Chapter 27 Jude
Three Weeks Before the Wedding
Somehow, even only semiconscious, I know I’ve never had a better night’s sleep in my life—until my usual alarm of claws presses threateningly into my exposed foot. With difficulty, I resist kicking Taco away, knowing from experience that she’ll only dig in deeper. Dammit.
I don’t want to get up. Not when the source of all my bone-deep contentment is still lying half-sprawled across my chest. Gracie.
An irrepressible sigh escapes me, because now, I guess I’m a sigher.
I fucking knew I was in trouble the first time I saw her at Nana’s memorial, but I had no idea how bad it would be.
Even after she became the one person I want to share every secret with—I told myself it was fine.
There have been so many obstacles between us that I was convinced nothing would happen beyond our kiss.
But then last night…
I fucking sigh again.
Last night.
It changed everything. I couldn’t have been more worn-out and heartsick after dinner with my mom. But then Gracie knocked on my door, tear-stained and needing me.
My idiotic heart works itself into a knot of pride and longing, while farther south, desire slides into my belly, so thick and hot, I have to close my eyes.
I exhale. My specific… proclivities have never bled into my everyday life before.
Usually, when I’ve been with other women, whatever caretaking I do is artificial.
Scenes have clear beginnings and endings.
But with Gracie, there are no boundary lines around the ways I wish I could take care of her.
And last night, she finally let me have a fraction of what I want from her.
She chose me, and I was too shell-shocked to question it.
Even if it meant betraying my best friend.
I wince as the guilt I’ve been staving off throws a brick directly at my chest. I wish it would throw another.
After our first kiss, I looked Henry in the eyes and told him I wouldn’t touch her again.
But now, my fingertips are being cradled by the soft dip of her spine, and her dark hair is spilling over my shoulder like ink I want to make permanent. It’s too much to believe.
But somehow, impossibly, she’s here. And so is my fucking cat.
Taco sinks her claws a little deeper in warning, and I acquiesce.
Pressing a kiss to Gracie’s messy bangs, I gingerly begin to slide out from under her.
She makes a quiet moan that goes straight to my dick when I manage to extricate myself, but she doesn’t wake.
Taco, pleased that I’ve obeyed her commands, sits on the foot of the bed, cleaning her paws like they’ve been sullied.
I glare at her in silent communication. You couldn’t let me enjoy five more minutes of the best night of my life? She glares right back. No.
Grumbling, I get up and stalk to her bedroom.
She’s only ever affectionate with me while I’m feeding her, and pathetically, I usually eat it up.
But right now, I’ve got Gracie in my bed—a woman who has single-handedly turned my whole personality inside out, ripped out the seams, and resewn it into a shape meant to hold someone. To hold her.
Which is why I don’t linger over the opportunity to pet my evil cat.
Once she’s eating, I hurry downstairs to make coffee and breakfast for Gracie.
With any luck, it’ll help coax the reason she came to me last night.
Or at the very least, give her strength for everything we didn’t get to do last night.
When I make it back up to the room with a rummaged breakfast, I toe open the door and find Gracie awake and… petting Taco?
Trying not to drop the tray, I cross the threshold like I’m entering another dimension. Gracie’s dark hair is down now, messy around her pale shoulders, and the early morning sun paints her every outline like a brush dipped in light.
The door squeaks, and she looks up at me briefly before smiling back at Taco. “I can’t believe you said she was mean!”
“Did I say mean?” I say faintly. “I meant despotic.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is purr-fect,” she coos, scratching Taco behind the ear.
“Please just be careful,” I warn, approaching the bed. “Her favorite snack is human flesh.”
But even from here, I can hear Taco’s purr. Naturally, it stops the moment I sit down. Taco takes one look at me, decides I’ve ruined everything, and runs off the bed with the feline version of harrumph.
As Taco leaves, Gracie turns her full attention to me and notices the tray.
Her eyes light up for one unguarded moment before her smile falters.
Almost as if she’s just realized her natural reaction was the wrong one.
I stand stock still, mentally repeating the word Fuck until she finally says, “You made breakfast. Wow!” But her tone sounds more like “You’re proposing on the first date. Wow!”
Internally, I flinch. Of course I remember what she told me last night. I want this to be simple. No strings. But after what we shared, I thought things might have changed for her, too.
