There was nothing to get excited about. Even though Grant looked better in a pair of cargo pants than any man legally should. The trimmed beard gave him a movie-star quality too, although she looked forward to it growing out to the wild-hermit vibe he’d had when they’d met.
She looked forward to it? God. No. She would have to admire him through the colorful panes of the antique door that would forever separate their lives, for the better.
Until he moved out in a few months and then she’d never see him anywhere.
“Ian told me about you,” Ken continued. “It’s great to meet you. Come up to the house some weekend soon. We barbecue most Sundays in the summer.”
“Thanks, sounds great,” Grant said. “I’ll bring a tri-tip. Unless you’re vegetarian, in which case I’ll bring a tri-tip but plan on eating it raw.”
“After all that time in the wilderness,” Trixie said, “you must be dying for hot food. In a few minutes they’ll be serving lunch. Bet you don’t get many enchiladas in the woods.”
“Only reconstituted with filtered stream water,” Grant said. “Somehow it’s not quite the same.”
“I’m sure Jane will get used to it,” Trixie said, smiling at both of them before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Christ,” Jane muttered.
“It’s not bad with Tabasco,” he said. “They make those teeny-weeny bottles that are really cute.”
Ken was grinning at both of them, so Jane strode into the next room. It was a conspiracy.
Billie and Ian sat on a couch under the front windows, opening a present with their half sisters Holly and Rachel, both in their early twenties. Holly looked like Ken, tall with brown curly hair and glasses. Rachel was more like Karen, fair-skinned and full-figured. They both had beautiful voices, and the two were working on putting together a podcast about artisanal cheese in Sonoma County. Which was why they still spent a lot of time at home, since the profits hadn’t materialized yet.
Unlike everyone else, Holly and Rachel took no particular interest in Grant. They greeted him politely, hugged Billie and Ian, and then ran off to join the rest of the party.
“Free food and alcohol,” Billie said. “They’re not stupid. It might run out before they’ve had as much as they can cram in.”
“Grant, nice to see you again.” Ian rose and held out his hand.
“It is?” Grant asked, taking it.
“Yeah, of course. Thanks for coming to this thing. Don’t feel like you guys have to stay. Just grab some fajitas and take off if you want. Billie and I would if we could.”
“I wouldn’t,” Billie said, “but that’s because everyone is giving me stuff.” She held up a yellow baby blanket wrapped with a white satin bow, which Jane had bought in a Rockridge boutique for an absurd sum of money.
“I meant to give you that in person,” Jane said. “How’d you get it? Where—”
“You guys must’ve dropped it in the driveway,” Billie said. “Luckily, it had my name on it.” She hugged the blanket to her cheek.
“I’m sending the wedding gift separately,” Jane said.
“You don’t have to give us anything.” Ian took the blanket from Billie, handling it with as much gentleness and appreciation as she had.
“Sure I do.” Jane kissed Billie, waved at Ian, and had the overwhelming desire to find a dark room and take a nap. Too many emotions were swirling around. She didn’t like feeling so much. It led to trouble.
“You know, Jane, maybe we could take off after we eat,” Grant said, rubbing his temple. “I’m not feeling great.”
What? Jane gave him a narrow-eyed warning glare.
“That’s too bad,” Ian said—with a grin. “Headache?”
Grant pointed at him. “Yes. That’s it exactly. I have a headache.”
“You don’t have a headache,” Jane said.
“Take a platter of fajitas with you,” Ian said. “I had them send extra.”
“Chips too?” Grant asked.
“Oh, yeah.” Ian slapped him on the shoulder. “Grab a bag. Whatever you want.”
Jane snapped. Everyone around her was so happy about Jane getting some with the cute hiker guy when she wasn’t actually getting some, and why should they be so happy, anyway? It was insulting, as if they were relieved, as if they’d thought without Grant she would’ve been flirting with Ian, reminding him of the good old days, which were definitely not good because she’d then had to sleep with every guy in college to convince herself she was attractive, because he hadn’t.
Maybe they thought no man would.
Maybe she needed to go out for some air before she made a scene and ended up on Facebook.
Maybe now.
She leaned over and kissed Billie on the top of her head. “You’re beautiful and I love you. Congratulations to you both.” Then she turned and walked out the front door, down the steps, and thought about looking for the three-legged dog that liked to eat his own poop.
When she didn’t find him, which for some stupid reason made her want to cry, she kept walking until she was in the road with the parked cars and a pair of cyclists. She kept going, and at the corner, she got out her phone and requested a ride, even though she didn’t know where she was going.
Grant followed Jane out the door, not surprised to see her march down the driveway and keep going. He hung back, giving her space, but he wanted to catch her and apologize. He’d embarrassed her in a stressful situation. Not cool of him. All day he’d been trying to figure out how to turn flirting into reality, and he’d probably ruined what little chance he had with his lame attempt at humor.
Although he hadn’t been joking. He’d wanted to take her home, as much for her sake as for his. The party had been making her miserable.
At the end of the driveway, he took out his phone and hailed a ride. The app asked if he’d like to share with another person and save a few pennies. Why yes, yes he would.
