going to have to deal with it. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet,” I answered.
“Grace, how do you feel about me?” he asked, staring into my eyes.
“What? What do you mean?” I replied nervously.
“It’s a simple question. How do you feel about me?” he asked again, reaching over and scooting my chair closer to him. The dragging of the chair across the tiles caused another table to look over, prompting another round of gasps.
Jesus.
“Jack, I—”
“Pardon me, but are you Jack Hamilton?” a timid voice asked.
I turned my head, grateful for the interruption, and saw a woman in her midtwenties.
As Jack began to talk to her a line began to form, and as I watched him chat with his fans, I could see his nervousness come out more and more. He was kind and sweet, and to the untrained eye, he seemed totally comfortable. But I saw how he tucked his legs closer to him, ran his hands through his hair. He made the funniest expressions with his face; it was like he was one big eyebrow. He smiled at me occasionally, and while most of the girls kept their eyes on him the entire time I could feel their eyes on me, sizing me up, trying to figure us out.
Eventually it was just us again, and we started walking back to the cottage. We were holding hands when we both noticed some of the same girls hovering about fifty paces back, and I saw the camera phones coming out again. They’d taken plenty of pics of him in the restaurant, but shots of him holding my hand would be bad news.
I dropped his hand like a hot potato.
He grimaced but said, “For you, Grace, because I know you’ll take the brunt of it. If it were up to me, I’d have you up against that tree over there.” He pointed at a large Spanish oak.
“I know you would, George. I know.” I laughed.
We got ready, sadly with no time for boom-boom, and headed out to the photo shoot. He promised we’d have time for boom-boom later.
We held hands on the ride there, and we talked about dinner that night. In light of the morning’s outcome I firmly put my foot down when he asked if I’d like to go out for dinner again.
“Hell, no. We’re eating dinner in bed, naked, stopping only to screw,” I answered, bouncing on the seat in anticipation.
He laughed as we pulled into the estate where the photo shoot was taking place. “Well, after the shoot, I’m sure some of the cast will be going out for a drink. Can I at least get you drunk first?”
We had decided that I’d skip the shoot today and hook up with him later on in the evening.
“Sure—not that you’ll need that to take advantage of me. Now that I have had a little Hamiltonian Sex Machine, I don’t think I can do without it,” I said with a grin.
He parked the car near everyone else’s and then kissed me passionately, holding my face in his hands. “Gracie, my ego can’t take the thought of you saying little and sex machine in the same sentence as my name,” he said seriously.
I laughed, and as I got out of the car, he swatted me on the butt.
“Damn, George, you need to watch that. I’m already bruised from the drilling you gave me last night!” I said teasingly, backing away from the car, watching him chuckle. I backed right into a wall.
A rather warm wall that was laughing.
I turned around to see Lane smiling down at me. Nice, Grace; way to keep it quiet. I blushed crimson and hung my head as he roared.
“Drilling? You’ve got a naughty girl here, Hamilton.”
“Oh, man,” I mumbled as Jack came up beside me.
“She is naughty, but in the best way. Now, back off, ass.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, back off, ass!” I cried, pushing on Lane’s well-muscled chest. He grinned at me, and I faked a punch at him.
He was cool. I think he has a meeting with Holly next week . . . interesting.
“See you tonight?” I asked, leaning into Jack’s side as he waved Lane away.
“Yep. I’ll get a ride with one of these guys when we’re all done. Call you later?” he asked, kissing my forehead.
“Call me later, yes.” I smiled, pulling his face down so I could kiss him a little less chastely. I could hear Lane whistling behind us, and we both rolled our eyes.
“Kick his ass for me, will ya?” I chuckled.
“Grace, have you seen the size of that guy?” he shot back as I turned to get back into the car. He watched me pull away and then headed toward the trailers with Lane, laughing like a little kid.
When I got back to the hotel, I settled in with my laptop. I had an e-mail from Holly’s friend in New York, who was setting up where I’d be living for the next few weeks or months. Turned out I would be staying at the W in Times Square while they got my sublet worked out. Times Square . . . a little touristy, but I did like W properties, and it would be close to the theater.
