by S. E. Rose
She shakes her head. “They know, but they vehemently disagree with his grandmother, so they keep their mouths closed. My grandfather is a partner at a big law firm, well he was, he mostly retired a few years ago. He’s having trouble letting his career go. Grandma Satan thinks I’m passable because of that. Plus, my dad, brother, and I are all attorneys, so it’s acceptable. I fit the bill.”
“But what if you get married?” I ask her.
She laughs a full belly laugh. “First of all, I have never been that serious with anyone, ever. And second, odds are Grandma Satan will be dead by then. I just graduated a year ago. I have time,” she explains.
“But what if—”
“It’s not an issue. Grant and I will cross that path if it becomes one,” she says, cutting me off.
I drop the subject for now.
“So, you met Grant in college?” I ask her.
She laughs. “Yes. We took freshman English Lit together, and the rest is history,” she says, gazing out into the night sky as though she’s remembering something fondly.
“You really do love him, don’t you?” I ask.
She smiles and nods. “In a completely platonic, partner-in-crime way,” she says.
“Speaking of that, we should brainstorm,” she adds.
“Oh, for Operation Free Lee?” I ask.
“Yes. I’ve been invited to the spa with her posse tomorrow. It’ll be good to get intel. But we won’t have much time. That only leaves us forty-eight hours until the wedding,” she says, her finger tapping her lower lip. I watch it, transfixed by the movement. Her lips are a perfect heart shape, plump but not too plump. I have to look away so that I don’t get an erection watching the hypnotic movement.
“Tell me more about Lee,” she says. “I don’t really know him that well.”
“Well, he’s funny. He’s…complicated. Lee comes from a life of privilege. He’s never had to think about how much anything costs in his whole life. It’s almost like a handicap in some ways. He looks past things that others see so easily. It’s like everything comes to him on a giant silver platter all the time, so he doesn’t know how to fend for himself. I guess that’s why Maggie was so appealing. She comes from the same world. She has the same ideals. They apparently have some amazing sex, and besides that, they don’t see each other much except when schmoozing at parties together. She fits his lifestyle, and she’s acceptable to his family. He doesn’t really understand that there’s more to it than that,” I try to explain.
“What do you mean, more to it?” she asks.
“Lee slept with a girl, a regular, middle class, sweet girl, one time in college. She made some comment about how nice something was in his apartment, and he just flipped out. He told me he couldn’t slum it anymore because girls like her wouldn’t understand his lifestyle,” I try to explain further.
“Slum it? He sounds like a real douchebag,” she says rolling her eyes.
I sigh. “Sorry, I’m not explaining him very well, am I. He’s not a douchebag, I promise. He…well, he actually reminds me a bit of Grant, now that I think about it. At first, he comes off sort of like a douchebag, but then if you stick around for a nanosecond longer, you see he’s actually a great guy. He would literally give you the shirt off his back. He did that for me once at a frat party after some dude puked on me. When my grandfather had cancer, he somehow got him into a trial experiment and saved his life. He pulled strings and got me into business school after I missed a deadline because my dad had a heart attack. He’s a great guy. He just, honestly, I think he’s afraid of the world outside of the one he’s been raised in. He sees these little pockets of it, small glimpses, and it scares the shit out of him, so he never actually leaves the safety of his little box,” I say.
She laughs. “I guess he is sort of like Grant then,” she muses as she sips more wine.
“So, you see, we have to save him from Maggie Mayhem,” I say.
She nearly chokes on her wine. “Maggie Mayhem?” she says.
“Yep, that’s what Harrison called her when he told me Lee was dating someone,” I say with a laugh.
“Oh, Harrison probably knew her. I mean their families run in the same circle,” she says, tapping that lip again. She pauses and looks at me. “Tell me about yourself.”
I pause, taking a big drink of wine, buying myself time. She’s clearly from more money than I am.