Funny thing: the car, a crimson Mazda hatchback, picked him up first.
He and the driver confirmed who they were to each other, and they continued down the road. When they reached the corner, where Jane stood with her arms wrapped around herself, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
Because of the tinted rear windows, she didn’t see him until she opened the door.
“Hi,” Grant said.
She swore. And then didn’t get in. “How?”
“You didn’t specify single rider,” Grant said.
Stepping back, she began to close the door. “I will next time.”
“Wait,” Grant said, reaching for his own door.
“Dude, don’t be a stalker,” the driver said. He was about ninety-two years old and had more hair than Grant. He raised his voice to address Jane. “Would you like me to call the police?”
Grant froze in his seat. “I’m not a stalker.”
“No, never mind, we’re going to the same place.” She got in and slammed the door.
“You sure?” the driver asked.
“He lives at my house,” Jane said. “If he’s a stalker, I chose poorly. But what else is new?”
The driver put the car in gear and began driving.
Jane took off her hat and smacked it against the back of the seat in front of her. “I don’t need your help.”
“I know,” Grant said.
“The only thing I need is enough money to live alone where I won’t be bothered by people who think I can’t be happy alone.”
“Money doesn’t solve as many problems as you might think,” Grant said.
“Solves a lot of them though,” the driver called out.
“Thank you,” Jane said. She leaned forward. “You have a very nice car.”
The driver flashed a peace sign. “The womenfolk like it.”
She leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. “I should’ve gone to the party by myself.”
This wasn’t how Grant had hoped the day would unfold. He wasn’t sure where he’d gone wrong.
&n
bsp; “If I’d gone alone,” she continued, “nobody would’ve gotten the wrong idea.”
“I’m sorry if I made things worse for you.”
She rolled her soft hat into a tube, smoothed it out, rolled it again.
He looked outside for a good spot to stop the car. “There’s still time. I’ll get out right here, and you can go back.”
“No, I’m going home.” She pulled the hat over her head again, not realizing she’d put it on inside out. The tag unfurled in front like a dog’s tongue.
“Mind if I come with you?” he asked quietly.
She turned her head, met his gaze. The inside-out brim hung down, blocking one eye. “You know what bugged me the most?”
The urge to readjust the hat was too strong to overcome. He reached up and unblocked the view of both her beautiful eyes. “What?”
They looked at each other. She turned back to the window. “That they’re so relieved.”
Grant let out an exaggerated snort. “That’s not it.”
“Excuse me?”
“I think you’re forgetting who it is they were so happy to see you with. This isn’t about you. It’s about me.”
“It that so?” She gave him an incredulous—yet amused—look.
“Exactly. I’m a famous author. They were caught up in the fame glow.” He stroked his chest. “I’ve seen it before.”
“Have you?”
“Oh yes. Serious people become giddy, so amazed to be in the presence of a genuine celebrity.”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile. The hat had fallen back over her eye. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I could tell. I’m glad I could set you straight.”
The driver had gone up to Skyline to make the short trip to Jane’s house, and they were almost there. They didn’t speak through the hairpin turns and vertigo-inducing drop-offs into the eucalyptus groves.
At the house, the driver wished them well, flashing another peace sign as he pulled out.
Jane got to the door first, hat still perched inside out on her head, the tag rustling in the breeze off the bay. “Thanks,” she said. “I’m sorry you didn’t get any food.”
“Luckily, there are thirty-seven Chevys Fresh Mex locations throughout the United States, mostly in Northern California.” He reached over her head and held the door for her. “I won’t have to wait long.”
“You had that memorized?”
“Since yesterday when I looked it up on Wikipedia,” he said.
They went inside, took off their shoes, and paused in the small chamber between the four doors—the front door, the bathroom door, his bedroom door, and the Trixie door, as he called it.
He didn’t make any move toward his own. He hoped she couldn’t see the sweat breaking out on his upper lip.
“It’s just that they’re happy for me, but they shouldn’t be,” she said.
“Why not?”
“They think I’m having a some kind of undefined, irresponsible fling with a random guy renting a room in my house,” she said.
“Really?” he said. “How bizarre.”
“No, no, you don’t get it. They think I’m having a great time. They think I’m finally enjoying myself.”
He took her purse out of her hands and set it on the hall table. “Aren’t you?”
The afternoon light shone through the stained glass behind her, giving her a rose-gold aura. Her lipstick had worn off, but her natural lips were even more beautiful.
“No,” she said, and her low voice made every hair on his body stand on end.
“Let’s work on that,” he said, ripping the hat off her head.
20
Jane had never thought she was capable of being swept away. For one, she was strong, heavy, and had enjoyed three years of self-defense training. And secondly, she just wasn’t the type. Being intelligent, rational, and disciplined had gotten her far in life. She hated the pressure to giggle and blush and pretend to be an idiot to attract romance-minded males. College was different—everyone slept with whomever, and personality (or anything else) hadn’t been an issue. But in the adult world, she’d struggled to find men who looked at her that way.
