Chapter Five
Gracie
The strangest thing about brief moments of extreme violence is how quickly life always goes back to normal.
You could go through the most horrific moments of your life. But you still needed to eat, to sleep, to go to work, to do the wash. Life was relentless. And you had no choice but to go with the flow or risk getting pulled under the currents.
So I spent the night at my parents’ house, wearing borrowed pajamas from my mom and pretending not to notice how my father inched my bedroom door open just about every half hour to make sure I was okay.
But then, first thing in the morning, I shared breakfast with my family before making my way back to my own apartment.
Like any normal day, I stopped at my mailbox, put on a pot of coffee, and laid out some fresh clothes.
My mom had asked me why I wouldn’t let her draw me a bath the night before. There was no way I could tell her it was because I wasn’t ready to wash Perish’s spicy scent off my skin. So I claimed I was just tired.
But if I was going to go down to the police station, I needed to clean off the dirt and grease that was still clinging to me.
After a night of restless sleep, little aches and pains had settled in.
My lower back kept zinging me, and my neck hurt from the little whiplash of the fall.
Thankfully, I’d avoided a certain concussion because Perish had been present of mind enough to brace his hands behind my head before we landed.
I also had a couple little scrapes up and down my calves and arms from little twigs and brambles on the ground.
Overall, though, I was lucky.
Thanks to Perish.
Even just the thought of his name had interest tightening in my core as I stepped out of my romper, then my panties, and forced myself to move under the shower spray.
I tried to ignore the way my skin felt too sensitive, how the water cascading down my body felt more intimate, almost sexual, than usual.
I soaped up my loofa, but I was flooded with thoughts of Perish’s big hand moving over me instead of my own.
And thanks to his search of my body for injuries, I was achingly aware of what that felt like.
By the time I was done scrubbing my body, the desire was a heavy pressure on my core, a throbbing between my thighs.
I pretended to ignore it as I slathered on my lotion—a gift from Billy in the signature coconut scent she swore suited my chemistry and aura best—and slipped into a simple pair of linen shorts and a tee.
It wasn’t until the sparking nerves of visiting the police station overtook me that the desire slipped to the background. Where I would hopefully forget about it. Since there was no way for me to satisfy it. Not when the feeling was toward a currently patched member of the club.
When I made my way into the police station, it was thankfully Vaughn, not Clark, who was waiting for me.
I was led over to a desk where I was set in front of a laptop and asked to flip through makes and models of cars as Vaughn waited for the sketch artist to show up.
The car was relatively easy, since I knew from listening to my father that the Grassis had already figured out the car model. But I played my part, moving through images, then flipping back until it was settled on the right one.
“You’re sure?” Vaughn asked, looking at the screen.
“Positive.”
“Okay. Great. Are you still up for the sketch artist?”
I gave him a nod and was asked to move aside so the artist could sit in front of the computer and bring up a program.
“You don’t actually sketch anymore?” I asked the woman.
“Some do. And if what we get as an end result is close but not quite perfect, I might manually work on it. But let’s start with this for now.”
The computer program was one full of pages and pages of facial traits that reminded me a lot of a more sophisticated application of this game I used to play as a kid, where I would painstakingly design characters’ faces, bodies, and clothes before building a whole life for them.
Only my interest always waned after the design part.
On the plus side, that mild obsession from when I was a kid made it easier for me to immediately sift through all of the wrong features to get as close as possible to the memory I’d been actively trying to reinforce in my mind, so I didn’t forget any feature.
“Does that look right?” the woman asked, pulling up the full image.
Staring at the sketch, my mind flashed back to the split second before I crashed down on my back.
The broken nose, the wide forehead, the dark eyes, the muzzle tip.
My belly flipped.
My pulse skittered.
“Yes,” I said, pressing a hand to my throat that felt like it was starting to close up. “Yeah, that’s him. Wait,” I said, brows pinching.
“Did we miss something?”
“No. Yes. Sort of. Not on his face. But there was something… here,” I said, gesturing toward his neck.
“A tattoo?” she asked, tone hopeful. I imagined because tattoos were such an easy way to identify someone.