“Well, my family is pretty boring. My parents work at a high school and my younger sister, Kaley, is also a teacher. I’m in PR,” I say.
“That doesn’t sound too different than mine. Except we’re all lawyers other than my mom who is a professor,” she says.
“Why do you think their grandmother is such a—”
“Bitch?” she adds, finishing my sentence.
“Yeah,” I agree.
She shrugs. “I don’t know really. I mean, I’m not sure. Did you ever meet Lee’s grandfather?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“That’s a shame. He was a really nice guy. Like the exact opposite of his grandmother. I only met him a few times before he passed away,” she says with a sigh.
“Too bad that beotch is in charge of the family money,” she adds.
“So, why is that? Don’t wealthy families have clauses so bitchy dictators don’t take over?” I ask.
She giggles. “Well, I think that bitchy dictatorette, specifically got a codicil to the will so that she could rule her little universe…” She trails off and looks out to the ocean. It’s like her mind just took a sharp left turn.
I wave my hand in front of her face. “Earth to Reagan,” I say softly.
She snaps back to attention and shakes her head. “Sorry…I was just thinking,” she says.
“About?” I prod.
“Well, wondering really. You see my grandfather would have been the one to write the wills, which makes me wonder if we have copies at the firm. Well, not my firm, my grandfather’s firm. I left there to go do environmental law, but my dad and brother are still there…” She trails off again.
“What’s got you so deep in thought over there?” I ask.
She pulls out her phone and sends a text message.
“I’m just curious about something is all,” she says with a grim smile.
“Let’s not talk about these debacles anymore tonight,” she says, placing her phone on the table. “I need a distraction.” She looks over at me, and I squirm in my seat so she doesn’t notice my hard-on.
“Any suggestions?” I ask.
She pauses, and giggles again. I notice she’s downed half the bottle of wine on top of whatever else she’s had tonight.
“Why don’t I get you some water, my little coup leader?” I suggest, and I walk into the room to find the water.
I hear her come in behind me and head up the stairs.
“I’ll meet you up top,” she says.
I groan as I’m pretty sure, I’m about to be a babysitter.
I march up the stairs, and when I reach the patio I stop. My mouth drops open at the sight of a very naked Reagan in the hot tub.
“Come on in,” she says, patting the water.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” I ask her.
“Don’t be a party pooper,” she says with a pouty face.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath as I set her water down on the ledge next to her. I can’t help noticing how her perfect breasts bob in the water. She is playing with fire.
I strip down to my underwear and get in the steaming hot water. It’s cooled down a bit outside, so it doesn’t actually feel bad.
“Exactly how much time do you spend at the gym every day?” she asks as she un-bashfully stares at my abs.
I laugh. “About an hour every morning,” I tell her.
“Ohhh, you’re one of those people,” she says.
“What does that mean?” I ask her.
“They say really successful people work out first thing in the morning,” she states.
“So, do you work out?” I ask.
She splashes water at me and laughs. “No,” she says.
I look at her body. She has to work out. She is way too fit to not work out.
I give her a look. She giggles, and starts swimming around the hot tub, coming dangerously close to me. Yeah, she’s that small that she can actually doggy paddle in the damn hot tub.
“OK, I work out sometimes, but not every day,” she says, sticking her tongue out at me. She has no idea what I want that tongue to do. A million and ten dirty thoughts go through my head. And yet the gentleman in me, says, “don’t do it, she’s drunk.”
“So why don’t you have a boyfriend? I mean a real one,” I ask her.
She stops trying to swim around the hot tub and looks at me. Her eyes clear of the alcohol for a moment. She almost looks sad.
She shrugs. “Not sure,” she answers. “What about you?”
“I was seeing someone, but it didn’t work out,” I say.
She looks at me. “I don’t think I’ve dated the right type of guys. They either don’t want me enough, or they want me too much, you know what I mean?” she asks.
“I guess so,” I say, pondering her statement.