The way that Grant was looking at her right now, as he pushed the sleeve of her dress off her shoulder and began caressing her collarbone with a fingertip.
“What are you doing?” She didn’t mean it rhetorically. She seriously wondered what he was going to do. Another kiss that went nowhere? Some heavy petting in the hallway? True love?
Her mind shied away from that. This wasn’t about love. They liked each other, which was nice, but right now this burning, sweaty madness engulfing them was about sex.
He bent down and kissed her throat—just off center where she could feel her pulse racing. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but we can’t do it here.” She tipped her head to one side to expose more of her neck, just like a maiden with a vampire.
Christ. She couldn’t think in those terms. Or was it kind of kinky and she should just go with it? No, not her thing. The idea that he had razor-sharp canines that were about to pierce her skin and she was going to start spurting blood like a horror movie—
Total turnoff.
“Jane?” He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. “Are you OK?”
One problem with a well-developed brain was it tended to keep churning along even when it was supposed to take a hike.
“Keep doing that,” she said roughly, pushing his face back to her neck.
Her brain would have to get in the back seat and stop trying to drive everything. From a distance, it could notice the intense pleasure tingling through her body when his lips were sucking and moving around over one of her favorite erogenous zones. But her brain was not in the driver’s seat. It was a quiet, impartial observer. Strapped in like a nonverbal, powerless infant who had absolutely no say in where Daddy was driving his Rover.
Oh Christ, was he Daddy? That was so gross. Her brain simply couldn’t sit passively by while she made disgusting analogies.
She was the driver, he was the hot hitchhiker, and the baby was actually a laptop she’d shut down and stowed in her briefcase in the trunk.
“My place or yours?” he asked, sliding his hand down her arm and capturing her fingers in his. He had big hands, rough and strong.
“Are we really doing this?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Just checking. I didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusions. Maybe you thought we were going to kiss and order piz—”
His mouth came down over hers, snuffing out her babbling. Appreciating the assistance, she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. As she licked the inside of his mouth, brushing her chin across his bearded chin, the laptop-in-the-trunk that was her brain seemed to get further and further away, like it wasn’t even in the same car. Not even on the same road.
“My place,” she said, panting. The antechamber was high in temperature and low in oxygen. She felt around her hips for her keys—not wearing pants, this was a dress, right, and her keys were in her purse which was over there—
Hands shaking, she fumbled with the clasp on her purse and got the door key into the lock while Grant came up behind her and found her breasts. Found wasn’t quite right. He didn’t seem to be confused about where they were; his hands landed directly on top of them without hesitation.
She tilted her head back on his shoulder and licked his bearded jaw, unable to continue the journey without a small pit stop. More car analogies. Only now they were on a raceway. Going very fast. Very dangerous. People could get hurt.
“Jane,” he moaned, running his hand down her abdomen, her upper thighs, back up again.
Motivated to continue, she pulled out of his reach and pushed open the stained glass door to her side of the house. From the open window in the kitchen came cool air and birdsong, reminding her it was only midafternoon. Hands fumbling with each other’s clothes, they tr
ipped over each other’s feet getting to the end of the hallway. To her bedroom.
“This is just for fun,” she said, reaching behind her back for the zipper. “I’m going to have fun. We’re going to have fun. Sex is fun.”
“Christ, you’ve got great tits,” he said, sliding his hand under her gaping dress and bra.
“Tit” was not her favorite word. “Thanks, but I’ve never liked—”
He interrupted her vocabulary lecture with skilled stimulation of her ti— her nipple, gently rolling it between his fingers until it was hard as the protective metal case of a laptop locked in the trunk of a car, far, far away from here, utterly forgotten.
His other arm caught her around the waist and pulled her to him, his mouth crushing against hers, his tongue pushing between her teeth and sliding over hers in a wet, hot dance.
They were still in a hallway. And he was still wearing pants.
She flattened her palms against his chest and dove into the pleasure of kissing him. She caught up handfuls of his shirt in her fists to pull him lower where she could reach more of his face. She wanted to slow down and savor his warm body and the hard curve of his jaw and then unbutton his shirt carefully, controlled and controlling.
But she was too excited and wanted too much right away to go slowly and carefully. There was no illusion of control.
“My bedroom”—she said between kisses—“over there.” Their faces were pressed together, the house around them a blur.
“There?” He seemed to gesture to the family room, which her grandmother had filled with hoarded objects going back decades. It was empty now of everything but her desk and a sofa.
No bed.
Shaking her head, blindly unbuttoning his shirt, she tugged him around the corner to her bedroom. “Here.” She shoved the shirt over his shoulders and smiled. “Ah.”
“Your turn.” He spun her around, unzipped her dress all the way down, and pushed the fabric over her hips. She kicked out of it, realizing only then that she wasn’t wearing a sexy designer thong but a well-worn pair of Spanx, in beige, with a blueberry-sized hole on her left butt cheek. Well, it had been blueberry-sized that morning. With all the groping about, it had probably expanded to a plum, maybe even a peach or a single-serving watermelon.
Going Wild Page 14