9. CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 9
SCARLETT
This is my least favorite part of the night.
It’s the part when Grant finally says it’s time to leave.
We’ve already had dinner and talked about our days and snuggled together on the couch watching Love on the Farm —it’s still ridiculous, but at least I don’t feel bad missing some of it when we inevitably start kissing instead of watching it.
Grant showed me pictures of Mrs. Plimpton’s shed, which would have been done already if not for all the new things she keeps asking him to add. Like a powder room, so her guests don’t have to go all the way to the main house, and a tiny screened-in porch so she can read out there without getting—in her words— eaten alive by those damn mosquitoes .
I told Grant about my trip to visit Saul at the rehab facility, and how relieved I am to see him doing well. In fact, Saul should be out in another couple of weeks, and already asked me if I’d come back to help when he gets home.
I’m torn about that. On one hand, I really like Saul and I’d like to keep him as a patient. But going back to that house; I’m not so sure about. Even though the guy who broke in was caught, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel safe there again.
When I told Grant about it, I could tell he wasn’t pleased either, but he didn’t try to sway me. He just told me to think about it, make a list of pros and cons, and if I really want to work at the Cunninghams’ again, he can bring me there in the beginning if it makes me feel better.
Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found Grant.
Not just as a friend, but now… more. Together. Dating. He clarified that two days ago, the day after my talk with Maya, when he showed up first thing in the morning with muffins and flowers. “We didn’t talk about it yet,” he told me with this determined look in his eyes, “but I want you to know. This thing between us. It’s not just friendship. I want to be with you. Date you. Be together. Whatever you want to call it, I’m all in.”
I still get all mushy just thinking about it.
And I’m all in, too. After years of being single, months of telling myself Grant and I were better off as friends, I’m taking the leap.
Scared, hesitant Scarlett isn’t who I want to be anymore. I want to be brave again. Brave enough to tell my best friend how I was really feeling. Brave enough to let myself be vulnerable. And brave enough to go for what I want.
Which is why I’m frustrated with myself right now .
Grant’s petting Jasper, giving him goodnight rubs on his belly, while I stand awkwardly by the front door, agonizing over whether I should ask Grant to stay over or not.
Half of my brain—the scared, hesitant side—insists that it’s too soon. That Grant and I have only been officially together for a few days. That I’ll be crushed if he changes his mind about me already, and all we’ve done so far is kiss and touch each other with all our clothes still on.
Not that I don’t like what we’ve been doing, but my body definitely wants more. When I feel Grant’s muscular chest—all the hard lines and ridges and the soft sprinkling of hair that trails down to what must be at least an eight-pack—I want to rip his shirt off and see it for myself. When I feel his arousal nudging between my thighs, hot and insistent even through layers of fabric, I feel aching and empty and desperate to feel him inside me.
That’s where the other half of my brain kicks in. That’s the bold, brave part that says Grant and I have been friends for months. I know him. I trust him. This isn’t like dating someone I just met.
And then my heart gets in the mix. My heart tells me this thing with Grant is real. And there’s no set timeline when you meet the right person.
Still. I’m torn.
“Hey, Scarlett.” Grant gives Jasper one last scratch between the ears before standing up and coming over to me. “You okay? You got quiet all of a sudden. ”
“I’m fine.” I give him a bright smile that only feels a little strained. “Just watching you bonding with Jas. It’s cute.”
He cups my cheek, gazing at me with a soft expression. “I like bonding with you more.” Then he lowers his head to kiss me, nipping at my lower lip before teasing my mouth open and dipping inside. Cupping my nape, he tilts my head so he can take the kiss even deeper. As he works his magic I imagine his wicked tongue doing this to other parts of me, and my womb clenches with need.
By the time he pulls away, my nipples are poking through my shirt and the cute bikinis I put on—just in case, not that I was expecting anything—are soaked. My breath is coming in quick gasps and my heart is fluttering and my scared brain is making silent, panicked whispers, reminding me of all the reasons I should let Grant go home.
