Chapter Twenty-Four
There were two very different bowling experiences on lane one that night.
Tony and Grant were locked in a heated rivalry, bowling strikes and spares, while Ivy and Brad made up their own way to play.
They’d roll between their legs, backward, do a little spin before they released, or have to walk the final few steps with their eyes closed, their balls guided by the hand of God instead of any skill.
When the game finished, the score looked like the lane had been split between league bowlers and a children’s birthday party.
“I got a sixty-nine!” Brad flung his hands in the air triumphantly.
“I got a ninety-six!” Ivy and Brad high-fived.
Grant stood under the scoreboard with his hands on his hips and a deep frown on his face. Ivy put a gentle palm on his back.
“What’s wrong? You did great. A hundred points better than me.”
“One hundred and three,” he said distractedly, still fixated on the board. “One more point and I would’ve hit two hundred and beat Tony.”
“But you tied, so that’s fun. No one loses.”
Grant looked at Tony. “Want to play another game?”
“Hell yes I do.”
Brad bent down and whispered something in Tony’s ear.
“Never mind. We’re going to call it a night.”
Brad smirked. He couldn’t bowl for shit but he could make a man jump to do his bidding.
The process of changing their shoes and putting on their coats reminded Ivy of elementary school recess. In the winter, they’d all have to bundle into their snow clothes before going outside for ten to twenty minutes, then spend just as long getting undressed afterward.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Brad said, giving Ivy a tight hug.
He turned to Grant, and they stared at each other awkwardly, unsure how to say goodbye.
Grant held out his hand as Brad went in for a hug, and their clumsy effort to get in sync looked like a college dance major’s capstone project.
Somehow they landed on the world’s most tepid fist bump.
“It was nice to finally meet you.” Brad shot Ivy a knowing look that she patently avoided. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”
“Good to meet you, too,” Grant said. “Fly safe.”
Brad laughed dismissively. “Oh, I have absolutely no control over that.”
Outside the bowling alley, the air smelled like snow and the cold nipped at Ivy’s ears and nose.
Grant cleared his throat. “So, am I taking you home or…”
“Or what?”
Even under the weak parking lot lights, Ivy could see Grant’s cheeks turn red. She didn’t think it was from the cold.
“Or I could show you my apartment,” he offered shyly.
There were a few apartment buildings dotted around the new outskirts of Coeur-de-Lac, so Ivy was surprised when Grant drove them toward downtown. She was even more surprised when he pulled into the alley behind the movie theater and parked his truck.
“Are we seeing a movie?” she asked uncertainly, hesitant to unbuckle.
“Not unless you want to,” he said, shutting off the engine. “I live here.”
An image formed in her head of him blowing up an air mattress in Mr. Donaldson’s office after taking the last two hot dogs—dry and shriveled from being on the rollers all day—for a midnight snack.
“Not inside the theater,” he clarified, like her mental movie had been played on a screen. “In Mr. Donaldson’s old apartment.”
Ivy knew that Mr. Donaldson had lived in an apartment in the back of the theater since he purchased the place in the mid-fifties.
He and his late wife had never seen the point in moving into a house when they had no children and spent all their time at the theater anyway.
It had always seemed cool and cinematic to her, like they were the main characters in one of the movies they showed.
She liked the idea that the apartment was now occupied by someone who loved the theater just as much as Mr. Donaldson did. It felt…right.
“When did you move in?” she asked as they climbed the narrow staircase to the apartment.
“A few years ago. Mr. Donaldson was struggling with the stairs, I needed to get away from Mom and Dad’s… The timing worked out.” Grant opened the door and waited for her to go through first.
The apartment wasn’t large, and she imagined the Donaldsons living their entire adult lives in less than a thousand square feet.
She recognized the red leather couch from the Underwoods’ basement, and the large TV had probably been purchased during a Black Friday sale.
That’s what she would have done. Framed movie posters hung around the living area, and she wondered if those were Grant’s or left over from the Donaldsons.
He’d rescued so many posters from a dumpster fate the summer they worked together, chances were good it was a mix.
“Is that an original Star Wars poster?”
Grant grinned proudly. “It is. 1977. Mr. Donaldson said it was the only movie they showed for four months, so he saved the poster.”
“I think I’ve been watching too much Antiques Roadshow, because I want to know how much it’s worth.”