“I mean. You have to be evenly matched, right? You have to both be really into each other but not like stalkerish, at least not in a creepy way,” she says. She cocks her head to the side. “So, was your last girlfriend too much of a stalker, or not enough of one?”
I laugh. “Too much of one, I think. She was really clingy and very jealous. I really liked her, but the relationship was just too toxic,” I explain, trying to avoid the subject of my cheating ex.
“Yeah, mine wasn’t clingy enough. He slept with his sister’s best friend, who happens to be my cousin’s wife,” she says with a huff. “That made for an interesting family holiday.”
“Christ, sorry,” I mutter.
She shrugs again. “That was months ago. Honestly, I’ve been pretty busy with work, so it’s all good,” she says, making the last word go on a little too long.
“Truthfully?” I ask. She looks up at me. “My ex slept with my former boss and I found them in our bed together.”
She grimaces. “You win. Damn,” she says, giving me a look of sympathy.
“I think we should get you out of the tub, little stalker. Let’s go,” I say as I grab one of the towels on the table next to the tub. I hold it out for her, trying to avert my eyes as she takes my hand and gets out of the tub. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sneak a peek. And damn, is she perfect. She has perfect curves, and I want to trace every single one of them. I wrap the towel around her. She shivers as a cold breeze whips in from the ocean. I pull her against me, trying to rub the towel so her skin dries. She clings to me for a moment.
“Let’s get you inside. It’s a little chilly out here tonight,” I murmur in her ear. She nods and allows me to guide her back downstairs. She whips off the towel and climbs into bed, pulling up the blanket, thank God!
I hand her a water and make her drink some of it. I turn down the lights and crawl into bed next to her, trying to stay on one side, but she ruins my plans by rolling over and snuggling against me. The only article of clothing separating us is my still damp underwear. I really want to take them off, but I don’t trust myself to be naked.
She’s just curled up when I hear her breathing slow. She’s passed out already. Her hand is on my chest, next to her face, her legs curled up against mine. She’s literally made herself into a tiny ball huddled against my side. For reasons I can’t explain, I press a kiss to the top of her head and fall fast asleep with her in my arms.
Chapter 9
Reagan
The light. I groan. It’s so fucking light outside! It’s like the sun’s rays are penetrating my eyelids and searing my brain, which kills by the way.
I’m so distracted by the light, that I don’t even notice that I’m curled around Grant. Poor guy!
I open one eye and freeze.
It. Is. Not. Grant.
“Good morning, my little stalker. How are we feeling?” Zach asks, a smirk on his face.
I rub my head and try desperately to piece together the events of the prior night. Club, bathroom, Maggie, dancing, drinking, Grant spilled the secret or was it me, and then back here…and then it’s foggy.
It’s as I’m contemplating the fog that’s settled over my memories of the evening that I realize, I am completely naked, like full-birthday-suit, no-clothes, not-even-my-underwear naked.
I pull the cover up over my body and peel myself away from Zach’s heat. I can feel my cheeks turning pink.
“How…did we…why…” I am at a total loss for words.
Zach grins. “You don’t remember last night, do you?” he asks.
I shake my head, not able to meet his gaze, I look at his perfect abs.
A hand comes toward my face. He places one finger under my chin, forcing my head up and my gaze to meet his.
“We didn’t do anything. I promise. We came back here. Shared a bottle of wine. You decided to skinny dip in the hot tub, and then you passed out,” he says.
I put a hand to my mouth. “Oh God! I’m so sorry! I’m not usually like that, well, at least not with people I don’t know. It must be the heat here,” I say, scrambling to explain myself.
“It’s alright,” he says.
“Wait, why are you here?” I ask, sitting up and looking around the room.
“Well, uh, Grant and Harrison…needed some alone time,” he starts.
I groan. “OK, enough said,” I say as I raise my hand to stop his explanation. I pull the sheet with me as I stand up.
