by Annie Rains
Val nodded. “Okay. Do you think Trooper will be okay with Sweet Cheeks?”
“Oh, yeah. Trooper loves other dogs. He’s an old softy.”
Val lifted her shoulders, fidgeting. She suddenly didn’t know where to put her hands. In her pockets, in front of her, one hand holding the other? All she really wanted to do with her hands was run them over Griffin’s muscled arms, so tight she could probably bounce things off them. She wanted to trace her fingers over the tattoos that could only be halfway seen under his black T-shirt. Some chains. An eagle.
“What?” Griffin was watching her with knowing eyes.
“N-nothing. Of course, you can go get your dog. I’ll watch Sweet Cheeks. Are you hungry?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t heard her blaring thoughts.
“I was just about to have a sandwich before you called, actually,” he said.
“A sandwich? I can make you a sandwich.”
He laughed as he stood to walk toward the door. “No, you can’t. I’m what people call a sandwich snob.”
Val cocked her head in question.
“I’m picky about what goes between my bread.”
And somehow that sounded strangely sexual to her. She was definitely an embarrassment to the term “preacher’s daughter.” No wonder her father’s expression always looked pinched when he was addressing her. “Okay. Well, can I get you something else? Do you like pizza? I ordered pizza yesterday.”
“Cold pizza sounds great. And I’ll take that beer you offered, too,” he said.
“Great. What good would cold pizza be without beer?” she asked.
Griffin smiled, slow and easy. “My kind of girl,” he said before slipping out into the dark night.
Her heart thumped around in her chest as she waited for his return. Get a grip, girl. He was only here to care for the dog she’d nearly just killed. That was all. And thanks to her negligence, there would be no writing tonight. Or tomorrow since she’d be cooking for the Martins and then spending the evening caring for their nine-month-old daughter while they packed for their move to Virginia. And there’d likely be no writing after getting home tomorrow because nothing killed the muse like changing dirty diapers.
She pulled the pizza out of the fridge and grabbed two paper plates. Her plan tonight had been to have ice cream for dinner—not the healthiest, but sometimes life called for it. Sweet Cheeks had nixed that plan, though. Val grabbed two beers and brought them over to the coffee table in front of the couch. Alcohol might calm her nerves, she hoped, turning as Griffin walked back in with his German shepherd. The sight of the big gray-and-black dog made her heart skip in a different way.
“Big softy,” Griffin reminded her, seeming to read her mind.
“Right.” Val stood as Griffin led Trooper toward her and Sweet Cheeks. With an excited wag of his tail, Val’s heart was won over. “Hey, there,” she said, reaching out her hand.
Trooper sniffed her for a moment, then glanced up at Griffin as if asking permission.
“Go ahead,” he said with a laugh.
Trooper’s tongue lapped over Val’s skin and she grinned.
“Lie down,” Griffin said then.
Trooper followed orders, lying on the floor beside the couch. His gaze moved to Sweet Cheeks leaning against the armrest of the sofa.
“I’m going to go wash my hands before eating,” Val said. She pointed at the coffee table. “That’s yours.”
She washed up and headed back to her plate. “Why aren’t you eating?” she asked, noticing that Griffin had sat, but still hadn’t taken a bite of his pizza.
“Waiting for you.”
Val sat beside Sweet Cheeks, careful not to disturb her. “Aww. That’s nice. I never would’ve pegged you as a gentleman.”
“Why?” he asked, picking up his slice of pizza.
“I don’t know.” She lifted a shoulder, taking note of his arms again.
“Because I have tattoos?” he asked.
Val’s mouth fell open until she caught him smiling. “This is a military community. Lots of people have tattoos. But you also drive a motorcycle, wear dark sunglasses, rarely crack a smile. Your whole look screams badass. So, yes,” she admitted. “All of those things are in direct opposition to what a gentleman looks like in my book.”
Griffin bit into his pizza. She took a bite of hers, too.
“I see. Well, you should never judge a book by its cover,” he said. “My mother was very high on manners when I was growing up. Treating a lady well was very important to her.” He set his pizza down and reached for his beer. “And she didn’t approve of tattoos or motorcycles, which is why I got them. At least at first.”
Val understood. She’d done a lot of things her father disapproved of, sometimes solely because she knew he didn’t like them. “Sounds like you love your mother very much.” Val glanced over to check on Sweet Cheeks, whose eyes were closed. Her little belly moved up and down as she breathed. “I’m sorry about what’s going on with her,” Val said, returning her attention to Griffin.
His eyes seemed to grow impossibly darker. “It’s life, right?” His tone sounded light, but his expression betrayed him.
“Right.” Val had seen a lot of people with Alzheimer’s while volunteering at the nursing home. It was a heartbreaking illness that no one should have to go through. And, in her experience, it was even harder for the family than it was for the person whose memory was fading.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, finishing off their pizza and drinking their beers.
Val glanced across the room and started giggling, softly at first and then she was clutching her side.
Griffin’s lips curved as he watched her. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. She and beer didn’t mix, that was all. It was good to melt away the tension and get her in the mood for writing, but sometimes in the presence of other people, it made her silly. Especially when there was a full-sized blow-up man-doll in the corner.
