Chapter 13 #2
By six-thirty, she'd changed her outfit three times and was pacing her bedroom like a caged animal.
This was ridiculous. She'd already slept with Grant. They'd made out multiple times. This wasn't a first date.
So why did she feel like a teenager getting ready for prom?
Her phone buzzed.
Grant: Change of plans. Come to the farm.
Riley: Your dad will be there.
Grant: He's got dinner in town with friends. Won't be back till late.
Riley: So we'll be alone?
Grant: That's the idea.
Riley's stomach flipped.
Riley: What if someone sees my car in the driveway?
Grant: Park in the barn. I'll leave the door open.
Riley: You've thought this through.
Grant: I've thought about a lot of things today.
Riley's face went hot.
Riley: Like what?
Grant: Come over and find out.
Riley grabbed her coat before she could second-guess herself.
Grant was waiting in the barn when she arrived, and the look on his face when she walked in made Riley's breath catch.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi." Grant crossed to her in three strides, pulling her against him. "I've been thinking about this all day."
"Me too."
"Good." He kissed her, slow and deep and full of promise. "Come inside. I made dinner."
Riley pulled back to look at him. "You made dinner?"
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm capable of cooking."
"I know, but—"
"But what?"
Riley studied his face, her chest tight. "This feels like a date."
Something flickered in Grant's eyes. "Would that be so bad?"
Yes. Because dates mean something. And this is supposed to be just physical. Just vacation sex that doesn't count.
"No," Riley heard herself say. "It wouldn't be bad."
Grant's smile was soft and real and made Riley's heart do dangerous things.
Inside the farmhouse, the kitchen smelled like garlic and herbs. Grant had actually cooked—pasta with homemade sauce, bread warming in the oven, wine breathing on the counter, the table set for two with actual cloth napkins.
"Grant," Riley said, her voice strange. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." He pulled out her chair. "Sit."
Riley sat, hyperaware of his hand on the back of her chair, the way he leaned close enough that she could smell his cologne.
He poured wine, and their fingers brushed when he handed her the glass. Riley's breath caught at the contact.
"To..." Grant started, then stopped. "What are we toasting to?"
Not getting caught. Vacation sex. Pretending this doesn't mean anything.
"Whatever we want," Riley said, echoing the quote from Grant.
Grant's eyes held hers. "Whatever we want."
They clinked glasses, and Riley took a sip, trying not to think about how domestic this felt. How right.
The pasta was actually good—better than good. Riley told him so, and Grant's smile was pleased and a little shy.
"My mom's recipe," he said. "She used to make this every Sunday."
"I remember." Riley did remember—Sunday dinners at the Lawson house, Grant's mom teaching him to cook, the warmth of this kitchen. "She'd be proud."
"I hope so."
They ate and talked, and Riley found herself relaxing despite her nerves. Grant asked about work, and she found herself being honest—more honest than she'd been with anyone in months.
"I hate my job," she admitted, the wine loosening her tongue. "I mean, I'm good at it. But I hate it."
"Then why stay?"
"Because I worked so hard to get there. Because it's what I'm supposed to want. Because—" She stopped, took another sip of wine. "I don't know anymore."
Grant reached across the table and took her hand. His thumb traced circles on her palm, and Riley's pulse kicked up.
"You don't have to have all the answers," he said quietly.
"Feels like I should."
"Why?"
"Because I'm thirty. Because I'm supposed to have my life figured out by now."
"Says who?"
Riley laughed despite herself. "Society? My mother? Every magazine article ever written?"
"Screw all of that." Grant's hand tightened on hers. "You're allowed to not know what you want."
Except I do know. I want this. You. This feeling.
Riley looked down at their joined hands. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've had ten years to think about things."
The weight of those words hung between them.
"Grant—"
"Eat your pasta, Monroe. It's getting cold."
Riley smiled and picked up her fork, but she was hyperaware of his hand still holding hers, his thumb still tracing patterns on her skin.
Under the table, Grant's foot found hers. Riley's breath hitched, and his eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Problem?" he asked innocently.
"No problem."
"You sure? You look a little flushed."
"It's the wine."
"Is it?" His foot slid up her calf, and Riley nearly dropped her fork.
"Grant—"
"Yes?"
"What are you doing?"
"Eating dinner. What are you doing?"
Riley's face was on fire. "You're impossible."
"I've been told that before."
They finished eating with Grant's foot playing with hers under the table, every casual touch making Riley's skin buzz with anticipation.
When the last bite was gone, Riley stood to clear the plates. Grant stood too, his hand finding her waist, stopping her.
"Leave them," he said, his voice rough.
"But—"
"Riley." He turned her to face him, his hands framing her face. "I've been thinking about touching you all day. If I have to wait another second, I'm going to lose my mind."
Riley's breath caught. "Then don't wait."
Grant kissed her, and it was different from this morning—slower, deeper, more deliberate. Like he was savoring her.
She let herself just feel.
Grant's hands slid into her hair, and Riley pressed closer, her body fitting against his like they were designed for this.
"Upstairs?" Grant murmured against her mouth.
Riley's heart slammed against her ribs. Upstairs meant his bedroom. Meant staying. Meant this was definitely crossing another line.