I also had an e-mail from Michael, giving me some details about the rehearsal schedule that was due to begin on Friday. I’d have a few days to get my bearings before we did the first read on Friday morning. He’d attached some notes about the characters, as well as a new batch of rewrites. He also wanted to get together Wednesday night to go over some character outlines so that I felt ready for the first reading.
I’d executed a one eighty with Michael. He’d gone from being someone I never thought of, to someone I wanted to strangle, to someone I was glad to know again. It would be nice to have a friend in New York, and I was sure he would become a good friend again.
I filled my morning nicely with another massage and a facial at the hotel spa. I had a lovely lunch at the poolside café, then spent about an hour engaging in a mildly pornographic texting marathon with Holly back in L.A. But mainly, I was waiting for Jack to call.
When I saw his name on my phone screen, it immediately brought to mind the feeling of him inside of me the night before, and I answered the phone with a soft growl. Which may have come out like a cough.
“Are you choking?” he asked.
“No, it was my attempt to be sexy for you,” I managed to say, my face turning red as I wheezed. He waited and chuckled as I got myself under control. “How’s the shoot going?”
“It’s good—it’ll probably take most of the day, but I should be headed back to the hotel by late afternoon. What’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Nuts Girl. Wait a sec, hang on . . . I’m on a call! I’ll be right there . . . with my girlfriend, if you must know,” he told someone, and my heart jumped when he used the term girlfriend.
“Oh, tell Marcia I said hi!” a woman’s voice chirped, then I heard a rustling as Jack covered up the phone. My heart stilled in my chest as I waited for Jack to come back.
“Grace?”
“I’m here,” I said quietly.
“Sorry about that. There’s some cast members here that I haven’t seen for a while,” he replied, his voice uneven.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to your shoot. See you later.”
“Right, see you later,” he answered.
I hung up the phone and sat for a moment, not moving.
What did you really hear, huh?
Someone who still thinks this Marcia is his girlfriend—that’s what I heard.
I pushed the shit aside and went for a run. At some point, I’d really need to deal with all the things I’d been repressing lately. But as I began my run it all fell silent, and I concentrated on the view of the ocean and smell of the salt air. It really was pretty here.
I spent the afternoon wildly obsessing about this Marcia and how to bring her up with the Brit. Admittedly, I’d been a tad shady when I opened that text from her, and aside from the photos I’d seen on the Internet, I had no basis for knowing anything more than what I’d overheard some woman say today. Her words proved that they used to be an item. But how recently had they stopped being an item?
What, do you think he had no relationships before you?
No.
Do you think he came out of a box like that, just for you?
No.
You have a helluva past. Do you want to be judged on that?
NO.
Then fucking grow a set and ask him! Or shut up about it. You’re leaving in three days. You want to spend it talking about some ex-snatch of his?
Wow, my inner monologues were getting decidedly nastier.
After my run, I went for a swim, worked on a project for a client that I was almost finished with, and watched some reality TV. I kept busy.
About five thirty, I got a text from Jack.
Hey, up for a drink? Some of the cast and crew from the shoot are meeting in the hotel bar. Yes? Say yes, Grace.
I texted him back.
Yes, Grace.
He quickly responded.
See you in an hour. Then, room service . . . me . . . and all the pounding you can handle. Say yes, Grace.
I texted back.
Yes, yes, yes, please.
I wasn’t too proud.
When he got back, he texted me and I met him downstairs. I saw Lane and Rebecca and a few other people from the shoot, including the photographer.
I went up to Jack, who was at the bar with his back to me. “Are you Joshua?” I asked in a timid voice. He turned around with a resigned look, until he saw me.
“Not funny, love.” He frowned but then pulled me into a kiss so passionate it literally swept me off my feet. He actually picked me up. I heard Lane wolf-whistling behind me.
I kissed him back feverishly, pressing myself against him, letting him feel my breasts under my thin cotton shirt. I got a reaction instantly. I loved tasting the beer and the whiskey in his hot mouth.
“Get me a shot, will you?” I asked, pulling away and nodding to the bar.