But then I look into Grant’s silvery eyes and there’s a depth of emotion in them that decides it for me.
“Do you want to spend the night?” It comes out in a rush, and the rest of my words come tumbling after. “Not that we have to have sex. But we could… well. Do other things. And I’d really like to sleep next to you.”
He doesn’t answer; just stares at me with this inscrutable expression. My heart drops to my feet. Cheeks heating, I add quickly, “Or not. It’s too soon. I don’t know what I was thinking. Pretend I didn’t say anything. ”
“Ah, baby.” His thumb strokes across my cheek. “You have no idea.” His eyes darken to a molten pewter. “Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting. For whatever you want.”
Scared or brave?
Lifting my chin, I answer, “I’m sure. If you are.”
“I’m sure.” Grant brushes a soft kiss across my lips. “I would love to sleep next to you. Even if that’s all we do. Holding you in my arms while we sleep? There’s nothing I’d rather do.”
My heart makes an acrobatic swoop as it returns to my chest, and I let out a relieved breath. “Okay.” My lips curve up. “I’d really love that, too.”
“I just need to go home to let Wilson out. And I’ll give him a snack since I’ll be home later than usual in the morning. But I’ll come right back after that. So maybe… twenty minutes? Does that sound okay?”
Twenty minutes to wait before I have Grant for the entire night? My smile gets bigger. “Yes. That sounds perfect.”
As soon as Grant leaves, giving me one more kiss and a see you soon with a meaningful look, I fly into action.
Twenty minutes isn’t long to wait for Grant to get back, but it’s also not a lot of time to get ready.
Considering I’m still dressed in my nice date night at home with Grant outfit—dark jeans that make my butt look good but are still comfortable enough to lounge on the couch and a pink V-neck that shows just a hint of cleavage—and I did my hair and makeup right before Grant came over, I shouldn’t need to do anything else. But my hair is probably messed up from our make-out session earlier, my teeth could use a good brushing, and a fresh spritz of perfume couldn’t hurt.
Plus, I need to let Jasper out one more time before bed, find an extra toothbrush for Grant, and do another check of my bedroom to make sure everything looks tidy. And I’m well aware I already did it, but now that the reality of Grant staying over is hitting me, I want to make sure everything is perfect.
I should put on something sexier underneath, I decide while I’m standing at the back door waiting for Jasper to do his business. Maybe something with a hint of lace. I noticed Grant’s gaze lingering on a pair of red bikinis I accidentally left sitting on top of my laundry basket the other day.
Not that we’re necessarily having sex tonight, but I have a feeling we won’t be sleeping fully dressed, either.
Once Jasper’s back inside, I give him a doggie biscuit and a pat on the head, with the instructions, “No sleeping on the bed tonight, Jas. You’ll have to make do with your bed.”
He tilts his head like he’s waiting for me to explain, so I tell him, “Grant is coming back over. And he’s spending the night. So you need to give us some privacy.”
When Jasper trots off to wait by the front door—he loves Grant and heads over there every time I say the magic words, Grant is coming over —I make my way into the bedroom.
The red bikinis are right there at the top of my dresser drawer, so I take that as a sign and grab them. My hand hesitates over the matching red bra that I’ve never actually worn because it’s definitely more style than purpose and makes me feel like I’m about to pop out of it at any second.
Too much? Or just right?
I wish I had time to ask Maya about this.
Be brave.
I take it.
In the bathroom, I quickly change and allow myself only the briefest glances in the mirror so I don’t overthink it and chicken out. And then I tell myself again, be brave , and I really look at myself.
Objectively, I think I look pretty good. My B cups could be Cs in this bra, and the way the bikinis fit makes all the hours of squats and lunges totally worth it. Is my body model perfect? No. But it doesn’t have to be. As long as Grant likes what he sees…
And speaking of Grant, my watch tells me he’s going to be here in just under ten minutes. Crap. I haven’t brushed my teeth or hair yet, and I’m still standing here in just my underwear.
I guess I could greet Grant at the door like this. That would certainly send him a message.
Or not.