“No. No. I’m not sure if it was maybe some sort of birthmark or a scar, but there was a spot right here,” I told her, gesturing toward my own neck.
“He was too far away. And I mean, it could even be just, like, a smear of food or something. But I wanted to mention it just in case it was a scar of some kind.”
“I will make a note of it,” she said. “Well, thanks so much for helping us out, Gracie. Let me just see if Detective Vaughn has any more questions for you.”
Luckily for me, he didn’t.
And I finally felt like I could breathe a little as I made my way outside.
It was done.
My part in this whole mess of a situation was over.
I could go back to my normal life.
I had a double baby shower for two pregnant best friends to finish up some details on. And a list to go over for my next event—a fiftieth wedding anniversary.
Thankfully, none of my next six events took place at the Grassi venue. It would hopefully give them a few weeks to, you know, figure this whole situation out and handle it.
I treated myself to a trip to She’s Bean Around, indulging in both an iced and a hot latte to get me through my day.
Then I went ahead and made my way to my office.
It was a tiny little rental unit inside one of those massive brick buildings that held a bunch of medical and professional offices.
Did my budding business really require an office space? Not really. I could do all the planning on a laptop in my own apartment. But having my own space made it not only seem more legit to potential clients, but it also forced me to see it as more than my current side gig.
I had to cancel several of my subscription services and cut back on spending just to afford the rent, but with all the work I was doing, I no longer had time to watch shows and movies or go on shopping sprees.
Besides, the sacrifice was well worth it. I always got this delicious little fluttering feeling in my chest when I made it to my door and saw my business name—Confetti and Co.—stenciled on the frosted glass door.
It was a step in the right direction, I constantly reminded myself when I looked at the bill when it came in.
And I was only maybe a year away from being able to make it my full-time job.
That was a conservative estimate. I was just a little worried about the winter season and didn’t want to quit my day job until I made it through what was sure to be a leaner season, party-planning-wise.
I pushed open my door, flicked on the light, and nearly let out a shriek at the figure of someone lounging on my cute little blush pink sectional.
“Layna!” I yelped, quickly closing the door behind me. Not only was she spread across my couch, but she was doing so in nothing but a pair of black biker shorts and a sage green leisure bra.
“Hey you,” she greeted, sticking her hand inside a bag of corn chips.
“Yeah, hey. But also… what the heck are you doing here?”
“Crashing,” she said, gesturing around.
Sure enough, she had a duffel bag open on the floor, the contents spilled all over. The couch featured a blanket, pillows, and the hoodie she must have discarded at some point.
She had a stream of a pro gambling game on the TV and had clearly raided my coffee station, given the scattered sugar packets and used mugs.
“Okay. And the follow-up to that would be… why are you crashing at my office?”
“Well, I lost my key to your apartment.”
“You don’t have a key to this office either.”
To that, a wicked little smirk spread across her gorgeous, super feminine face, making her chocolate brown eyes look lit from within.
Was Layna a criminal? No. Did she know how to pick locks? Of course. We all did. It was part of our survival training as kids. It was a skill I hadn’t practiced in years. Layna, though, clearly still knew what she was doing.
“Ooh, you brought me coffee!” she said, unfolding her long, willowy body from the couch, pausing to grab a clip to pin up her wavy mass of brown hair before grabbing the iced coffee from me.
“That was for me,” I said, but without any real annoyance.
If I knew she was crashing at my office, I totally would have brought her a coffee.
That was just my nature. I liked doing things for people, surprising my loved ones.
It was what led me down the path toward party planning in the first place—all the little surprises I’d lined up for the people in my life and how much they’d enjoyed them.
“We both know you get a little twitchy with too much caffeine,” Layna said as she walked over to the mini fridge to get some ice out of the freezer for my low-ice iced coffee. Then she went ahead and put some coffee syrups from my rack in it as well.
“So, why would you crash on my office couch instead of at your parents? Or with Ariah and Kit? The club? Any of our aunts or cousins?”
“I’m only in town for a night or two,” she admitted. “And I know how things go if I crash with an aunt or one of our cousins with little niblings who would want me to hang around.”
“Fair. But Kit and Ariah don’t have kids.”
