by Cary Hart
“I don’t even know why I bother with you.” Vegas says as she snags me by the arm. “Now, let’s get you to the office. There’s a first-aid kit in there.”
Vegas
This is too much. First the fake wedding, then the fake kiss, and now fake foreplay. What’s next? A fake honeymoon?
The more time I spend with Grant Foster, the more I begin to think he’s not the egotistical asshole I thought he was. Actually, the more I think about it, Grant Foster is a selfless gentleman. Unorganized and impulsive, but a gentleman nevertheless.
I’m sure it’s just the blackout talking. Yeah, that has to be it. For sure. Life isn’t this still, and Grant is never this calm. He’s kicked into survival mode where your normal no longer works. So, you adapt and improvise. I’m his compromise.
This is what happens when people think the world is coming to an end. They’d rather knock on the pearly gates than stand in line for the pits of Hell.
What’s wrong with me? It’s just a blackout, not the end of the world. And Grant is just a normal guy I’m actually spending time with instead of avoiding. Maybe this has been him all along and I never gave him the chance to be anyone different.
“Are you okay over there?” Grant hollers out to me as I continue to search for the missing first-aid kit.
“Yeah.” I peek inside the closet. “What makes you think otherwise?” I turn around and see him standing there looking all ginormous and sexy.
Note: ginormous and sexy are two words you should never use together.
Great. He has me so out of sorts, I’m making a mental list of what I should and shouldn’t do around him.
“Well, you’re over there slamming things around.” He stands and begins to move this way. “Is something wrong?”
“Stay there!” I throw my finger in his direction.
“Hey now.” He furrows his brow. “I just want to help.”
See—a gentleman, and now, I’m the asshat.
“I’m sorry, Grant,” I plead with him. “I’m just frustrated I can’t find the stupid first-aid kit.”
“Well—” Grant tries to interrupt.
“No, please don’t come over here and try to save the day once again—”
“I’m not—” he tries to cut in, but I just hold up a finger and keep going.
“You’ve been doing that since you arrived, and now, I’m not even sure what my purpose is anymore. The reason I stayed is no longer a reason.”
“Vegas…” He says my name as if it has meaning. “It’s over here.”
“What is—?” I spin around to see Grant standing beside the desk, holding up the metal first-aid kit.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I cross the room, closing the distance between us. “Has it been over here all along?” I take it from his hands and motion for him to have a seat.
“No, I grabbed it from the bathroom when you grabbed a washcloth,” he says, as if I haven’t been searching for it for the past fifteen minutes.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” I open the makeshift kit, thankful for the full-size products inside, and hop onto the desk to sit in front of him.
“I thought you knew,” he tries to explain, but I just shush him and examine his finger.
Placing the clean towel over my lap, I pull out the clear bottle and sterile wipes. “This may burn a little.”
“I have a high tolerance for pain.”
“Really now?” I smirk as I pour a stream of the clear liquid into his wound.
Now, I’m just being a dick, and I’m not sure why.
“Holy shit!” he shouts.
“Interesting. A little less girlie this time.” I wink and pour more. He winces. “Keep this up and you may earn back your man card.”
“You know what?” He takes the bottle out of my hand and slams it on the counter. “I think I’m good.”
“You are?” My eyes go wide as he stands, his six-foot-something frame towering over me—a brick wall I suddenly find myself wanting to climb. I should hop down, but I don’t. I let his stare pin me in place.
“I am.” He lifts his injured finger. “See?”
“Um…yeah. Looks good.” I gulp.
This is where I should hop down. Excuse myself to check on our guests. But I don’t. I continue to sit there and punish myself by waiting for his next move, because with Grant Foster, there is always a move. Oh! And what I said about a gentleman, I take that back.
“But…” He uses the same finger to push the hair that has fallen into my face out of my eyes. The heat of his touch sets my skin on fire. “How does it feel, Vegas?”
My body betrays me, and I lean into his touch. Words don’t need to be spoken. My actions say it all.
“Just imagine…” He begins to make me a promise of how good he could feel, or at least that’s what I tell myself, as someone knocks.
“Boss, we have a situation.” Mikey’s voice carries through the dark.
“Yes,” we both answer.
“Uh—I mean…” Mikey stumbles over his words.
“It’s okay, Mikey,” I say as I pat Grant’s chest to get him to back up, then hop down from the desk. “Grant will be right there.”
“Thanks, Vegas.” He waves as he turns and leaves.
“Come with me.” Grant holds out his hand. “Two heads are better than one.”
I want to take his hand, follow him out and show him we could work well together. That this silent competition has to end, but instead, I wave my white flag and let him win.
“Nah, you go ahead.” I fiddle with some papers on the desk, trying to busy myself. “Someone has to stay behind and find those missing batteries.”
Dropping his hand, he lowers his head and crosses the room, pausing when he gets to the door. He turns.
“Vegas—” His voice gravels out low, as if my name is some sort of secret.
“Yes,” I whisper back, hanging onto every word.
“I want to show you something when I get back.” His lips curve into a smile.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, and whisper, “I’ll be waiting.”
