Chapter 11 #2
I roll my head his way with a smile. “I’ve been watching hockey since I was in diapers. No way I’m jumping ship now.” I shrug a teasing shoulder, “I mean, unless you guys suck, then…”
Grammercy makes an outraged sound and pokes my foot with his before insisting, “ Arrête donc ca, ma belle, tu vas nous mettre le mauvais ?il dessus.”
I laugh and pretend that hearing him speak French doesn’t make me tingle in places way more scandalous than my lips.
“No fair, my French is terrible,” I say, my voice breathier than it was before.
“I heard ‘stop’ and ‘bad’ in there, but Papa didn’t speak Cajun much.
Not with anyone but his bar buddies, anyway.
And I wasn’t allowed to hang out there.”
“That’s a shame,” Grammercy says. “We gotta keep our culture alive. Cajun people are a dying breed. I always promised my mama I’d talk bayou to my babies when they were little, make sure they picked it up young.
” He motions my way with his beer. “I basically said, ‘don’t jinx us.’ Don’t give us the evil eye. ”
I hum beneath my breath. “That fits, especially with the Voodoo team name. The mascot is perfect, by the way. A creepy little voodoo doll with a hockey stick is…chef’s kiss. I’ll be first in line to buy a T-shirt. People are going to love it.”
He grins. “I think so, too. A couple of my mama’s friends were offended. Said it wasn’t respectful of the religion, but my mama’s half-Haitian and she loves it. She thinks it celebrates the culture in a good way.”
My brows lift. “Yeah? I didn’t know that about your mom. That’s so cool. Did she come here from Haiti when you were little, or?—”
“No, her mom did. When she was a little girl. But Grammy clung tight to her culture. She had dreams of going home again, but…it didn’t work out.
She and my grandaddy fell on hard times, lost their land, and eventually moved to Canada.
Last we heard, they were in Michigan somewhere, not far from Detroit, but…
” He shru gs. “We’re not sure where. When my mama refused to go with them, they decided they weren’t interested in staying in touch. ”
I wince. “I’m sorry, but I get it. I really do. I have no idea where my real parents are.”
“I’m sorry, too, but probably for the best,” he says. “Like with my dad. If a parent can look at a sweet baby who needs their love and protection, and just walk away…” His lip curls. “Well, they didn’t deserve the gift they were given.”
“Agreed. And my foster parents were wonderful. I wish I knew more about my biological parents for health reasons, so I might know more about where Mimi’s condition came from and any other DNA minefields waiting in the wings. But otherwise? You’re right. I’m better off without them.”
“Speaking of parents who hit the road,” he says in a more cautious voice, “can I ask you something a little…personal?”
“We got married today, Grammercy,” I say, the words sending a thrill through me, despite the strange circumstances. “Even a fake marriage entitles a person to a few personal questions. So yeah, fire away.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate that,” His lips quirk up, but a smile doesn’t form, and his tone is serious as he asks, “Where’s Mimi’s dad? Why isn’t he helping with any of this? The cost of raising a child, parenting, healthcare?”
The question is gentle, but direct, a fact I appreciate.
I like direct. It saves time and makes me feel more respected than people who dance around the fact that my baby daddy bailed, like it’s something I should be ashamed of .
“Um, well…” I sigh. “The short answer is he’s in grad school in Canada, probably explaining Proust to undergrads and pretending his sperm never went rogue.”
Grammercy’s eyebrows shoot up with a judgmental grunt. I can’t help but enjoy a little, even though I let go of my anger at my ex a long time ago. “And the long answer?”
I take another sip of my beer, rolling the bottle between my palms as I murmur, “Johnny Castellane. Editor of the school newspaper, crazy good artist, Columbia-bound on a full ride. Also charming, fun, and possessed of the most persuasive ‘just the tip’ argument in teen history.”
His brow furrows sympathetically. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I slouch deeper into the lounger, which is surprisingly forgiving.
It’s honestly more comfortable than the couch I’ve been sleeping on for the past year.
“We were both seventeen, both convinced we were poet scholars in love. I was going to get my degree in journalism, he was going to study the classics and become a tweed-wearing professor…” I sigh.