“I love everything Kit and Ria have done out there on their farm, but I’m a city girl, through and through.”
I also loved visiting the farm, but I had absolutely no desire to be covered in dirt all day like our cousins were.
“The club?” I asked. “I mean, my sectional is nice, but there is no shower here.”
“Listen, have you seen those new prospects?”
“Who?”
“Spike and Cain.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I’ve seen them.”
“Then you know why I can’t stay there.”
“I’m missing a vital piece of information here.”
“If I crash at the clubhouse, there is no way I’m not going to hook up with one of them.
And then our cousins would be all pissy and kick them out of the club and blah, blah, blah,” she said, waving a hand out.
“More trouble than a few wicked good orgasms are worth. Even if Spike gives total ‘fuck you into the ground’ vibes. And Cain has all that repressed cop stuff that I bet makes him a filthy talker…”
“Dry spell?” I asked, giving her a smile.
“Don’t get me started. I’ve been so busy. I think I’ve visited eight countries so far this year. I’ve been spending so much time nursing my jet lag and travel fatigue that there’s been no energy for dating. What about you?”
“Busy too,” I said, waving toward my immaculate light wood desk.
The whole office was soft and warm, toeing that line between neutral and feminine.
Okay, maybe the blush-colored couch pushed it a little closer to the latter, but I was careful not to make it the kind of place where a man would feel uncomfortable.
Even if party planning was largely an activity sought out by women.
“Is that why you were so late today?” she asked, glancing at the clock.
“No, I was at the police station.”
“The police station? For what?”
“To speak to the sketch artist about the shooter.”
“The… shooter? What the hell is going on?”
“It wasn’t in the group chat?” I asked.
“Shit. I think I silenced that chat when Andi and Kit were going back and forth about vet care stuff. There was a shooting?”
“At the Grassi venue.”
“Where I’m assuming you were hosting a party.”
“You would have loved it. The general theme was: penis.”
“Okay. We are going to circle back to that. But are you okay?”
“Thanks to Perish.”
God, even just thinking his name made me feel flushed all over.
“Perish?” she asked, gesturing way up above her head to indicate his general giant-ness.
“He was there talking to Matteo. He, uh, tackled me to the ground and covered me during the shooting.”
“I’m sure your parents have already covered the whole ‘holy shit, that’s scary, we almost lost you’ thing. So I am going to go ahead and focus on the ‘holy shit, was it hot?’ thing instead.”
“It was a drive-by shooting.”
“Sure. Scary. Adrenaline. All the things. But… Perish. Pinning you to the ground.”
“He wasn’t pinning. He was covering.”
But now I was thinking of his giant hand on my wrists, holding them to the ground over my head as his hand and lips and tongue…
No.
Jesus.
What was wrong with me?
“Protective. Yep, yep. Hot stuff.”
“It was scary.” Just how attracted I’d been at such a tense moment.
“Did he whisper reassurances in your ear?”
“It was Perish,” I reminded her.
“Right. So did he grumble reassurances in your ear?”
“No. He did… check me over after, though.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh. Where?” she asked, invested.
“All over.”
“What I wouldn’t give to be checked all over right about now…”
“Anyway,” I said, shooting her a smile. “I can get you a new key to my apartment so you can crash there tonight.”
“I’ll take you up on that. Did you notice that the minute you got older than twenty-five, your back suddenly has opinions on the thickness of cushions? I used to be able to sleep anywhere. It took me like five minutes to climb off that couch this morning.”
“I spent an ungodly amount of money on my new bed. It adjusts up and down at the head and feet. Worth every penny too.”
“God, we’re getting old. Okay. I think we need to have a margarita night before I leave town.”
“You might need to plan to be in town longer than a night or two. You know what it’s like trying to coordinate schedules now.”
“Like trying to herd cats. Alright. Fine. I will stay in town until we have a girls’ night. After that, your couch is all yours. Though I can’t guarantee that I won’t climb onto the other side of your bed in the middle of the night if the cushions don’t agree with me.”
We spent the next hour catching up, making plans, and texting the girls.
This, I decided, was just what I needed.
Something else to focus on other than Perish and the way my body warmed each time I even thought of him.