Chapter 20 #2
“We didn’t have sex at the swimming hole,” she cajoled, remaining as stoic as she could while watching both of her friends visibly deflate—right before she delivered the line she knew they were waiting for.
“But I did strip to my undies and tell her to join me… right before I ran and jumped off the cliff into the water!”
Her friends both shouted “What?” simultaneously—definitely garnering a few irritated (and interested) stares from nearby patrons.
Grier took a sip of water, trying to calm herself, though her own excitement was growing at their invested interested. She nearly choked when Maren, completely out of character for her typically articulate personality, blurted, “Fuck, Grier. How did the rest of your clothes come off?”
After her coughing fit—now red-faced and flushed with embarrassment—Grier leaned in and whispered, “They didn’t. We were, um… interrupted. By the storm. We put our clothes back on and hurried back to her place.”
“And then you got naked!” Alix hissed excitedly, having apparently finally learned to keep their voice down.
There was no stopping the heat spreading across Grier’s chest and neck.
She vividly remembered the racing thoughts she’d experienced while waiting in Tobin’s kitchen for her to return with dry clothes.
She recalled, with clarity, walking to the bottom of the stairs—understanding coiling in the pit of her stomach—knowing she could no longer resist her own desires.
She also recalled, with steady certainty, how she knew she would have respected Tobin if she had deferred—still uncertain, still fearful. Still beautifully broken.
She shrugged, adopting an air of nonchalance despite the memories roiling inside her being so intensely far from that. “More or less.”
“More or less? More or less?” Alix was agitated, throwing their hands around before running them through their short, dark hair and tugging at the roots.
“You spent the whole weekend there, honey. I think there’s a period of a whole lot less clothing and a whole lot more you’re not telling us,” Maren pressed.
Grier was starting to rethink how she viewed her friend, because the woman clearly was not reading Grier’s cues that she didn’t want to say more.
Maren was usually so perceptive—so willing to help subdue Alix’s more persistent jabs.
Apparently not tonight. Because Grier felt like she and her weekend were being dissected while she was still conscious on the lab table, trying to fend off the scrutiny of her friends’ prying eyes.
Resigning herself to the idea that they weren’t going to relent, she gave them just a little more. “We slept together. It was… hot, and heady, sometimes heavy, always sensual, emotional, exhilarating, and… perfect.”
She looked at her friends—who apparently chose this moment to lose their voices. Both sat hushed, looking unusually awed.
Neither of them spoke. Grier began to feel self-conscious. She hadn’t really given specific details—just how she felt about the weekend. She didn’t understand. “What?”
Maren cleared her throat gently. “That sounds an awful lot like something more than sex, honey.”
“You went all withdrawn and quiet the more you described it,” Alix said, supporting Maren’s thoughts.
Feeling irrationally defensive, Grier bristled before retorting, “What do you want from me? To tell you it was basically fulfilling a fantasy—spending all weekend in bed with a sex goddess? To say I forgot to eat because I was so thoroughly fucked that sustenance lost all meaning? That I literally could’ve died from the wholeness of satisfaction I had after every orgasm, but somehow still found the want for more each and every time?
To tell you she’s so fucking skilled with her tongue, it’s like she’s a… a—a cliterati?”
She was breathing hard, and when she looked down, she realized she’d shredded the napkin on her lap during her irritated monologue.
She’d shared more than she intended. She didn’t understand how she lost her composure—it was something in the suggestive undercurrent of their comments.
Grier knew what they were implying, but she wasn’t ready to evaluate that part of her emotional repertoire yet.
It was far too early. And she wasn’t a U-Haul lesbian.
She certainly wasn’t going to become one now.
“Grier, honey. We didn’t mean to upset you.
You just seemed so… reverent when you described your weekend with Tobin.
It’s so uncharacteristic for you.” Grier watched as Maren glanced at Alix for support.
“We’ve never seen you like this with a woman before.
We are happy for you—we’re just wrapping our heads around it. Much like you seem to be.”
Grier took a deep breath. Her friends were right. Her feelings were growing, no matter how hesitant she was to name them. And she was still trying to wrap her head around it all. She sighed and nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely a different experience. You’re right. I’m sorry I got defensive.”
