Chapter Twenty-Nine Rae
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Rae
WAIT. WAS THAT SAM?
“Seriously, lovers, get a room.”
That’s definitely her. I’ll kill her.
With an irritated grunt, Grant loosens his hold on my butt. I slowly drop to the floor, joints out of order, bones rubberized.
“This is gonna be so fun to watch on Monday morning.”
Gasping for air, I stare up at Grant. Who is this flushed, hazy-eyed man? Serious Grant is nowhere to be seen. I like this version. The one who watches me, fierce and lost at the same time, and then presses his forehead to mine to whisper, “You okay?” too quietly for them to hear.
My nod rubs our skin together.
He stares down at my mouth like it’s done him dirty, then back up to my eyes, and he doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking because I feel it clenching deep, deep inside.
Finally, squinting against the light, I catch a glimpse of Sam and Daff over Grant’s shoulder. They’re watching us with unabashed curiosity. Sam’s got her arms folded. Daff’s chin’s cradled in her hands, elbows on the check-in desk. They’re wearing twin smirks.
I glance up at Grant as he finally eases back, looking like he’s been sucker punched. I know exactly how you feel, bud.
“Fuck.” His eyes clear, and his jaw hardens. A second later, he swipes my feet out from under me when he says, “This didn’t happen.”
“What?”
“You. Me. That… that… kiss.” He imbues the word with so much venom he might as well have slapped me across the face. “Never. Happened.”
But here’s the thing, right? I may look like an oversized Kewpie doll, but I’m no one’s pushover. This man can pretend whatever he wants. I am not playing.
“Oh, it happened, Mister,” I tell him, forcing my words out as clearly and concisely as I can manage after the once-in-a-lifetime workout my libido just endured. “You lost control.”
“Is Mister his kink name?” Sam asks.
We both turn and spit out simultaneous nos before returning our attention to each other.
“I didn’t lose control.”
“No? What about the rules, then?”
“You broke them.”
“Oh, so that’s your excuse? Victim-blaming, now?”
“You have rules?” Sam lowers her voice. “They have rules?”
“Of course we do,” he says, in the same tone my asshole uncle Bert might use to argue in favor of trickle-down economics.
“It’s ridiculous,” I snap, my voice overlapping his.
“Y’all are giving enemies-to-lovers so hard right now,” says Sam.
“Right?” replies Daff.
“Are they doing a kink scene?”
“Hmmmm. Maybe.”
Neither of us even glances at them. We can’t, given how intently we’re staring at each other. There’s a litany running over and over inside me, saying, Do all the things. Kiss me. Make me. Rub and push and pull and tell me how good it feels. Make it hurt, and then make it feel better, and then—
With a muttered “I’m losing it,” Grant turns, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ve got to get outta here, Rae. I can’t think when you’re around.” He literally snarls, “Please just go.”
I’m vibrating with the aftershock of that request when someone yells “It’s the General!
” from the steps, immediately followed by the swarm of a big group clogging up the space, and there are way too many people for how raw I feel.
We get separated. I twist around, and Grant’s glaring at whoever called his name like he wants to punch them for interrupting, which I’d almost laugh at except I wanted to keep doing what we were doing, and apparently, he can’t wait for me to leave?
Because it never happened? Hurt whooshes up to clog my chest, my throat, my sinuses.
“Come on, Beanie. This guy’s a turd.” Sam grabs my arm and shoves me up the steps in front of her and through the crowd, which closes behind us like we were never there.
We’re almost to the street door when she turns back to shout over the newcomers’ heads, “Hey, Mr. Mister! I hope you know you’re an ugly gherkin-fucker and you don’t deserve her! ”
“What was that?” I ask as we spill out onto the sidewalk, me blinking like a newborn and Sam on the warpath.
“This way.” She drags me around the corner and out of sight.
I stumble to a stop and lean against the brick wall, my breathing as harsh as if I’d just run a one-hundred-meter dash instead of dry-humping my off-limits colleague.
“Geez, Rae. Sorry I was late,” Sam says, eyes flicking left and right before landing back on me. “Although, do I really need to apologize?”
“You absolutely do,” I gasp, out of breath, out of my mind.
Turning, I start walking, just walking, barely taking in the people wandering by. I feel explosive. Grant’s down there in his club right now, probably with his real, full-time sub—or girlfriend or, who knows, poly triad?—picking up exactly where he left off with me. And it hurts.
Sam’s sneakers slap quietly on the brick sidewalk as she runs to catch up. “Hey. Hey, Beanie. Come on.”
I think it’s the sound of my family’s nickname for me that stops me in my tracks, my shoulders drooping. “Let’s go get drunk,” I say.
“Fine by me.”