Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
ELLY
It’s Friday night, and Nancy’s here to watch Mimi so I can do something fun for once.
I’m not going to work; I’m going on a date with a drop-dead sexy man who makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the room.
Heck, the only woman in the room. When we were out for dessert last night, Grammercy’s gaze didn’t waver from me for a second, not even when half a dozen sorority girls in microscopic skirts wiggled past our table on the way to the bar.
The man either has a thing for me or he’s secretly gay, and no man who kisses women the way he does could be gay.
I should be giddy. Elated. Dancing around my bathroom while I put on my makeup like I used to before a hot date as a teenager.
Instead, I’m staring at my glassy-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering if it’s possible to die from a bad case of “about to do something scary.”
And stupid.
And scary. So scary .
Seriously, why am I even thinking about doing this?!
Everything is going so well!
Only an idiot would risk screwing this up.
Grammercy’s home is the nicest place my daughter and I have ever lived—by far —and Mimi’s new health insurance has already kicked in like woah .
All her medications were instantly covered, in full , and we’re starting physical therapy with the best pediatric practice in the city next week.
We never would have been able to access that kind of care with our old insurance.
Just like we never would have been able to go to the Voodoo’s opening night game, I would never be able to even think about going back to school, and Mimi would never have a pool to swim in every day—something that seems to be significantly helping with her pain.
And she certainly wouldn’t have a father figure to drink “fancy” water with while he grills on the terrace…
Grammercy adores my little girl, and Mimi already considers him her buddy for life. The two of them are kindred spirits, and who am I to get in the way of something like that?
Nobody, just a woman who hasn’t felt this kind of longing in her entire damned life and suddenly can’t think of anything except how desperately she needs her fake husband to take her against the nearest wall.
Or on the floor.
Or atop the kitchen counter…
I swear, the lust is getting out of control.
I blame it on watching him carry Mimi to bed last night after she fell asleep in the car.
It was so sweet, my ovaries were in full meltdown.
His big hands so gentle on her tiny body, the smile on his face as he tucked her in, the way he hugged me good night afterwards with a tenderness straight out of wildest dreams?
It was too much.
I’d had no choice but to go straight to my private bathroom, lie down in the bath, and guide the shower head between my legs. I came in seconds, stifling the sound with a fist to my lips as I imagined it was Grammercy’s tongue between my legs instead of the rushing water.
Hell, just thinking about it now is enough to make my nipples tighten, and the new silk panties I bought as a special “you can do scary things” treat damper than they were before.
Maybe I should slip my hand down the front of them and take the edge off really quickly. If not, there’s a decent chance I’ll be humping my fake husband’s leg before we even get into the club.
It’s ridiculous and embarrassing, but this man does things to me.
Horny things…
My phone buzzes on the counter, jerking me out of my steamy thoughts and nearly causing an eyeliner emergency. I suck in a shaky breath and glance down at my cell, pulse spiking again when I see who’s texting.
It’s him, the gorgeous man who’s been living rent-free in my head since the moment he left to do some last-minute “we won our first game” publicity for the Voodoo this afternoon…
Grammercy: Hey there, chère, just wanted to let you know I’m running a little late.
The local news spot is taking forever. They keep pushing me for the weather report since that storm is making landfall tomorrow night.
But they promised me I’m up next. I’ll still meet you by Old Ursuline.
I just might be ten or twenty minutes late, depending on traffic and parking.
Elly: No worries! I’m having trouble getting my eyeliner straight anyway. I’ll plan on leaving a few minutes later.
Grammercy: Perfect! Nancy find the place all right?
Elly: Yeah. No problems at all. Mimi’s already tucked in, and Nancy’s watching a movie on the couch, so everything’s good to go here. Looking forward to some blues. I haven’t been to a club in forever!
Grammercy. Me too! And looking forward to sharing it with you. See you soon, beautiful.
I stare at the word “beautiful” for so long that my vision goes blurry.
A man doesn’t call a woman “beautiful” unless he’s at least a teensy tiny bit interested in banging her against the wall, right? Or on the floor, or in the kitchen, or hell, I guess we could keep it old school and go for a bed.
