five
After getting home, I took a quick shower to wash the canyon off. When I was finished I headed down to the kitchen, where Holly was heating the Mr. Chow I had picked up for dinner.
“How was your day, dear?” I asked in my best 1950s homemaker voice, giving her a peck on the cheek.
“It was busy. I’m glad to be home. I see you had a productive day,” she answered, nodding to the magazine that was in the freezer as she removed a bottle of Absolut.
I laughed and said, “I had to hide it. It was making me crazy! I was trying to write training protocols all afternoon and it was calling to me. I finally had to put it away.”
I got out the jar of olives and began mixing two dirty martinis.
“How far did you get?” she asked as she gratefully took the cocktail I handed to her.
“Hmm. He was talking with his assistant about making some modifications to the time machine. I really love the character of Isaac.”
“Wait until you see the actor they got to play him in the film. Super cute.” She grinned, taking a sip of her cocktail and shivering a little.
“How much time until dinner?”
“Oh, I’d say about twenty minutes.”
That was just enough time to grab my magazine from the freezer and settle into the living room for a quick predinner read.
It wasn’t too long before I shouted, “Wait . . . what? His time machine broke? He’s stuck in ancient Egypt! He can’t get back?” I jumped up, running into the kitchen with a look of panic on my face.
Holly was placing the food on the table.
“But what about Penelope in the first story? Will he get back to see her? Will he get back to his own time? W-what about . . . ,” I stammered, and then realized that I was excessively invested in this story. I attempted to reel it back in a little. “I mean, it just seems that he should have planned ahead for these kinds of mishaps. I don’t know. Whatever,” I said nonchalantly as I sat down and began nibbling on a spring roll, trying to appear uninterested. “I wonder if, when he gets back, if he gets back . . . ,” I said, glancing at Holly sideways to see if she was going to give me any information.
“Hell no. I’m not giving it up,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You said you didn’t want me to give anything away. You’ll have to read it and find out.”
I sat quietly for a few minutes, sucking on my spring roll, trying to figure out what my next tactic should be.
He couldn’t really be stuck there, although the idea of Joshua meeting a pharaoh’s daughter had intriguing possibilities. Maybe if I asked nicely, she would at least tell me if—
“You can quit strategizing. I’m not telling you a thing,” she said, smiling through a mouthful of garlic noodles.
Busted.
“Man, you suck! I would totally tell you,” I retorted.
“Like hell you would! Remember when I was in the hospital with pneumonia and I couldn’t see Sex and the City until a week after the premiere? I asked you repeatedly whether Carrie and Big got married. Do you remember what you told me?” she said snidely.
“No,” I answered, becoming decidedly more interested in my plate of vegetables.
“You said no way in hell would you tell me—you loved me too much to not let me find out for myself. This is the same thing. Sucks for you,” she said triumphantly.
“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care all that much. I probably won’t even finish reading it,” I grumbled, sipping my martini.
“Grace, you are so Joshua’s bitch now. Just like all of us.” She chuckled. “Anyway, speaking of Sexy Scientist Guy, did Jack get hold of you today? He asked for your phone number. Care to share?”
“Yeah, we texted. I wondered where he got my number. When did he ask for it?” I said, again trying not to show too much interest.
“He called my office today and charmed my assistant into giving it to him. I swear that guy can get practically anything he wants right now. I have people calling my office constantly to book interviews, to schedule promotions, even club owners wanting him there at night. He’s really about to blow up big.” She slurped up more noodles.
“Is he ready for all that? I mean, that’s a lot for someone so young.”
“Yeah, he’s ready. As ready as anyone can be. He has such a good heart, and he’s super smart. We’re working hard to make sure that this stays manageable and he isn’t just being pimped out all around town. Besides, he’s having a great time and we’re getting offers for some interesting projects. That makes him happy,” she replied. “And speaking of having a good time, what’s going on with you two? Don’t play games with me, missy. I know you way too well for that.”
“Holly, I just met him! He seems like a nice kid, and you know I always like meeting the people you represent. He’s a funny guy.” I pushed back from the table and brought my plate over to the sink.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” she said teasingly, following me.
“Holly, if what you say is true, this guy can have anyone in this town, and probably has. With all that fine young tail laid out like a banquet before him, why in the world would he want someone like me? I’m enjoying having a new friend; let’s just leave it at that. Besides, I think he’s a little young for me,” I answered, beginning to get a little agitated and not sure why.
Because you do think he’s too young for you and it’s driving you crazy.
“Okay, snark, settle. You’re telling me you don’t have the tiniest crush on him? Tell the truth, Grace,” she said, cornering me by the dishwasher.