“We dreamed of studying in Scotland and buying a castle together someday. Instead, I got pregnant, his parents freaked out, and the Castellanes moved to Toronto. He wrote me one email, apologizing for leaving me to ‘figure things out’ alone and offering to send money for an abortion, but…that’s it.
When I said I wanted to keep the baby, I never heard from him again. ”
“Would you like me to hunt him down and introduce his ass to my foot?” he asks. “I have a game in Toronto later this season. Wouldn’t be a bit of trouble.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m over it. Really, I am. He got that ‘ bright academic future’ his mom was so worried about me ruining and…I got Mimi.” I shoot him a smile. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I think I came out on top.”
Grammercy’s expression softens. “You sure did. She’s a special kid, but still…
What about your bright academic future? You’re smart as a whip, woman.
My mama made me read a book a week since I was six years old, and you still use words I have to look up on my phone sometimes.
Ever thought of going back to school? I bet you’d do great. ”
The compliment touches me more than he knows.
Ever since that positive pregnancy test at seventeen, so many people have automatically assumed I must have the IQ of a promiscuous poodle.
I’m cute and all, but clearly not too bright.
The newsroom was the first place to look past my GED and lack of college degree and see that I had a mind worth putting to use.
All my other jobs were mindless grunt work that left me feeling hollow at the end of the day.
“Thank you,” I say, resisting the urge to squeeze his arm.
Getting into the habit of touching him isn’t a good idea.
Still, I’m sure my heart is in my eyes as I add, “That means so much to me, Grammercy. Really. And yeah, I have thought about it, but…” I shrug.
“Honestly, there’s never been enough money or time.
But maybe now, with rent off my plate, and once I find a job…
” I smile. “Maybe remote classes could be on the table. I do have time at night, after Mimi’s asleep. ”
Time I’ve been using to make an obsessive fan podcast about you, in fact…
The thought makes my throat close up.
I have to tell him about the podcast. Right? Before he finds out on his own and decides I’m a creepy lying stalker, not just a normal stalker?
But how to tell real life Grammercy who’s becoming my friend that I’m the most cringeworthy human on the planet?
“We could always get a sitter for Mimi after school or whatever, if you wanted to go to classes in person,” Grammercy says, seeming excited at the thought.
Excited for me. A stranger he barely knows. God, if I weren’t already half in love with him, I would be falling fast.
As things stand, when he adds, “We could also get a sitter for fun. Any interest in a date this weekend? To celebrate?”—I nearly fall out of my lounge chair.
“A date?” I ask, my voice hitching into an embarrassing squeak.
His nervous smile is as charming as his flirty one.
Maybe even more charming, if such a thing is possible.
“I mean, I know it wasn’t a real wedding, but it still feels like something worth celebrating.
It’s a fresh start, with new opportunities in it, and I’m off Friday and Saturday after the opening game.
Coach decided to give us some time off to decompress after the grind of camp and all the publicity building up to the season opener.
It would be nice to burn off some steam, maybe hit a blues club? ”
“I love a blues club,” I breathe. “I haven’t been to one in years, but…yeah. I love them.”
“Me, too,” he says. “I used to sing with a band back in the day. Just amateur stuff, for fun, but I miss being part of the music.”
“That’s so cool. I used to sing with a jazz group in high school!” I say, blood fizzing in my veins as my inner fangirl freaks out about her hockey crush also being a music nerd.
“Then we have to go,” he says, catching my excitement. “Friday night? I can call the nanny service my brother used the last time he was in town, or?—”
“I’ll ask Nancy first, but if she can’t make it, that sounds fine,” I say.
“Assuming they’re okay with Mimi’s health issues and are ready to take action if anything happens.
I mean, fingers crossed, it won’t—she’s bounced back really well from the little flare she had this time—but I’d want to be sure she’s one hundred percent safe. ”
“Same,” he agrees with a nod. “Her safety and well-being come first. Always. We’re on the same page about that, chère , I promise you.”
“I think we’re on the same page about a lot of things,” I murmur, before biting my bottom lip to keep myself from saying something even more obvious. Something that will make my crush as clear as the dazzling skyline in front of us.
“Me, too.” His tone takes on a teasing edge as he adds, “So, I’m guessing you won’t mind that I got you and Mimi seats for the opening game? I didn’t want to assume, but?—”
“Assume!” I cut in, bolting upright in my lounger so fast my beer nearly sloshes over the edge.