“I was hoping you would say that.” A smile tugs at his lips.
Me too.
I can’t stop smiling, and I’m so glad he’s not here to see it—to see how he makes me feel.
What if he wants to kiss me again?
I rummage through the drawers. I know I left a pack of mints in here last week. Hid is more like it. Apparently, Burt occasionally likes a mint after a smoke.
In my frantic, school-girl-crush searching, I knock over some papers. “Great!” I puff out as I scramble to pick up the loose sheets scattered on the floor.
Wait.
These aren’t just papers…they’re contracts. Title and deed kind of contracts. Life changing kind of contracts. My heart breaks a little as I rush to put them back right where he left them. Like he’ll leave me.
I wanted to be the girl that waited, but he didn’t give me a reason to stay and I have the proof right here.
According to these papers, I had every right to protect myself. He’s a selfish, greedy bastard, and if he cared about the One Stop Wedding Shop, he wouldn’t have done this. Hell, if he cared about anyone other than himself, this would have never crossed his mind, and if he cared about his grandparents, he wouldn’t have signed this.
“There you are.” Grant strolls in wearing a shit-eating grin. “You won’t believe what’s going on out there.”
I can’t respond. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll say something I regret. So, I stand there, trying to act like Grant Foster isn’t selling the rug out from underneath us—the One Stop Wedding Shop, our family.
“Couples are getting married,” he shouts out, “blackout be damned.” Grant lets out a laugh.
“That’s nice.” I get up, grab a candle and the bag of glo-sticks, then storm out.
I-I can’t. I can’t—listen to this. Now, all of a sudden, he cares about the business?
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“Where you going?” I can feel Grant behind me.
“I couldn’t find the batteries.” I give him a truth, even though it’s not the truth.
“That’s all right.” He keeps up with me, walking side-by-side down the hallway—an illusion of the partnership he pretends to build.
I can’t take it. “You know what?” I stop in my tracks and spin around, finger poking his chest. “It’s not all right. You should have followed the list.”
“Vegas…” he pleads. “Come on.”
“You may think this is a joke, that I’m some kind of a crazed OCD chick, but I’m not. Lists are not only important to me, but they were important to your grandmother, Grant. Attention to detail is what makes this place so special. Don’t you get that?”
“Vegas…”
“Don’t Vegas me. All your grandmother wanted was for love to be easy—” I wave my hand around, “and if you can’t understand that, then you don’t need all this.”
I don’t give him the chance to respond. I run.
I run down the hall.
Through the corridor.
Up the stairs.
“Whoa, kid, your britches on fire?” Dottie rasps as she steps out in front of me.
“Uh—no!” I try to look casual as I glance over my shoulder. “I was just on my way up here to look for more candles.” I take a step forward, hoping Dottie will let me pass.
“Not so fast, kid.” She grabs the bag of glo-sticks and rattles on. “Try suite seven. It’s locked and loaded.”
“There you are.” Grant runs up the stairs, doubling over, out of breath.
Dottie’s eyes bounce between the two of us.
“Safety in numbers.” Grant flashes her that ever-so-convincing million-dollar smile.
I want to wipe that lying smirk off his face, then give Dottie an earful about how their precious Jujube is a fraud.
“Humph—” Dottie huffs out. “Kid, you look as white as my left ass cheek.” She waves her candle in front of my face.
I push her hand away so she won’t see the tears. “Versus your right cheek?” I chuckle.
Grant snorts.
I shoot him a go-to-hell look. You don’t get to smile!
“Long story, kid,” she croaks out as she finally steps to the side.
I run past.
Grant follows.
“Make a note to ask her about that right cheek when the blackout is over,” I shout behind me. “Oh, wait—you don’t make lists.” I hold up a finger. “I’ll take care of that.”
I’m acting childish, and I just don’t care. He made his bed, and now he can lie in it—without me.
Was he ever in it with you?
“Vegas, tell me what in the hell I did. I don’t understand.” He races in front of me and blocks the entrance to the Honeymoon Hideaway.
Hands above his head, his shirt is pulled tight as he holds onto the frame. Normally, I would find this sexy as hell, but all I want to do is give him a right upper cut to his perfect abs. I don’t. That would be violent, and…well, I’m not that…yet, but I can be.
“Vegas, you have to give me something here. I’m clueless,” he says as he widens his stance. “You’re not going in ’til you talk to me.”
“Wanna bet?” I give him a daring smirk and reach up.
“What are you doing?” He eyes me—watching.
Keeping a hand on a candle, I place the other on his chest and let it roam.
“Vegas…” His heart thumps under my fingers.
Exploring a path, testing my touch, I wait…until I see the twitch. Then, I dig in. He squirms and jerks around.
The torture tickle. It worked when I was five, and still works at twenty-four. Go me!
This is my opportunity. I duck and run right into the suite, trying to slam the door, but Grant catches it and calmly follows me in, locking it behind him.
“I’m going to ask you one more time.” He takes a step forward. “What’s going on?”
Okay, so maybe I didn’t think this through. Running seemed like the logical choice at the time. I mean, it’s a big building and we are in the middle of a blackout for Pete’s sake. Yet, instead of getting lost, I got trapped, in a room with the one person I didn’t want to find me.
