15. Clementine
CHAPTER 15
Clementine
G rayson was still there the next morning.
He looked a little pale and his jaw was locked with grim severity, but he was there in the kitchen, cracking eggs to make an omelet.
“Damn, that smells good!” Liam said enthusiastically, running a hand through his wavy locks.
Without a word, Grayson handed me a plate. The omelet smelled delicious, like basil and dill, my mouth watering just to look at the unbeatably fluffy golden exterior.
I took it, then turned to Liam.
“Here,” I said, handing him the plate.
I stared at Grayson, daring him to object.
“I’ll make another,” he said.
Liam wolfed down the omelet and a cup of Grayson’s strong, perfectly-brewed coffee.
Then Grayson and I sat across from each other at the table, neither one eating, as Liam ate with extreme gusto.
“Delicious!” he said, his mouth full of the crispy potato rounds Grayson had made as a side. “I’ve got to run but that was the best breakfast I’ve had in a while.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Grayson said evenly, holding my eyes with his blue ones.
I narrowed mine.
Grayson folded his hands on the table, reaching forward for the hot sauce to put on his omelet. He was so close that his hand brushed mine and I felt a prickling heat along my skin that I hoped was just irritation.
I definitely wanted to eat this omelet, but I didn’t want to encourage him.
Liam, however, had no compunctions as he absolutely destroyed the breakfast Grayson had made.
“I love you,” I told him firmly when he got up to go.
He blew a kiss in my general direction and headed out the door.
“Bro, you can cook for us anytime.”
“He actually put my dad in jail, ” I reminded Liam before he got too chummy.
“Babe, you can’t hold onto grudges like that,” Liam said, “it’s bad for your gut health. There’s, like, a pretty powerful Buddhist saying about it.”
I gritted my teeth. Despite explaining what had happened between Grayson and I, he did not seem to get it.
But I wasn’t about to let Grayson see how pissed I was.
“Bye! I love you!” I called again, out the window, just in case Grayson hadn’t had it rubbed in enough yet.
Then I sat down and took a quick bite of the omelet.
Damn, it was good.
“You do not love him,” Grayson said.
“I do,” I said. “Love of my life.”
Not only did Grayson’s jaw look grim and set, but I saw how his hands tightened together on the table. It made me feel slightly more cheerful.
“Let me give you a baby, Clementine,” he said. “Please.”
“You’re going to give yourself lockjaw,” I said cheerfully. “Clenching your jaw like that. So bad for the teeth.”
Admitting to myself that the omelet was too phenomenal to waste, I ate the whole thing and drank two cups of coffee.
“What’s on the schedule for today?” Grayson asked, after we had finished.
“I have to run errands and go to the theater for practice this afternoon. My director broke her ankle skiing, so I have a lot of work to do.”
“All right,” this jackass said. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
My jaw dropped and I clutched my mug of coffee with tight fingers. “What do you mean? This is a children’s play. Practice is going to be very messy and chaotic. Not at all something you’d enjoy.”
“But it sounds like something you’d need help with,” he countered, cocking his head to look at me.
For a beat there was a warmth between my thighs, a memory of the way Grayson looked when he had a task to complete. No complaining. Just analysis of the situation, and the steps he’d need to calmly complete it.
I was always very impressed. Until I realized that I was the task he had to complete.
“We’re going to be very busy,” I said. “I’m too busy to put on a bra, either. I’m afraid you’ll have to see my nipples, and we all know you cannot handle that.”
Something flashed in his eyes, but he said evenly, “Give me another chance, Clementine.”
“Why should I give you another chance?” I asked indignantly. “Just because you jerked off to me doing yoga?”
“No,” Grayson said, a muscle in his throat moving as he swallowed convulsively. “Because if you give me a chance I will treat you better and love you harder than anybody else ever could. I will be the best husband. You want babies? I want them too, Clementine. Let’s have one right now.”
“Oh, Grayson,” I said impatiently, getting up from the table because I could not stand how he looked at me, how his eyes followed every move I made.
“If you want to come then let’s go,” I added bitchily. “No slacking and no stopping to jerk off either.”
“I will endeavor to control myself,” he said, getting up from the table, his movements always so smooth and easy even for such a big man.
He’d change his mind once he experienced one single solitary practice , I thought, so I put my sunglasses on and got to work.
But Grayson was annoyingly calm and helpful, accompanying me on every single errand all day long.
He waited patiently at the alterations shop, agreed to grocery store sushi without a twitch of an eye, picked up some stage props, juggled coffee cups.
