Chapter Twenty-Five
Grant had never confessed to the priest at his home parish what he’d prayed for the summer he worked with Ivy at the theater.
If he had, Father Connell would probably still have him doing penance.
Instead, he’d found a priest at a church in Madison, someone young enough to remember what it was like to be a lustful teenager, and confessed to praying in church that Ivy would have sex with him.
He wasn’t a virgin and hadn’t been for a few years at that point, which made it worse.
Sex was no longer an intangible, pornography-fueled fantasy.
He knew exactly what he was asking—begging—God to do.
He’d have asked a saint to intercede on his behalf, but he didn’t know who to talk to, so he went straight to the top.
Dear Lord, please let Ivy Weaver want to touch my penis.
During Easter mass the year after he’d lashed out at Ivy, Grant wondered if her confessing that she was in love with Austin was God punishing him. The Lord knew how to hit a guy below the belt.
So having Ivy in his bed, sated in his arms, felt like a true miracle.
“This really is a comfy mattress,” she said, her fingers idly exploring his chest. She found a faint, pink scar near his shoulder. “What’s this from?”
“A nail. We were tearing down a shed, and the whole thing landed on top of me.”
“And all you got was that little scar?”
“There’re a few more on my back, but yeah. The tetanus shot was not fun.” Though he’d have done ten tetanus shots to avoid the tongue-lashing he got from his dad. When he was angry, Tim Underwood came up with very creative ways to call someone a dumbass.
“Ouch. I just get oven burns and unidentifiable bruises when I go to work.” Ivy pushed herself onto her forearm so she could look at him. “Did something collapse at work? Was that the hairy situation Tony alluded to?”
“You don’t want to know.” Grant tucked her bouncy curls behind her ear. “It’s nothing.”
“You were more than twenty minutes late and pissed when you showed up to the bowling alley. I don’t know if you know this about yourself, Grant, but you’re a very on-time person.”
It was true. From a young age, it had been drilled into him that being late was unacceptable.
Being punctual was something Underwood & Son was known for, and as the heir apparent, it was his job to lead by example.
That discipline had carried over into all aspects of his life. Besides, being late made him itchy.
It had also been drilled into him to keep his personal business to himself and not burden other people with his problems. But if he couldn’t tell Ivy, who could he tell?
An outside observer would argue that he told Tony things, but most of the time his friend was a witness who insisted on being an accessory.
Grant wanted to tell Ivy, because even if she didn’t understand, she wouldn’t judge him for the way he’d been feeling about his job and his predestined legacy.
He wanted to tell her because he wanted to be known by her.
“Tony and I wrapped our scheduled job early and decided to get a head start on tomorrow’s project so Tony could spend a little more time with Brad before he left for the airport.
Honestly, we were pushing it time-wise. Absolutely underestimated the amount of work we needed to do, but we were going to make it.
” He captured her hand where it traced designs on his skin and pressed her palm over his heart.
“Then my dad showed up unannounced and complained and picked apart everything we’d done.
He called me lazy because I held my ground about being done for the day.
” He squeezed her hand. “I like my actual job, but I’ve been waking up for probably the last six months dreading going to work because I don’t know what my dad will find wrong with me that day. ”
Ivy’s brows knit together in the center, and the tiny ridge that formed was filled with concern and confusion.
“You are the least lazy person I know,” she said. “You worked so hard at the theater and your name wasn’t even on that business. I can’t imagine how hard you work when your name is on the door.”
She kissed him, quick and tender, and it smoothed some of the raw edges of his hurt. He wanted to lay himself bare to her so she could tell him he was good enough.
“I almost yelled at him today.”
“Almost? You’re a better person than me. I definitely would have yelled.”
Grant laughed. “You don’t have it in you to yell at anyone.”
“Some things have changed in the last few years, Grant. I work with the traveling public. I’m nice, but I take no shit on an airplane. That doesn’t mean I don’t cry in the bathroom sometimes, but I don’t tolerate disrespect anymore.”
“Do you ever think about doing something else?”
Ivy laid her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes. I don’t know what I’d do, but I wonder what it would be like to be home every night, to see the same people every day, to have a consistent schedule where my body isn’t adjusting to radically different operating hours every few days.
Being a flight attendant is so exciting at first, but I’m emotionally exhausted.
I’ll be around hundreds of people in a day, but I’m so damn lonely that I sometimes cry myself to sleep.
I go to an empty hotel room at night and come home to an empty apartment after a trip.
I’ve gone weeks without getting a real, honest-to-goodness hug. ”
“That’s rough.” Grant’s arms tightened around her. “That first night you were here, when we ran into you at Curly’s, I knew you weren’t telling the truth when Piper asked about your job, but I thought the problem would be the passengers.”
“Nah. Ninety-eight percent of people range from great to benign. The lifestyle can be really rough without emotional support. Dating is hard because I’m never home.
Shockingly, people want partners who are around to spend time with.
” Ivy squeezed him back. “Do you ever think about doing something else?”
“Doing something else isn’t an option.”
Ivy picked up her head to frown at him. “What do you mean? There’s always an option.”
“The company is Underwood & Son. I’m the ‘and Son.’ I’ve always known I was going to take over the business one day. That’s the plan.”