“Does it even matter?” I shoot back.
“Yeah.” He throws his hands up, a laugh bubbling to the surface. “I want to know how things went from that—”
“There was no that,” I interrupt.
Grant tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, testing me to give in to the truth, but I won’t. I can’t.
“Is that what you think?” He runs his hand through his hair and settles it on the nape of his neck. “Because I know something was happening—is happening.”
Minutes ago, I would have craved this confession, but now, I want to forget it ever happened. Forgetting is easy. Forgetting—you can move on.
“You’re missing the big picture.” I step forward,
bringing us toe to toe. “This isn’t about me or us. It’s about family—my family.” I lift my head, and our eyes connect, his steely-blues confused.
Letting out a breath, he brings his hands up and places them on either side of my face, hovering—never touching. “I’m going to let you walk out right now, but don’t think for one minute this is over.” Grant drops his hands to his sides and steps out of the way.
Tears threaten to fall as I reach the door, never looking back. “It was over the moment you signed the papers.”
“The papers?” he whispers.
Reaching for the handle, I pause. I’m not sure if it was for him or me, but the time has passed and I need out. So, I turn it, but nothing happens.
“You locked me in?” I swing around.
“I didn’t.” He grabs a candle from the dresser and stands next to me while he fiddles with the lock. “It’s stuck.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Let me try.” I push him out of the way.
Kicking off my heels, I plant a foot on the door and pull with all my weight as I turn the knob.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Grant says from behind me.
“I’m not going to sit back and do nothing.” I pull again. “Gah! This won’t budge.” I straighten myself and smack the door.
“You know what?”
“What?” I swing around, ready to pounce. If he would have just let me be, I would have grabbed the candles and been out of here.
Grant reaches into his tuxedo pants.
“You have a master key?” I shout with a little more excitement than necessary.
“No, but that would have been good.” He pulls out a wad of papers and throws them on the table.
“Are those?” A question lodges in my throat as I stare at what appears to be every list I’ve given Grant.
“I know it’s here somewhere.” He searches for a certain one. “Ah! Here we go.” He flips it around.
Wedding – name list
Reception for Saturday (email band)
Change lock on Suite 7
Order batteries
“That’s the list I gave you.” I snatch it from his hands. “The one with the batteries and—”
“The locks,” he confirms.
My eyes widen, and I yell, “Yooouuu!”
“In my defense. You gave me a lot—of—lists.” Grant laughs, flashing me his pearly whites.
“You find this funny?” I throw the piece of paper on the desk and pick up all the other ones he chose to ignore. “If you weren’t going to read them, why take them?” I begin to straighten and stack them up. “You know what? I don’t want to know the answer.” I push them off to the side and make a mental list to go through them tomorrow.
“Okay,” he simply agrees, then walks over to the window, opening the curtains. “Holy shit.” He stands there, mouth hanging open. “Come here.”
Crossing the room, stopping right next to him. We both stare out the window in amazement as we realize the only light is
from the cars passing by. “You know what?” I look up at Grant, who is already staring down at me.
“Hmm?”
“I bet the guy who runs the power forgot to check his
list.” I reach up and pat his chest, flashing him a coy smile, satisfied.
“Good one.” Grant shakes with a silent laugh.
“Now what?” I plop down onto the bed, a little tired from the early morning I wasn’t expecting.
“Well—” the mattress dips, and Grant is suddenly too close, “we honeymoon.”
I should be angry, I think to myself as my lids fall closed. I shouldn’t feel so comfortable, but I am. It shouldn’t be so easy with him. But it is.
I’m too confused to process what it all means, thankful not to be alone. So, I lie with my newly appointed enemy. I might have my eyes closed, but my heart isn’t, and that scares me more than anything.
We agreed to a truce. He wanted to know what was bothering me, and I didn’t want to talk about it. Since it wasn’t fair—his words, not mine—we decided on a simple understanding—for now.
“Aghhh!” I throw myself back on the bed. Grant does the same. “This can’t be happening.” I roll my head to the side.
“The blackout or being locked in the honeymoon suite?” He grins, and I can’t help but notice a little dimple on his left cheek, hiding beneath his beard.
“Both,” I admit, silently eyeing Grant. “I never noticed that before.” I reach out and touch the subtle indention with the tip of my finger. “It’s just tucked behind all this fur.” My lips begin to turn up in a slow smile.
“Fur—” Grant laughs, reaching up, grabbing my wrist. “This is better than fur.” He takes the back of my hand and rubs it all over his thick facial hair. By the looks of it, it’s only a month or so old.
“Stop!” I try to pull back. “My skin is sensitive.”
“There were no complaints this afternoon.” A grin spreads over Grant’s face, wide and knowing. “See…” he flips my hand over, “oh—well. I guess…” he examines the sudden redness, “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“This afternoon, you weren’t running my face through your fur, beard, or whatever you want to call it.” I sit back up, and Grant follows. “Are we playing a game of Simon Says? If we are—you lose.” I fight back a smile. “Because I didn’t say Simon Says.”