By the time we arrived at the theater, the place full of dozens of small children and a few local long-time actors arguing over who had been cast as the Gnome King, I was sure Grayson would roll over and admitted defeat. But he didn’t.
Now I didn’t have any actual experience directing a play, but there absolutely hadn’t been anyone else within 30 miles willing to do it.
“What can I do to help you?” Grayson asked as we listened to the sounds of children hitting each other with the sticks that were supposed to make up the Enchanted Tree.
He stood in front of me, waiting patiently, his big arms crossed across his chest. He was wearing a polo shirt and dark slacks today, and it was impossible not to notice the thick muscles in his arms, the way even the slightest twitch of a tendon emphasized his physical power.
“I don’t allow anyone in here unless they’re actually in the play,” I said.
“What roles are still available?” Grayson asked.
I attempted to stifle my shock.
“You. . .want to be in this community theater play entitled Springtime in the Giggles Meadow?”
“Yes, I do,” he said. “I told you I want another chance, Clementine. I’m willing to do anything to show you I’m sorry. And I’m going to take every opportunity I can to show you how much I care about you.”
“Well, there’s only one position left,” I said, inventing quickly. “And that’s The Fairy Frogmother. You’d have to wear a frog costume with a pink tutu and wave a wand. And there’s a little dance,” I added, when he continued to look at me with those piercing blue eyes. “And a little song involving the words tra-la-la.”
“What are the other lyrics?” he asked.
“Fuck you, Grayson!” I shot at him.
“Those are the lyrics?”
“No, they aren’t the lyrics!” I said, feeling my temper fray. “I mean fuck you specifically, Agent Bentley.”
“Anytime,” Grayson said, his big hand closing around my waist, drawing me closer so that I was pressed against his thighs. “I want you, Clementine. I want you as mine forever this time.”
I wiggled out of his arms.
This was not going the way I had expected it to.
“You can help me manage the chorus,” I said.
We didn’t have a very big town, and this play had been written by my absent director, with music and lyrics by Liam, and was mostly staffed by a few diehard amateur thespians and many deeply uninterested delinquent children, who were required to do summer school.
There were some 10-12 year old boys from St. John’s Military Prep Academy who had been nothing but trouble.
I’d be sure to insist Grayson spent most of his time over where they were supposed to be waving long rainbow ribbons as part of the chorus representing the changes in the seasons.
That would cure him of wanting a baby , I thought savagely.
There was no way rigid, stick-up-his-ass workaholic Grayson actually wanted a family.
One of the boys, a red-headed kid with a frown on his face named Dennis, had attempted to set the stage on fire.
“We’ll see how it goes,” I said sinisterly.
“I’m here to command,” Grayson said promptly.
Just then, two men in their 70s came up to us. One was as tall as the other was short, and they were both still arguing over who had been cast as the Goblin King.
“Clementine, I would beg you to reconsider the casting,” Mr. Perkins the postman said to me. “This gentleman doesn’t have the necessary qualifications to be the Goblin King.”
“I’ve had just about enough of you,” Mr. McDougal the grocery store owner retorted hotly, grabbing the much taller Mr. Perkins by the shirt and shaking him vigorously. “You couldn’t act your way out of a goddamn paper bag!”
They began to grab each other’s throats, shouting and shaking each other.
I gritted my teeth, feeling a headache coming on.
This fight had been going on for many weeks, ever since the regular director had cast the roles, and by this time I was heartily sick of both of them.
But before I could say anything, Grayson pulled the two men apart and suspended them both in the air by the collars.
“Stop!” he ordered sharply. “The parts have already been cast and there will be no switching now.”
They both gaped at him. “Clementine, you didn’t have to bring in security ,” Mr. Perkins complained.
“I can’t make him go away, so don’t even bother trying,” I said.
“Now go memorize your lines and don’t bother Clementine,” Grayson warned.
He let both actors go, and Mr. Perkins and Mr. McDougal both scuttled away, looking nervously over their shoulders at him.
I stifled an urge to laugh.
Apparently there was one perk to Grayson Bentley.
Then he whistled sharply. “ Quiet ! Everyone come over here and listen to Ms. . . Adler.”
I noticed the sudden hesitation in his voice.
“Something wrong with my name?” I hissed at him as all the actors began to file obediently over.
“I preferred your old one,” Grayson said.
I eyed him angrily as he took his place beside a chorus of raindrops and began to go over the boys’ lines with them.
If he was going to play this game, oh I’d play it too. He couldn’t chicken me out of this.
If he wanted to be the Fairy Frogmother, he was going to be the most conspicuous 6 foot 6 Fairy Frogmother ever.