I would very much enjoy being tangled up in my silky soft sheets with my fake husband until tomorrow morning…
And then I’d wake up, shake off the post coital haze, and realize that I’ve put Mimi’s safety at risk.
Sex complicates things. There’s no two ways around that. And then there’s the chance that Grammercy might turn me down. I’m sure he would do it kindly, gently, the same way he does everything, but I would still be mortified.
That actually might be more mortifying. Having the man of my dreams find it easy to say “thanks, but no thanks, chère ,” to my vagina would be a blow to my poose confidence from which I might never recover.
“You would recover,” I tell my reflection in my firmest voice. “Because you’re a strong woman who’s been through way worse and you’re still standing.”
It’s true. I am still standing.
But I’ve also put off recording an episode of my podcast for an entire week.
I’m afraid I won’t be able to hide the fact that my crush is becoming so much more.
Afraid of what Grammercy will think if he learns I’ve been recording a fangirl podcast from his home.
Afraid of this new person I’m becoming in just a week of exposure to a taste of happily ever after.
A fake happily ever after, no less.
None of this is real…except the way Grammercy Graves makes me feel.
And the way he adores my baby. He really seems to see Mimi as an asset, not a liability. He seems proud when he looks at her, like he feels lucky to be one of the grown-ups watching out for this wacky, creative, one-of-a-kind little girl.
I’m proud of her, too .
But I also want her to be proud of me .
Someday, when she’s facing her own scary, adult problems, I want her to look back on the choices she saw her mama make and let them inspire her to be brave.
I would never want my daughter to choose caution over authenticity, to live small instead of reaching for her big, beautiful dreams. I would never want her to turn her back on a chance at love because a cold world had convinced her that people “like her” have no choice but to play it safe.
I may have had a baby at seventeen and struggled like hell to survive ever since, but that doesn’t make me one iota less valuable than any other woman on earth. Or less worthy of love, happiness, or of making my dreams come true.
And one of those dreams is finding a good man I can love with all my heart.
And my vagina.
“God wouldn’t have made sex so fun if he didn’t want us to enjoy it,” I remind my reflection as I smooth on my lip gloss.
I step away from the mirror, rolling my shoulders back as I survey my first “date night” outfit in ages. In a devastating little black dress that swoops down to show half my back, high heels, hair in a messy up-do, and a smoky eye, I look like the kind of girl who knows what to do in the dark.
Hopefully, it’ll come back to me in the moment, should I get the chance to put my money where my little black dress is.
Surely, making out is like riding a bike.
Right?
Outside in the living room, Nancy is deep into the rom-com of the night, barely fluttering her fingers as I say goodbye and head for the door, which I appreciate.
If she’d gotten a closer look at what I’m wearing, the “just going to catch some music at a club with my new roommate” story would have been out the window.
Nancy’s no fool. She knows a woman doesn’t put on a dress like this to meet a “friend.”
I slip out of the penthouse and down to the street, where the doorman gives me an appreciative nod as he hails a cab.
The way his eyes linger on my legs makes me both pleased— still got it —and nervous. If the doorman is looking at me like that, what’s Grammercy going to think?
Probably that I’m trying way too hard, and it’s weird.
Stop it. He called you “beautiful” and clearly likes the way you look. And you want him to notice that you’re open to changing the vibes between you. That’s the whole point of the dress.
I exhale with a little nod.
Right.
The inner voice is right.
I just have to keep breathing and remember that no one ever died from shooting their shot and getting shot down.
The inside of the cab smells like pine air freshener, old leather, and a hint of cigarette smoke, and the driver has zydeco playing low on the radio. I give him the address and settle back, trying to explore Zen.
But every block closer to the French Quarter makes my pulse kick up another notch. I had a whole monologue planned out, but now I can’t remember a word of it. It’s like my anxiety has given my brain a Jedi mind wipe.
Shit! What the hell am I going to say? “Hey, I know we’re fake married and everything’s been perfect and platonic, but I would like to lick you. All over. Would you be open to some licking?”
No. Gross. Too aggressive and weird.
“Grammercy, I think I might be developing some roommate-inappropriate feelings.”
Blah. Too clinical. I’d sound like a robot.