“A few hundred to ten thousand,” Grant said, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He laughed. “I’ve seen some on Roadshow and that’s how the appraiser always starts.”
Ivy let out a low whistle. “That is quite the rainy day fund hanging on your wall.”
“I think it’s pretty cool.” He smiled at her. “Do you want the tour?”
“Absolutely,” she said as she hung up her coat on top of his.
“Living room. Kitchen and dining room.” He made sweeping gestures toward each room but hadn’t moved his feet yet. “The closed door is the bathroom and the open door is the bedroom. The theater room is downstairs.”
“I don’t get to see the bedroom? I’m only allowed to be aware of its presence?” Ivy joked.
“If you’re dying to see the bedroom, I guess I can show you,” he said with dramatically feigned put-upon-ness, but when he took her hand, he essentially dragged her across the apartment.
Ivy had never speculated about what the inside of Grant’s room looked like, even when they were kids. In contrast, she’d spent countless hours wondering what Austin’s room looked like once they hit puberty and it became a fortress she wasn’t allowed in anymore.
But if she’d ever allowed herself to imagine Grant’s room, this was close to what she would have dreamed up.
His adult bedroom was decorated with more movie posters like the ones in the living room.
Half of his bed was unmade, like he’d rolled out of those dark flannel sheets late for work and never had the chance to fix it.
Or maybe he never made his bed, but she doubted Tim and Grace hadn’t drilled that habit into him.
All his dirty clothes had made it into his hamper, which was a big plus in the attractiveness column.
Not that Grant needed any more marks in his favor.
“What do you think?” he asked, brushing her hair away from her neck so he could kiss her pulse.
Goose bumps bloomed on her skin and she leaned into him, his strong chest sensual and comforting against her back.
“It’s a bedroom,” she said flatly, purposefully baiting him. Grant’s teeth scraped her skin in response. Ivy sucked in a sharp breath and arched, offering him more of her neck while pressing her ass against him.
“It’s a new mattress,” he told her as his hands explored her waist over her shirt, “and I’d like your opinion as a well-traveled woman who’s slept on a lot of mattresses.”
“Is this the kind of evaluation that works best with my clothes off?” She whimpered as he filled his hands with her breasts, plucking at her nipples gently through the thin fabric of her bra.
“I think that would provide the most unbiased test results, don’t you?”
As much as she enjoyed some teasing foreplay, Ivy didn’t have the patience for it tonight.
She wanted Grant, right then and there. He seemed to be on the same page because when she turned in his arms, he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss.
When she moaned, he swallowed the sound and greedily tried to coax another out of her.
But all he got was a squeal when he picked her up and carried her the few feet to the bed.
His mattress was firm enough that she bounced when he dropped her on it.
Grant’s woodsy scent permeated the sheets, and she barely had time to wonder how long it would take him to notice if she stole a pillowcase before his body covered hers.
He inflicted stupefying kisses on her again, all thoughts of linen theft fleeing her brain on a wave of endorphins.
Ivy wrapped her legs around his waist and used her feet to pull his hips down to her center. The firm friction was delicious, and Grant must have agreed, because he hummed appreciatively as he continued to kiss her.
She wormed her hands between them and began to fumble with his belt, cursing the damn thing in her head as it resisted her attempts to take it off.
She tore her mouth away from his. “What is this, a fucking chastity belt?”
Grant’s chuckle sounded how dark chocolate tasted. “It’s a regular belt,” he said, undoing it with one hand to show her how easy it was.
“I want to be annoyed, but I want your pants off more.”
“The feeling is very mutual.”
He rolled away from her long enough for them both to strip off their top layers of clothes until they were left in their underwear. Ivy fought the urge to wrap herself like a burrito in his covers, because after looking at his mostly naked body, she’d never been so uncomfortably aware of her own.
He was beautiful.
He’d filled out since summers at the community pool. Now, dark hair spread across his muscled chest, and his torso was shaped by hard muscle.
She was so distracted admiring him that she almost missed Grant’s eyes dragging down her body with hungry appreciation.
“Wow,” he breathed, and his cock agreed because it pushed against the front of his boxer briefs.
Reverent fingers traveled across her body like pious pilgrims, caressing the parts of her she’d wanted to cover like they were sacred and precious—like he’d give his worldly possessions and immortal soul to worship her for one night.