Alix reached for the straw from their water and began chewing on it.
“Good, I’m glad we got that out of our systems. But—can we go back to the part about her being a cliterati? Because I’m gonna need way—Way!—more information on that!”
Grier choked on a giggle and tossed the remnants of her shredded napkin at Alix. It broke apart midair, snowing down around them as they all dissolved into laughter.
“She named the owl?” Grier whispered to Grant, perking an eyebrow as they conversed in the kitchen over steaming mugs of coffee the next morning.
“Owlivia,” Grant groaned into his mug, squinting as if bracing for the inevitable. “We’re never going to be able to release it now.”
“Is it even legal to have a pet owl?” Grier asked, half-serious. “Aren’t there, like, laws or wildlife groups that frown on that sort of thing?” She watched Grant mull over the futility of applying rational arguments to his precocious preteen daughter.
Delta walked into the kitchen—presumably in search of human interaction, which she rarely sought now that she had a veritable backyard animal shelter and could readily disengage from people at will. Lake padded in after her.
Grant just shrugged. It was the most valid response.
“I know you guys are talking about me,” Delta declared, leaning on her forearms against the kitchen counter, her voice full of mock suspicion.
“Your dad was just telling me the owl has been cleverly named,” Grier said, engaging her niece.
“Yes—Owlivia, after Olivia Benson,” Delta replied, looking pleased with herself.
Grier smirked. Delta could’ve picked a worse role model. “Well, I like it. How is Ms. Owlivia doing? Do you think she’ll be ready to be released in a few weeks?” Grier figured she might as well help Grant gauge exactly how difficult this was going to be.
“She stopped eating worms. No matter how much I masticate them for her, she won’t eat them anymore. Just bugs with exoskeletons.”
Grant choked on the coffee he was sipping and looked at his daughter, horrified.
Delta glared at him, incredulous. “What?”
“You’re eating worms for the owl?” Grant’s color was changing. Grier could see he was struggling not to gag, which only made it harder to stifle her own laughter.
“Gross, Dad. No! I’m crushing them—like her mother would’ve done in the wild.
With rocks and sticks. You’re so dense sometimes!
” With that, she grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and walked out into the backyard.
Lake looked torn between her and Grant, but pledged her allegiance to the girl and trotted after her.
Grant dropped his head into his hands and groaned.
“I hate to state the obvious, but you are going to have so much fun when she’s a teenager,” Grier chuckled.
“Ha, if you think I’m going through that alone, you’ve got another thing coming, Auntie!” He pinged his mug to hers in a forced salute.
“Speaking of alone—we haven’t had a chance to talk since your date with Haleigh on Wednesday.
” Grier had volunteered to stay home with Delta, giving Grant the opportunity to finally bring his secret relationship out into the open.
She hoped it had gone well— she had high hopes for him and Haleigh.
But ultimately, she was just grateful he was beginning to entertain the idea of dating again.
She looked at her brother, trying to read his body language for any clues that she shouldn’t press. He was watching her patiently.
“How was it? Did she enjoy being wined and dined?”
Grant’s eyes brightened as he recalled his date. “It was incredible. She was incredible. Is incredible! It felt so good to pick her up and take her out instead of sneaking takeout into her house or the hospital.”
She managed to withhold the snort trying to escape the back of her throat—only because she recognized the posture of genuine relief in her brother’s body.
Her phone buzzed in the thigh pocket of her yoga shorts—one of her preferred weekend wardrobe staples, especially when paired with a slouchy T-shirt or oversized sweatshirt.
She reached for it but stopped herself, knowing she might not get another opportunity to talk openly with Grant while Delta was occupied.
She rolled her eyes, making sure he saw her. “That was entirely your choice, my friend. You didn’t have to hide your illicit affair from me. I adore Haleigh. You have all my support.”
Grant was silent for a few moments. Although she couldn’t read his mind, Grier knew he was thinking about Nora.
Her hand automatically moved to toy with the pendant at her neck.
The subtle movement distracted him, and she saw his face lighten—pulled from the darker thoughts he was likely entertaining.
As if drawing a conclusion, he declared, “I think she’d agree with you.”