Dear God, she hoped Griffin wouldn’t notice. She had no clue how she’d explain the doll to him if he did. It’d been hard enough explaining the gift to her father.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. You’re laughing so hard you’re crying,” he observed.
This was true. Tears squeezed from her eyes. “I’m fine.” She blew out a breath, trying to collect herself. “Beer just gets me sometimes.”
“I see. So you’re not laughing about that blow-up doll in the corner?” he asked.
Heat smacked her upside the cheeks. “Doll?” Like she could play it off. She lived alone. It belonged to her. She had to own it. “It was a gift.”
His eyebrow hooked. “From who?”
“A friend. A friend who thinks I need a, um…”
“Man?” he asked, completing her sentence for her.
“Something like that.” This was embarrassing. Nikki would laugh hysterically about this when she recapped tomorrow. Why couldn’t she have sent a calendar of hot men instead? Something smaller and easier to hide from houseguests.
Val pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Well,” she said, standing and collecting their empty plates and beer bottles. “What shall we do while we wait for Sweet Cheeks to feel better?”
He shrugged. “We could come up with a new name for her. No respectable dog goes by a name like that.”
Val swept an unruly lock of her hair behind her ear. “Maybe we could call her Sweetie, for short. So she doesn’t get too confused.”
“You see?” He pointed at her. “You do know a little about dogs. They get attached to their names. It’s their identity.”
Val’s body oozed with gooey, mushy feelings. Best to continue toward the kitchen, toss the trash, and put as much space between her and Griffin as possible.
—
Griffin had “the dog” in his lap, tucked into the crook of his arm, and Trooper was curled up on the floor underneath him.
Val had gone into her bedroom to change clothes and for the life o
f him he couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on in there. Discarding clothes. Looking for new clothes. Panties. Bras.
As he waited, he tried to force his thoughts onto something else, like how he was going to help his mother get better. Alzheimer’s was incurable, but people did improve, right? He’d read studies about it. His mother was the most overachieving person he knew. If someone would’ve told her she couldn’t, she would’ve been the first one to find the cure.
That was then, though. This was now. Now she needed his help. He’d left her alone for too many years. Alone to think he hated her for hiding his identity from him. He didn’t hate her. She’d done the best she could, and he knew that now. Now he was going to do the best he could for her.
Griffin tapped his fingers, listening to the sound of Val’s buzzing refrigerator. Then the little dog in his lap coughed and…
“Ugh!” He rolled quickly away from the dog and off the couch. “Gross, dude,” he said, looking at the large, wet puke stain on his shirt. He quickly assessed whether or not the puppy was dying. He wasn’t, so Griffin felt free to scowl. “I hope you feel better now.”
The dog’s tail thumped softly on the couch.
“Good.” He smiled despite himself. Then he began to peel off his puke-covered shirt.
Val’s bedroom door opened just as he balled up the shirt in his hands. She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze moving down the length of him. “What happened?”
“Sweet…uh, Sweetie…dog threw up. On my shirt.”
Val’s gaze fell to the wadded shirt in his hands, then moved back up to his chest and stayed there. It made his body come alive. Every part of his body.
Damn. Preacher’s daughter, my ass.
“She’s fine. Her tail wagged a little bit, so I think she’s actually feeling a little bit better.”
“That’s good.” Val nodded, finally looking at his face.
“Is it okay if I rinse my shirt in your sink?”
She stepped toward him. He noticed now that she was wearing thin pajamas. The satin fabric shimmered in the dim moonlight cascading through the window. “I’ll rinse it and throw it in the washing machine for you. Then I’ll drop it by to you tomorrow.” She reached out her hand and he placed the shirt there, trying not to notice her wandering gaze along his bare chest. He was flattered. Turned on, if he were honest.
He preferred lying to himself, though. At least when it came to women that he was attracted to. “Thanks.”
She took the shirt and walked toward the laundry room. He tried, and failed, not to check out her backside as she left. Getting to sleep tonight was going to be impossible, he suspected, thanks to Sweet Thing 1.
And Sweet Thing 2.
Chapter 6
The next morning, Val parked and started unloading the groceries she’d purchased. Cooking dinner for the Martins today wasn’t just time-consuming, it also took effort to go get the supplies and money to buy them. Balancing one bag on each hip, she headed toward the door and unlocked it. Her breath caught in her chest as she stepped inside and saw the blow-up man from the corner of her eye. Sweet Cheeks was curled in his lap. The little dog lifted her eyes to acknowledge Val’s presence, but her usual spunkiness was still at bay as she recovered from her ice cream overdose.
Val shut the door with her foot and continued toward the kitchen. After unloading her bags, she laid a small chicken in the refrigerator to cook after book club today. She’d also purchased vegetables to stir-fry with rice for the Martins. It was an easy favorite. “There.” With a glance backward at the blow-up doll again, she laughed, heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. Even though she hadn’t liked the idea of reading one of her Sophie Evans books to the ladies in book club at first, she’d warmed up to the idea. She rarely did book signings or readings, so it’d be great to see people’s real-life reactions to what she’d written.