There’s a knock at the door. I glance at my phone. It’s only seven in the morning. There’s no way that Grant is up yet. Especially if he was drunk and hooking up last night.
I creep over to the door and peek through the peephole. Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Grandma Satan!
I turn and plaster myself against the door.
“Who is it?” Zach asks.
“Grandma Satan,” I mouth.
“Who?” he asks louder. I run over to him, letting the sheet fall as I straddle his body and place a hand over his mouth.
“Grant? It’s Grandmother. Open this door at once. I need to talk with you,” she says loudly.
Zach’s eyes go wide, and we stare at each other.
“Shit,” he whispers.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“One minute, Mrs. Pierce. Grant is just getting out of the shower,” I say loudly.
“Well, hurry up. I don’t have all day,” she retorts.
“What do we do?” I ask Zach.
He looks toward the balcony and picks up his cell phone.
“What?” I hear a voice say on the other line.
“We have a situation and Grant needs to get back in here now!” he whisper-yells.
I grab the phone. “Harrison, put Grant on now,” I say.
“What’s wrong, Reagan?” Grant asks.
“Your grandmother is at our door,” I tell him.
“What? My grandmother?” he asks, confused.
“Yes, Grandma Satan is waiting for you at the door,” I rephrase.
“Oh, fuck,” he says.
“I have an idea,” Zach says. “Tell Grant to rinse off and put on something of mine and then meet me on the balcony in five seconds.”
“Seriously, five sec—”
“Don’t argue, just do it,” Zach hisses into the phone. He pulls on a shirt of Grant’s and some shorts and walks out to the balcony. There’s a ledge between our two balconies. I toss on an oversized shirt and shorts and join him.
“You can’t be serious?” I state.
“Oh, I’m very serious. It’s the only way this will work,” he says. “Especially since you told Grandma Satan that Grant was in the shower,” he glares at me. “Really? You could have said he went to breakfast already.”
I roll my eyes. “First,” I h
iss, “Grandma Satan knows everyone’s whereabouts at all times. Second, everyone knows Grant never wakes before eight, ever. She would never have believed it.”
He sighs, as Grant appears on the balcony.
“Oh, fuck no,” he says, looking down.
“You can do this,” Zach says.
“Like fuck I can. I’m not Spider-Man,” he snarls.
“Fine, I’ll just go greet your grandmother. That shouldn’t be a—”
Grant raises a hand. “Fine,” he mumbles as Harrison helps him climb the railing. He manages to get on the ledge, but there’s nothing for him to grip except the flat wall. “I’m going to die. Or worse yet, I’ll fall and become a quadriplegic and be forced to live with my grandmother in her compound. Or even worse, they will amputate my leg and—”
“Grant, shut the fuck up and get over here, now,” I yell.
I look down and see some kids coming this way. “Hurry, before anyone sees you,” I add.
Grant manages to get over to our balcony, and Zach pulls him over the railing.
He clings to Zach for a moment, and then stands, brushes off his pants, and composes himself. Zach plasters himself to the wall, out of sight as Grant walks to our door.
“Good morning, Grandmother. So sorry to have kept you waiting,” he says as he opens the door.
“Good God, Grant. You can’t expect me to take you to breakfast wearing that. Go change and meet me in the lobby in five minutes. We have things to discuss,” she states and promptly walks away, but not before giving me an un-approving glare.
Grant closes the door and leans against it. “Christ, that woman is going to be the death of me,” he mutters.
A minute later, there’s yelling from outside. Grant and I rush over to the balcony. Harrison is trying to come over, but his shorts are caught on the railing and have pulled down so he’s mooning a group of teenagers.
“Hey, mister, take it all off!” a boy yells. “The girls are enjoying the show!”
“Be careful!” a girl yells out. “It’d be a shame to waste a perfectly good ass!”
Harrison sighs and manages to untangle his shorts and make it over to our balcony. The kids hoot and holler and applaud him. He takes a dramatic bow before turning around and mooning them.