“Whose plan?”
Grant opened his mouth to answer, but the answer wasn’t something he wanted to admit. It wasn’t his plan to take over the construction business. It was what was going to happen, end of discussion.
“It’s the plan,” he repeated lamely.
Ivy rolled her eyes so subtly, he almost missed it. “But what if it wasn’t the plan? What would you want to do instead?” And like she could sense that the next words out of his mouth were going to be I don’t know, she added, “What was the last job you had that you enjoyed?”
“The only other job I’ve ever had was the movie theater.”
That had been his big act of teenage rebellion: getting a job.
His dad had been furious because his summer plans for Grant were to have him join the construction crew.
Grant had almost caved, but his mom stepped in and said a job he could have year-round with school was good for him.
So he became a teen with two jobs. The summer he’d worked with Ivy was the closest he’d ever come to stepping away from the family business.
“Did you enjoy working at the theater?”
“I loved it.”
Ivy thought for a moment and then said, “You could run it,” casually, like it wasn’t some earth-shattering revelation.
Grant’s heart pounded as he said, “I can’t do that.”
“Think about it.” She ticked off each reason by raising a finger. “You already live next door, it’s a job you loved, and Mr. Donaldson has been looking for someone to take over the business.”
“I can’t afford to buy a movie theater,” he argued.
“If money wasn’t an object—if Mr. Donaldson would sell you the business for cheap or you got a loan—would you do it?”
Once again, Grant couldn’t bring himself to say the first answer that sprang to mind. Yes. If he had the opportunity, he would run the movie theater in a heartbeat. He could fix it the way it deserved to be fixed, because he could do a lot of the work himself.
“It would break my dad’s heart if I quit.”
Ivy cradled his face in her palms and kissed him tenderly. “I love that you care about the people in your life so much. I just want you to care about you that much, okay?”
Was it possible to have his heart broken and put back together at the same time?
Because his chest hurt so much it felt hollow, but in a way that was healing.
Ivy wasn’t going to push him toward any one decision or steamroll his opinions.
She’d asked some questions, made some points, and let him know unequivocally that she supported him.
He was overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do with the emotion flooding his system. So he kissed Ivy deeply and nudged her onto her back, keeping his weight on his forearms while his hips settled in the valley between her legs. She arched beneath him, searching for more contact.
“Mmm-mmm.” He shook his head and kissed her again, as slowly as he could, so she’d get the point. Stroke by stroke of his tongue against hers, she relaxed under him. “My pace this time.”
They kissed some more until he was rubbing his hard cock against her clit, flirting with the possibility that it would slip in unexpectedly. Grant leaned toward his nightstand, but Ivy put a hand on his arm.
“For the record, I’m on birth control. If that matters.”
His brain crashed so hard, he heard the high-pitched whirring of an overheating computer.
“What are you saying?” This wasn’t a topic where he could guess her answer. There wasn’t any room for misinterpretation. He needed to hear her say the words.
“We don’t have to use a condom if you don’t want to.”
“You’re sure? I’ve been tested since my last partner and it came back clear. For the record.”
“Same.” Ivy squeezed her thighs around his hips.
Grant repositioned himself and sank into her slick, wet heat.
While there was nothing wrong with condoms and they were very, very necessary, it was different without one.
More intense. He wanted to take his time, but Ivy felt so fucking good that he had a feeling this was going to be quicker than he intended.
Even though he was trying to take things at the sexual equivalent of a jog, it was still a race he wanted her to win. He rolled his hips, trying to recreate the movement that had worked for her earlier. She moaned appreciatively, which was wonderful to hear but also shortened his fuse.
“You feel too fucking good.” He rested his forehead against hers. “This is not going to be the slow, sensuous sex I had planned.”
Ivy laughed. “Did you just use the word ‘sensuous’ while you’re bare inside of me?”
“I’m trying to be sweet.”
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. He could feel her smile against his lips.
“You’re very sweet. And a little ridiculous. Honestly, I’m almost offended you could come up with a word longer than one syllable right now.”
“I’m trying to impress you.”
Ivy’s face softened. “You already did.”
His chest squeezed his heart like a sponge.
He kissed her and lost himself in the splendor of her body, riding the waves of pleasure as the pressure in his cock and balls steadily built, until Ivy squeezed him tightly and squeaked. That was all he could handle. Grant came with a shuddering groan.
“Yes,” Ivy moaned triumphantly, arching beneath him. “That’s it.”
He sagged on top of her. His body felt as light as a powdery snowflake and his limbs as dense as lead.
“You’re heavy,” she told him.
“It’s because I’ve died and gone to heaven. This is my corpse.”
“I’ll be sure to send flowers to your mother.”
He’d told Ivy that their first time was a religious experience.
She clearly didn’t know how literal he was being.
On the one hand, what they’d just done was easily the best sex of his entire life.
His body twitched with aftershocks, while his mind rearranged its definition of words like “heat” and “soft” and “tight.” But on the other hand…
He was a changed man. Someone who’d seen the light and heard the angels sing.
And like all newly minted believers, he both feared and revered the realization that nothing would ever be the same.