After the shower, she coated her skin in lavender-scented lotion, pulled on a pair of soft denim jeans and a flowery cotton top with lace accentuating the scoop neckline. She pulled her dark hair into a low-hanging ponytail and swiped some pink lip gloss over her lips. Then she grabbed her bag with the Sophie Evans book inside and climbed back into her car. Her phone buzzed as she drove to the nursing home.
After checking the ID, Val pulled the phone to her ear and answered with a smile. “You’re so bad,” she told Nikki, laughing softly.
“So you got my present?” Nikki asked. “Did he help?”
“It depends on what you mean by help. My father was conveniently there when I opened the box.”
“Oops.” Nikki’s laugh was one of those low, raspy laughs. Val had never actually met her in person, but she imagined Nikki to look a lot like Jessica Rabbit with curves that made men fall at her feet. She read romance novels for a living, and had the mouth of a sailor and the voice of a sex kitten.
“And then Griffin saw it, too,” Val added, turning onto the road that led to Seaside Harbor.
“Griffin?” Nikki asked. “Who’s he? You’ve never mentioned his name before.”
“Just a guy.”
“Uh-huh. Inspiration-worthy guy?” Nikki asked.
Griffin’s toned arms and bare chest as he stood in her living room last night crossed Val’s mind. Yeah, he was inspiring all right. “Umm.”
“And he was in your house if he saw your doll,” Nikki pointed out.
No way was Val adding that he’d stayed the night, too. “He just came by to check on the dog that I’m caring for right now.”
“You’re a saint. How do you write such sinfully good romances?”
“Good question.” Because Val hadn’t experienced a sinfully good romance of her own in a long, long time. “Thanks for the present, though. Mr. Perfect will keep me company during my long nights of writing over the next few weeks.”
“Or maybe Griffin can keep you company during those long nights,” Nikki teased. “Listen, I have to go. Seriously, get writing. I don’t want to go begging for another deadline extension. Three times in six months doesn’t look good.”
“Agreed.” Even if Val had to produce a shitty first draft, she would write something just as soon as she got home from babysitting at the Martins’.
Ten minutes later, Val sat down with the eight ladies from book club and smiled, breathing easily for the first time that day.
“Did you bring chocolate?” Alma asked.
Val remembered Griffin’s reaction to his mother eating junk food the last time. He didn’t like it and claimed that his mother didn’t, either. “I brought healthy snacks this time,” Val said, pulling cheese sticks from her bag.
“I’m lactose intolerant,” one of the ladies told her.
Val had considered that when she was at the grocery store this morning. She also pulled out little boxes of raisins to pass around.
“Those stick to my dentures,” another woman said.
“Well, you can’t please everyone.” Val shrugged. Then she pulled the Sophie Evans novel into her lap. She loved the cover of this book. She also loved how her pen name was in large block letters. It was something she’d always dreamt about. Except no one recognized her real name, Valerie Hunt. That was okay. She’d decided a long time ago that was for the best.
“Everyone ready?” she asked, looking around at the expectant faces. Seeing several nods, she read the first line. She always suffered over the first line of one of her books. It was meant to draw the readers in and invite them to stay.
Val started to read. “Anything monumental that had ever happened in Alice’s life had happened in a torrential downpour. Alice held up her umbrella and bravely got out of her car, expecting the worst, but hoping for the best.”
Val glanced up quickly to see if the ladies were still interested. Surprisingly, all of the book club’s women were still watching her. None of them were tossing cheese sticks or raisins at her head.
Good. This is good.
Val continued reading. An hour later, she stopped and place
d a bookmark to hold their place. “We’ll read some more next time, ladies. Right now I’ve got food to start cooking.”
“Cook?” Alma frowned. “I always hated cooking.”
“Me, too,” Val said, nodding. She looked at Helen, who’d been listening to every word she’d said for the last hour. “What about you, Helen? Did you ever like to cook?”
Helen’s brow sank over her hazel eyes. She was younger than the rest of the women. Too young to be suffering from something like Alzheimer’s. Most people her age were still working, or easing into retirement and looking forward to enjoying their golden years with their children and grandchildren.
“I don’t know,” Helen said, looking very confused. “I like chocolate.”
It wasn’t an appropriate answer and Val wondered if Helen even remembered the question. “I like chocolate, too.”
The other women concurred.
“You should bring more of that next time instead of those healthy things you brought today,” Alma said. “We get enough foods like that from the cafeteria.”
“Right. I’ll think about it.” Val stood and pulled her bag over her shoulder. Most of the women could walk or wheel themselves back to their rooms. Helen, however, sat very still, just like she had every time since she’d started coming to the group. One of the nurses had suggested that the activity would be good for her. Helen enjoyed listening to people talk, but she wasn’t great at socializing anymore.
Val walked up behind her wheelchair and started pushing her, knowing she couldn’t remember how to get back to her room on her own. Helen was perfectly capable of walking, but she preferred sitting in a wheelchair. It eased her anxiety over not knowing what to do or where to go. The padded arms hugged her body and offered her a security that her memory was robbing her of these days.