Chuckling to myself, I hurry to get dressed again, then scrub my teeth while searching for that extra toothbrush I got from the dentist in case Grant doesn’t think to bring his own.
Just as I’m rinsing my mouth, a small sound catches my attention.
Not Grant knocking at the door; it’s too quiet for that .
Not Jasper’s little nails clicking on the wood floor in the hallway.
It was more like a soft thud.
Did Jasper knock something over? Or was it the sound of Grant’s car door closing in the driveway? No doubt he’d want to be quiet about it, since it’s after eleven and most of my neighbors are sleeping.
Now that I’m thinking about it, it’s probably Grant. He’s earlier than he said, but late at night, no traffic, and if Wilson was quick… it’s certainly possible.
I’m smiling as I head back into my bedroom, anticipation fizzing inside me. All night with Grant. Sleeping next to him, feeling his arms around me, maybe even getting through the night without any nightmares.
But.
It’s not Grant.
It’s my nightmare again.
Standing in the middle of my bedroom.
Oh, God.
This can’t be real. It can’t.
It’s a flashback.
Everything is the same. Dark clothes. Black mask. Gloves. The glint of a menacing gaze.
No.
It can’t be.
He takes a step towards me.
No, no, no, no, no .
My muscles are frozen.
My brain screams, Do something! Don’t just stand here! DO SOMETHING!
A low chuckle turns my blood to ice.
The bathroom. Get back inside.
Grant will be here soon. The bathroom door will hold up until then.
Or the window. I can fit through that.
I hope.
Heart sledgehammering, terror beating in frantic wingbeats in my chest, my mind still disbelieving, I dive back into the bathroom and fling the door shut behind me.
For a second, I think I’ll make it.
My hand is on the doorknob.
I’m so close.
Then the door is ripped out of my hand.
NO!
My arm is wrenched so hard I hear something pop.
The next second, I’m on the floor with all the wind knocked out of me.
NO!
Fight. Even though I can’t breathe and my shoulder is in agony, I need to fight.
The man drops down beside me and wraps his hand around my throat. I’m wheezing, gasping for air, I still can’t breathe—
“Ah,” he hisses, his voice slickly sinister. “You’re very pretty. I’m going to have fun with you.”
NO.
I gather myself and force out a wheezed, “No!”
Then I knee him in the crotch as hard as I can.
He yelps, and his gloved hand loosens a little.
Given the slightest opening, I start flailing, clawing, scratching, kicking, trying anything to get away from him. I’m a dervish, adrenaline soaring, precious air finally filling my lungs again.
“Stop it!” he snarls, and punches me in the face.
The pain.
Exploding.
Fireworks behind my eyes.
Everything goes fuzzy.
My body goes limp.
Fear takes over.
No, no, no, no, no.
The man straddles me. He leans close enough for his sour breath to waft across my face. His hand claps over my mouth in a punishing grip.
I can’t move. Can’t speak. It’s hard to think.
NO!
“I guess I can’t blame you,” he says quietly. Thoughtfully. “Of course you’d try to fight back. It makes it more fun for me, really. Because I’m going to enjoy myself with you.”
Terror gives me a spurt of energy and I stretch my uninjured arm around, searching for something, anything to use as a weapon.
There. Under the dresser. The wooden box Heath made in shop class for me to keep all my collectibles. He gave it to me for my sixth birthday and I loved it.
It’s heavy and rough around the edges and I grab it and swing it at the man with all my strength.
Please.
But I’m too slow. Everything is too fuzzy. And he bats it away easily, sending it crashing into the wall.
This time he laughs, and it’s the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard.
“You are going to be fun.”
Hot tears run down my cheeks.
I don’t know if Grant will get here in time.
A faint bark comes from somewhere in the house.
Jasper. Oh, God, no. Not Jasper.
The tears turn to a torrent.
His mouth comes even closer, and he kisses my cheek through the mask. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I locked the dog in the other room. I don’t like hurting animals unless I have to.” A pause, and then, “People, on the other hand? I don’t mind hurting them .”