“You want a shot?” He knew I rarely did shots.
“Yep,” I answered, rubbing my gloss off his lips.
Lane mouthed the word drilling at me from behind Jack. I rolled my eyes at him and gave him an obscene expression involving my tongue and cheek. He laughed aloud.
“Okay, here ya go,” Jack said, handing me a shot and taking his own in hand. I winked at him and tossed it back. It burned and I made an awful face, which almost made him spit his out.
After we found seats with the rest of his group, he introduced me to some of the other cast members, including the woman I had overheard on the phone earlier.
“So sorry about that. Jack sure was irritated with me over that little slip,” she said, shaking my hand and introducing herself as Bailey. She played Joshua’s sister in the film.
“No worries.” I smiled evenly.
“No, really, I felt like such an ass. Although I can tell you, I’ve never seen Jack so worked up over a girl the way he is with you.” She smiled sincerely, and my stomach unwound a bit.
Jack winked at me from across the booth, and I shamelessly blew him a kiss.
We hung out in the bar for almost two hours, laughing and talking. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with people from Jack’s other life. I really liked Rebecca. She congratulated me on the show in New York, and she promised she would do her best to keep the ladies away from him as much as possible. That chick was damn funny, and she didn’t let Jack give her any shit, which I loved. He was in his element with this group, telling stories and cracking everyone up with his Brit wit.
And Lane? Well, Lane was a dear. He was funny and sweet and so pretty. He was just great—a really great guy.
One shot turned into two, and then two into three, and when you added the dirty martini that I sucked down, I was feeling no pain. The photographer was still there, and as I got tipsier, I got friendlier as well. I’d started out the evening sitting next to Jack, and by the time I noticed it was after eight o’clock, I was sitting fully in his lap, his arms wrapped around me, and I was trying to get him to suck the pimento out of the olive from my cocktail. I happened to be holding the olive between my teeth. The photographer saw this as a perfect opportunity to get some candids, and away he clicked.
Jack saw I’d had enough to drink, so he complied with my pimento request because he knew I wouldn’t let it go. Once he completed this task and Rebecca and I stopped laughing, the photographer insisted on getting one of the two us, just smiling at each other. I realized that I had no pictures of the two of us that weren’t on TMZ, and suddenly all I wanted was one great shot to take with me to New York.
We posed a little, making it fun, and the last click of his camera got one of us looking straight into the lens, pressed together, me still sitting on his lap.
I yawned suddenly, and he leaned in and whispered, “Hey, Nuts Girl, let’s get out of here. I need some quiet time alone with you. I missed my girl today.” He kissed my neck, and I shivered.
I put my mouth next to his ear and whispered, “I had a drink. I had several, in fact. Now let’s go back to the room so you can fuck me six ways from Sunday.”
Of course, I hadn’t whispered as quietly as I thought I had, and loud giggling broke out all around.
Jack’s green eyes darkened in the most wicked way, and he quickly threw a handful of cash on the table. “Night, all.”
“See ya!” I said, giving a sloppy high five to Rebecca as Jack walked me quickly from the bar, leaving everyone to stare after us with amused looks.
“I freaking love her,” I heard Rebecca say as we walked out.
We walked through the gardens toward our cottage, tiki torches lighting our way, and at some point I decided it would be a good idea to jump on his back and make him carry me piggyback style. I was kissing his neck as we walked and squeezing him between my legs—which wasn’t a good idea, because he’d just run his hands up my legs and almost under my shorts—when a group of women, about my age or maybe a little older, walked by on their way toward the restaurant. They stared at me, on the back of this very young and very hot guy, with his hands all over me, and they looked impressed.
They grinned and one actually gave me a “You rock!” and a high five as they passed, and I laughed aloud.
“You sure are giving a lot of high fives tonight, Nuts Girl,” he said teasingly over his shoulder as I played with his hair. I sighed and rested my chin on his shoulder as he took out the key to let us in.
“What can I say? They love me in Santa Barbara!” I sang, Ethel Merman style.
“Wow. That was loud and right in my ear.”