Christ.
I know better than to be disappointed. She’s only protecting herself, and if I had any self-restraint, I’d be respecting her boundaries instead of making hearts in her fucking latte.
Summoning all my natural God-given apathy like a muscle reflex, I shrug and walk to the bed. “I was starving,” I say as she sits up, carefully holding the sheets to her chest. “Want some?”
“You really didn’t have to do all this, but thank you,” she says, picking a grape. I watch it disappear into her mouth with a flare of satisfaction before meeting her gaze.
“I may have had ulterior motives,” I admit, hesitating. “I was hoping we could talk about why you came over last night.”
“Oh,” she says, clutching the latte she just grabbed to her chest.
I give her an apologetic look. “Look, I’m the last person who’s going to complain about your visit, but you seemed pretty upset when you showed up. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
She blinks down at her coffee, shoulders rising slightly. “I appreciate it, but we don’t have to talk, Jude. I told you last night that this can’t be anything more than…”
She lowers her lashes, too shy to say it.
“Fucking?” I finish for her, as disappointment snakes through me.
Because apparently, we’ve slipped into an alternate universe where the hopeless romantic wedding planner wants commitment-free sex, while the cynical divorce lawyer wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to having her initials branded on his ass.
She glances up at me but stays silent.
“Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Just because we didn’t do it on rose petals doesn’t mean we can’t talk. You’re not some random woman I met on the internet, you’re—” I cut the word off in the nick of time. Everything.
“Well, unlike you, I’ve never done this before,” she snaps, setting her coffee down. “I don’t know the rules. You show up with breakfast in bed a-and I don’t know what to think.”
“You’re calling the shots here, Gracie. You told me you wanted something simple, and I promise I’ll try.
But if you think you can show up to my bedroom, let me do things to you that I’ll be replaying for the rest of my natural life, and then expect me not to ask why I got so lucky, you’re dead wrong. ”
She closes her eyes and exhales. “I’m sorry. I know last night was out of character for me. I honestly feel like I barely even recognize myself right now.”
“You don’t owe me an apology or any specifics,” I tell her. “I just want to know that you’re okay.” And fix everything if you’re not.
Her eyes hold mine, like she’s trying to decide something. After a moment, she says, “Do you have anyone in your life who can handle any storm you bring to their door? Like a safe harbor?”
The question catches me off guard. Automatically, I think of my therapist, David, but I somehow doubt Gracie is referring to someone who invoices me. Next, I think of my mother, but while we’re close, that’s not our dynamic at all. So instead, I give her the most truthful answer I’ve got.
“Nana was that person for me. She and Henry, of course,” I say, with a stab of guilt.
At the mention of Henry’s name, she winces before nodding. “Agatha always made me feel safe. She opened her home to me when I needed it most.”
My stomach tightens as I think of my efforts to kick her out of it. “Is this when I should ask if I’m the asshole?’ ”
The hint of a smirk lifts her lips. “Are you asking me, or the universe at large?”
“I don’t think an answer from either of you is going to be very good for my self-esteem.”
Her smile is no more than a flicker that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I had another safe harbor besides Agatha,” she says, and I’m alarmed to see the rapidly gathering distress on her face. “But last night—” Her brow crumples, and she looks down at her hands, twisted in the covers.
I curse softly. “Is it your mom?” I ask, remembering that she doesn’t have a close relationship with her dad. “Is she okay?”
The short laugh that emerges from her is serrated as she wipes both hands beneath her eyes. “No, it’s not my mom.” At my look of surprise, she says, “Is that unexpected?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Well, don’t sic Taco on me, but after you mentioned not having a relationship with your dad, I kind of assumed you’re the much-beloved daughter of a strict but supportive mother who secretly wishes you worked in accounting. Am I wrong?”
A sad smile lifts her lips. “Now that’s a hoop I could’ve jumped through for her.”
I frown. “I didn’t realize there were any hoops too high for you.”
“Well, unless I wake up tomorrow with hitherto undiscovered athletic prowess or a penis, I think I’m sort of destined to be a disappointment for both my parents. Or at least an oddity.”
My eyebrows team up with my frown to make a scowl. “You’re not an oddity.”
“My small army of zombie plush toys would suggest otherwise.”
“You’re not a disappointment either,” I say, my blood heating.