“Please, assume. Always assume,” I add, laughing as I set the bottle down beside me on the ground so I can clap my hands.
“Oh my God, I’m so excited, I’m shaking!
I wanted to go so bad, but the tickets were all sold out or crazy expensive.
Mimi’s going to be over the moon, Grammercy.
Seriously. Thank you! Thank you so much. ”
Before I realize what I’m doing, my arms are around his neck, hugging him tight.
It’s a grateful hug, nothing more, but…
But then he’s hugging me back, and suddenly I’m aware of every place we touch. Aware of the solid warmth of his chest against mine, of the way his arms wrap around my waist, strong but careful, like he isn’t sure how to touch me right now.
This isn’t a fake wedding ceremony in front of a judge and a witness.
This is real.
Just us.
Alone, with nothing but the warm night air and the smell of Grammercy rising all around me.
God, he smells like heaven fresh from a shower, all soap and shampoo and the intimate scent of his skin, his pheromones, his…Grammercy-ness. I can’t describe it as accurately as I want to. All I know is that he is the best, sexiest, most delicious thing I’ve ever smelled.
I want to breathe him into my bone marrow.
But obviously, I can’t. I should pull back.
Now. Ten seconds ago, in fact.
Unfortunately, my body has other ideas…
Before I know it, I’m melting into him, my breasts molding against his muscled chest as my fingertips curl into his shoulders and my nose drags lightly up his neck to the base of his ear. My skin is suddenly on fire, every nerve blazing.
His fingers splay across the small of my back, drawing me even closer as things low in my body tighten.
Damn, what I wouldn’t give to have his hands…everywhere .
Desire spreads through me like honey going liquid in the sun, slow and golden and delicious. I haven’t wanted anyone like this in so long, I’d forgotten what it felt like. The sweet ache of it. The way it rises with a roar, drowning out the whispers of common sense.
Common sense can’t hold a candle to the longing that throbs through me as we shift, and his cheek brushes mine.
If I turn my head just a fraction of an inch, our lips would touch. I could be kissing my husband again—for real, this time—in just a few seconds. All I have to do is be brave enough to risk it all.
The thought makes me dizzy.
Or maybe that’s the lack of oxygen reaching my synapses, because I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing.
“I should head to bed,” he finally says, his voice rougher than usual. He pulls back, giving us both a beat to steady ourselves before adding with a tight smile, “Big day tomorrow. Early practice and press in the afternoon. Gotta get my beauty sleep.”
“Right. Totally. I’ll um…” I force a polite smile of my own. “I’ll be in in a minute. Just going to finish my beer and enjoy the view.”
“Yeah, take your time.” He stands. “Anything you need before bed, let me know. And don’t worry about locking up.
The front door’s locked and the system’s armed.
I don’t worry about locking up out here.
A robber would have to parachute onto the deck to get in.
” He drags a hand through his hair. “I figure, if they’re that motivated, they deserve whatever they plan to take. ”
I nod. “Sounds fair. I’m not worried. I feel very safe here.”
“Good,” he says. “See you in the morning then, chère . Hope you sleep well.”
“You, too. And Grammercy?” I force myself to hold his gaze, even though looking at him right now feels like staring into the sun. “Thank you. For the tickets and…everything else.”
Something flickers across his face, something kind and real that makes my heart beat faster again. “Anytime, darlin’. Truly. Anytime.”
He disappears through the sliding door, leaving me alone with the glittering city and the certainty that having Grammercy Graves call me “darlin” might be the end of me.
I might expire right here, right now, on the terrace of his penthouse, undone by the force of my own joy and disbelief.
Darlin’…
I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, that he’s just a sweet-talking bayou boy who throws around endearments the way some men throw tips at bouncers to get into the good clubs on Bourbon Street.
I tell myself the way I’m tingling is ridiculous.
I warn the giddy, reckless hope blooming in my chest that girls like me don’t get fairy tale endings. We get reality. We get outsized obstacles and rapidly narrower paths forward. We get bootstraps to pull on and the challenge of being strong for our babies all by ourselves.
But sitting here, with the echo of his touch still lingering on my skin, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to let myself believe in fairy tales…
Just for a little while.