"Yes," she breathed.
Grant took her hand and led her through the house, up the stairs to his room. It was simple and clean—wood furniture, soft lighting, a bed that looked sturdy and inviting.
Grant closed the door behind them and turned to face her. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the air thick with want and something deeper Riley wasn't ready to name.
"Come here," Grant said quietly.
Riley crossed to him, and his hands found her waist, pulling her close. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, like they had all the time in the world.
His fingers found the hem of her sweater, and he pulled back just enough to look at her. "Can I?"
Riley nodded, raising her arms. Grant pulled the sweater over her head, his eyes tracking over her skin with an intensity that made her shiver.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice rough.
"Grant—"
He kissed her again, his hands sliding up her back, finding the clasp of her bra. Riley helped him with the rest, her jeans and his, until they were both in just underwear, skin against skin.
Grant's hands were everywhere—her shoulders, her waist, the curve of her hip—touching her like he was memorizing her.
"Grant," Riley breathed. "I need—"
"What do you need?" His mouth found her neck, her collarbone. "Tell me."
"You. I need you."
"You have me." He guided her backward toward the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. "But I want to take my time with you tonight. Is that okay?"
Riley's breath caught at the promise in his voice. "Yeah. That's okay."
He laid her back on the bed, following her down, his weight settling over her in a way that made her feel safe and wanted and completely undone.
Grant kissed his way down her body—her neck, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. His mouth was hot and thorough, taking his time, and Riley's hands fisted in the sheets.
"I've been thinking about this," Grant murmured against her skin. "About tasting you. Making you fall apart."
Riley's hips arched off the bed. "Grant—"
"Tell me if you want me to stop."
"Don't stop. Please don't stop."
His hands hooked in her underwear, and he looked up at her, his eyes dark with want. "Can I?"
"Yes. God, yes."
Grant pulled them off slowly, and then his mouth was on her inner thigh, kissing his way up, making Riley's whole body tremble with anticipation.
When his mouth finally found her, Riley gasped, her hands flying to his hair.
"Okay?" Grant asked, his breath hot against her.
"More than okay. Don't stop."
Grant didn't stop. His mouth worked her with deliberate precision, finding exactly what she needed, building the tension higher and higher. Riley's hips rolled against him, chasing the pressure, the pleasure, completely lost in sensation.
"Grant—I'm close—"
"Good. Let me see it."
His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as his tongue worked her faster, and Riley came apart with a cry that she barely managed to muffle against her hand.
Grant kissed his way back up her body, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "You taste incredible."
Riley pulled his face to hers, kissing him hard, tasting herself on his lips. "Your turn."
"Riley—"
"I want you. Now."
Grant's control visibly snapped. He reached for the nightstand, fumbling with the drawer, and Riley helped him with the condom, her hands shaking with want.
"How do you want me?" Grant asked, settling between her thighs.
"Like this. I want to see you."
Grant's eyes locked on hers as he pushed inside, both of them gasping at the contact. He went slow, giving her time to adjust, his forehead resting against hers.
"Okay?" he managed.
"Perfect. Move."
Grant moved, finding a rhythm that made Riley's breath catch, her nails digging into his shoulders. This was different from the barn—slower, deeper, more connected. Every thrust deliberate, every touch intentional.
"You feel so good," Grant breathed against her neck. "So perfect."
Riley wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder."
"Yeah?"
"Please."
Grant shifted his angle and thrust harder, and Riley moaned, her head falling back against the pillow.
"That's it," Grant said, his voice rough. "Let me hear you."
"Grant—"
"Say my name again."
"Grant—please—I need—"
"What do you need?"
"More. Faster. I'm so close—"
Grant's hand slid between them, his thumb finding her clit, and Riley shattered, crying out his name as the orgasm hit her in waves.
Grant followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck, his whole body going taut before he collapsed against her.
They lay tangled together, both breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin.
"Holy shit," Riley finally managed.
Grant laughed, the sound breathless and satisfied. "Yeah."
"That was—"
"Incredible."
"I was going to say life-changing, but sure. Incredible works."
Grant lifted his head to look at her, his eyes soft. "Life-changing?"
Riley's throat went tight. She'd said too much. Revealed too much.
"Good life-changing," she said quietly.
Grant kissed her, soft and sweet. "Good life-changing for me too."
He rolled to the side, dealing with the condom, then pulled her against him, her back to his chest, his arm around her waist.
"Stay," he said quietly.
Riley's heart stuttered. "Grant—"
"Just tonight. Stay with me tonight."
Every rational part of Riley's brain screamed that this was a bad idea. That staying meant crossing another line. That waking up in his arms would make this feel even more real.
"What about your dad?"
"He's an adult. We're adults. And my room is on the other side of the house." Grant's arm tightened around her. "Stay."
Riley knew she should go. Should leave before this felt more like what it was becoming.
But Grant's warmth was at her back, his heartbeat steady against her spine, and she was so tired of running from things that felt good.
"Okay," she whispered. "Just tonight."
Grant pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Just tonight."
Riley closed her eyes and let herself relax into him, let herself pretend—just for now—that this could be more than vacation sex that didn't count.
Just for tonight.