“Shut it, Hamilton, or you will get the entire Oklahoma! score tonight—and don’t think I don’t know all the words to every song.” I laughed, ducking down as we walked inside. He kept me on his back as he put his bag down and plugged in his cell phone.
“Are you going to get down any time soon?” he asked, walking over to the patio doors and sliding them open.
“No, I like it up here,” I answered promptly, and launched into a song from Oklahoma! “ ‘Don’t throw bouquets at me . . .’ ”
“Grace . . .”
I continued, louder, and added a tongue in his ear.
“Gracie . . .”
The song went on, an actual Oklahoma twang now making itself known.
“A few shots and I get a musical?”
“‘People will say we’re in love.’” I continued to sing, playful still.
“Oh man, you really do know all the words.” He swung me around to his front and sat me on the patio railing.
I sang on, thinking about the lyrics, losing the twang and adding my heart.
He was quiet now, moving to stand between my legs, with his head cocked to one side like the dog in that stereo ad, smiling at me.
I ended the song, wrapping my legs around him and pulling him closer to me. He leaned his forehead toward mine, resting against me. We were both quiet for a minute, and then I giggled. “This is why I don’t do shots. They make me go all Broadway.”
“I like when you’re all Broadway, sweet girl.”
We were quiet for another minute, and then I pulled away.
“Let’s order some dinner so we can get to the sexy times sooner,” I said, breaking the spell that Rodgers and Hammerstein always cast.
I moved past him to get the room service menu, but he caught my hand. “Hey, Gracie. Where you running off to?” he asked, pulling me toward him.
“I’m not running anywhere,” I answered as he wrapped his arms around my waist. Feeling emboldened, I continued. “Wanna know a secret?”
“What’s that, love?” he asked, sweeping gentle kisses along my jaw.
“It’s not that much of a secret, but I want you to know—”
“Hey, if you’re going to say what I think you’re going to say . . . wait, are you going to say it?” he asked, smiling down at me.
“Yes, I think so.” I grinned shyly back.
“Well, then I think we should say it at the same time, yes?” he said.
“Count of three?” I asked. He nodded.
I started. “One . . .”
“Two . . . ,” he said, eyes twinkling.
“Three,” we said together. We both paused, smiling hugely, and then I took a deep breath.
“Jack, I love you.”
“I know,” he said at the same time.
“Ass!” I said, smacking him on the arm.
“That was great!” He laughed.
I turned and started to walk off the patio in a mock huff, feeling his arms grab me and not let me go. I smiled since my back was to him and he couldn’t see.
“Gracie, Gracie, Gracie. You know how I feel.” He chuckled, turning me around to face him.
“Say it, George. I want to hear you say it,” I said teasingly, scratching his scalp the way I knew he loved.
“Well, lately I find myself quite in love with you, Sheridan,” he said, tracing my mouth with his fingertips.
I kissed them and then said, “Mmm, I love you too, Hamilton. I really, really do.”
He kissed me slowly and sweetly, and then pulled away a little to look at me.
“You didn’t just say it because I got you drunk, right?” he asked, grinning sexily.
“No, dear, I got drunk all on my own. Now can we please order dinner?”
“Let’s go get the menu, Nuts Girl.” He laughed, taking my hand and leading me into the cottage.
“I don’t need to look at the menu; just order me a grilled cheese and a chocolate shake. And ask them to bring more candy, please,” I said, heading toward the bedroom to change into something more comfortable.
“Grilled cheese, shake, got it,” he answered, grabbing the phone.
“And see if they have any energy drinks, something with ginseng,” I called back to him from the other room.
“You want an energy drink and a shake?” he asked.
“No, silly. The ginseng is for you, to keep up your stamina.” I laughed, changing into one of the hotel robes.
I heard him muttering about not needing help with his stamina. He was right about that.
“Oh, and, George?” I asked, poking my head around the corner just in time to see him put the phone down again, rolling his eyes slightly at me when he saw me.
“Yes, bossy?” he asked.
“I love you,” I said, blowing him a kiss.
“I love you, too,” he answered, catching my kiss and placing it on his cheek.
Yeah, we were pretty freaking great.