“I don’t have a crush,” I replied. “Well, maybe I have half a crush. I have a ‘cruh,’” I admitted, giggling. “But it’s strictly Joshua-inspired,” I added, knowing that was not entirely true.
“Well, hell—even I have a crush on him that’s Joshua-inspired. How could you not?” She sighed, getting a little goo-goo eyed.
With that, I knew that the discussion was over, and I was anxious to get back to my reading. As we cleaned up the kitchen, we talked about our plans to go dancing with Nick the next night.
Then I grabbed my magazines and took them upstairs with me, telling Holly that I was going to go to bed early. After washing my face, I changed into my favorite old white button-down. I had been sleeping in this shirt since college. I snuggled under my duvet and dove back in, determined to find out what the hell happened to Joshua.
One thirty A.M.
I was still reading.
I only stopped once, to go downstairs and get some coffee, practically running back upstairs to return to the story. I was now solidly into the series and very engaged. So engaged that I was startled by my phone ringing on the bed next to me. It was Jack . . . sigh.
“Seriously?” I grumbled, trying to hide the delight in my voice.
“Sheridan! Are you up?”
“What if I wasn’t? Do you know what time it is? Some of us sleep at night,” I answered, rolling onto my side.
“You don’t sound like you were sleeping. You sound quite alert, actually, almost stirred up. What are you up to?” he asked. I could hear rustling in the background.
“Well, you caught me. I am up. And I was reading.” I smiled into the phone.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
Shit.
Not wanting to be schooled for reading these stories, my eyes whirled around the room, finally lighting on the other book on my nightstand.
“The History of Salt,” I answered.
“The History of Salt, Grace? Wow, that sounds . . . dreadful. Why the hell are you reading that?” He laughed.
“Hey, it’s really good. Did you know that salt was used as currency throughout history? Many major European cities are founded on or near a salt quarry. This is good information to have,” I retorted, settling into my pillow. I could hear more rustling in the background. “What’re you doing? What’s that sound?” I asked.
“Ever since the other night, I have been craving Chex Mix.”
“Well, save me the Wheat Chex. They’re my favorites.” I giggled, swallowing a yawn.
“So, what should we talk about?” he asked through a mouthful of what I assumed were melba toasts.
“Hey, you initiated this booty call, you tell me. And don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s rude,” I said teasingly.
“Booty call? Is that what you think this is?” he asked with mock outrage.
“Let me clue you in to something, Hamilton. In America, when a guy calls a girl in the middle of the night, especially when they’ve just met, it’s most certainly a booty call,” I said, deadpan.
“I know what a booty call is, Sheridan, and if I understand the term correctly, I’d be expecting to come over and get some, right?” he asked.
“That’s the general idea, yes,” I answered, rolling over onto my stomach, in which butterflies had now taken up permanent residence.
“Well, then that is rather presumptuous of you. Who’s being rude now?” he said, teasing me back, leaving me feeling foolish.
“Eh, I . . . um . . .” I struggled to finish a sentence. I had nothing. There was a long pause.
“Maybe I just called to talk to your booty,” he said finally.
“You are so fucked in the head,” I said, having trouble keeping my laughter contained.
We talked for a few more minutes, then I began to yawn, which he noticed.
“What do you have going on tomorrow?” he asked as I put away my magazine and turned out the lamp on the nightstand.
“Um, not too much. I have yoga in the morning and then I’m meeting up with Holly for coffee and to work on the pieces I’m doing in her showcase.”
Often agents and managers would host showcases for new talent to introduce them to casting directors. Holly held them about twice a year, depending on how deep she was in new talent. She had agreed to bring me on as a client again, and we were in the process of auditioning scene partners for me to work with.
“Oh, are you in that? She mentioned she had something coming up. What time are you meeting her?” he asked.
“I’m stopping by her offices at eleven thirty,” I answered.
“Well, then I’ll let you get some sleep, Sheridan. I enjoyed our booty call. Was it good for you?” He chuckled.
“Oh my, yes.” I laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk in the morning. It’s a good thing I have yoga. I can work a few things out.”
We said good night and hung up, and I snuggled down deeper into my covers, thinking about Jack. He was funny, twisted, and dangerously cute. My hands found their way to the bottom of my button-down and slipped underneath. My fingers ghosted upward across my stomach until they touched the soft swells of my breasts. I thought about Jack’s lower lip and the way he bit down on it.
Why do his lips turn you on so much?
My nipples immediately hardened as I thought of what he would look like hovering over me and biting down on that very lip. What his hair would feel like as it brushed across my belly as he pressed tiny kisses on his way toward my . . .
Go to sleep, Grace. This is not helping.
My inner schoolteacher interrupted my daydream just as it was getting good. I placed my hands safely above the covers.
I was going to have to get some. And soon.