Honeymoon Hideaway

by Hart, Cary

  Standing there, I look at him through his reflection and notice everything that is Grant Foster. He has the kind of face that would stop any woman in their tracks. Modest, yet sexy. Beautiful, yet rugged. He was a savage in a suits clothing. Any woman’s wet dream. A slim, athletic build has his button-down shirt clinging to his muscles. Sleeves now rolled up, showing off forearms of a man who isn’t afraid to work. I just wish he would unbutton a few more buttons so I can get a glimpse of what’s under there.

  “See something you like?” He startles me as he continues to gradually unbutton the shirt I was silently begging him to remove seconds ago.

  Caught red handed. My desired filled reflection showing me what I already knew. Hooded lids, slightly parted lips… wet from licking them. I’m horny and now Grant Foster knows it too.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I jump up.

  “Uh—going to shower.” He nods toward the bathroom.

  “That sounds sooo good right now,” I moan. “This wedding dress is ready to come off.”

  “Want me to help you with that?” He winks.

  “I’ll just wait until we get out of here.” I let my eyes scan

  the room. “I have nothing else to put on, and…well—”

  “It’s a honeymoon suite,” he cuts in. “The bathroom has matching robes.” He peeks his head into the restroom. “Yup. His and hers.”

  “I want to. I really do, but we have a room full of soon-to-be newlyweds downstairs. Did you forget?” I remind him.

  “So, you’re saying…” he holds out his arms, “you want them to join you?” He shakes his head. “If that’s your kink, then cool, but I’m going to fly this one solo.” Grant grins as he walks over to the dresser and snags up the lists.

  “Whatever.” I watch him as he heads back to the bathroom. “What are you going to do with those?”

  “Reading material,” he says without looking up and shuts the door.

  “Seriously!” I shout. “Turn on the fan!” I wince, realizing what I said.

  “Blackout!”

  Yeah, don’t remind me.

  He’s been in there for about an hour doing God knows what while I’m out here trying to figure out how we’re going to get out of this joint.

  I’ve tried picking the lock, banging on the door, screaming at the top of my lungs—all going unnoticed, even by Mr. Clean in there. We’re stuck in here until the blackout is over or someone notices we’ve gone missing. Perfect!

  He really shouldn’t have left me alone in here. I have nothing to do except lie here and think of all the ways I want to get even. I mean, I came up here for a reason: to get away from the man who was trying to sell the business out from underneath everyone. Not to come up here and play house.

  I shouldn’t have agreed to the truce. It’s not like it’s benefiting me. I have questions, and he’s the keeper of the answers.

  You wouldn’t talk.

  You were being childish.

  You ran.

  My subconscious is a bitch. Nagging little whore. How dare she defend his actions. I was the victim. Not him. I’m the one who caught feelings and ended up wounded. He just had a case of blue balls—which has probably been taken care of given how long he’s been in the bathroom. Jerk.

  There is nothing to do but stare at the ceiling covered in mirrors.

  I wonder how they clean that?

  You would think, for being in charge, I would be a little more familiar with these rooms, but I’m not. I’ve been up here a time or two, but Aunt Dottie is the one who took over the setup when Darla was put in the nursing home. The Honeymoon Hideaway was their creation, and for someone else to come in and take it over almost seemed like an invasion.

  The theme is slightly tacky, yet classic Vegas. Mirrors on the ceiling, a heart-shaped bed, red carpet—the only thing missing is the hot tub for two. This place even has its own vending machine of goodies, from chocolates to edible underwear. Plus, a grab-n-go cooler stocked with sparkling wines, cheeses, and fruits.

  I wonder what time it is?

  Sitting up, I scan the room for in search of anything, but nothing.

  “Grant!” I holler out. “Do you have your watch?”

  The bathroom door cracks open, and steam comes billowing out. “What did you say?” he calls back.

  “Your watch. Do you have the time?” I say as I sit and look at myself in the floor-length mirror, making faces. Boredom—it makes you do crazy things.

  “No, Kristen removed it during the shoot.”

  “Well, it sucks not knowing the time…” I yell. “There has to be someone downstairs that has one. Don’t you think?” I say as I continue to look in the mirror, squeezing my cheeks together.

  “Having fun over there?” I hear Grant before I see him.

  I swing my head over in his direction to give him what for, but as soon as my eyes find him, my jaw drops.

  Ladies and gentlemen, Grant Foster is standing in front of me, hair damp, towel hanging low, his body on full display, but as tempting as he is, it’s his face that has me mesmerized.

  His lips curve into a gentle smile. “Hey,” he says, tilting

  his head to the side. “What do you think?”

  What do I think?

  I think the beard was ruggedly sexy, but Grant clean shaven is a sight to behold. All wide, perfect grin—and now I can clearly see the dimple he has on one side.

  I think I love it. But I’ll never admit it. Just like he won’t admit why he really shaved it.

  “Why did you do that?” I ask, pretty sure I already know the answer. Cue the clenching of the thighs.

  “What?” Grant raises his chin and rubs his face. “You don’t like it?”

  “I do.” I quickly stand, but my foot is caught in my dress and I fall right off the bed onto my knees. “Ouch.” I roll over to my back.

  “Are you all right?” Grant is standing over me, but I refuse to open my eyes. “Take my hand.”

  “Fine.” I open my eyes and come face-to-face with not so little Grant. “Oh my God.” I point. “Your penis!” I shout, trying to back away, but hit my head on the dresser instead.

  “Penis?” He laughs.

  “What do you want me to call it? Cock?” I lie there, rubbing my head, refusing to open my eyes until he takes off the towel—scratch that—until he puts on something that will secure that thing into place.

  “Cock is good—or there’s dick, pecker, sex pistol, womb broom, prick, fuck truck…”

  “Fuck truck?” I open one eye to make sure it’s okay, then the other. “Do people really call it that?”

  “Just let me help you up.” He holds out his hand. “Keep your eyes up here.” He makes a V with his fingers and directs them to his eyes. “Got it?”

  “Got it.” Grant pulls me a little harder than necessary, and I collide with his chest.

  “Well, hello there,” Grant whispers as he lowers his head close enough I can feel his breath, but far enough I know he isn’t going in for the kiss. “You going to ask me again?” he dares.

  “Ask you what?” My breathing quickens.

  “Ask me why I did it?” His eyes pierce mine.

  No.

  I want to avoid the question to avoid his answer. Getting close means getting hurt. Especially, when I already saw our ending. His signature sealed that deal.

  I should ask him how and avoid the why altogether. Talk about the blackout, the suite, lists, the business—anything other than the man standing in front of me.

  My hands begin to sweat as my heart thumps to a new beat—a faster one. “Why did you do it?” I say the words, my voice barely a whisper.

  “So I could do this.” Grant lifts my hand to his face as he lowers his mouth to mine. The brush of his lips is gentle, soft. This kiss…it’s not a passionate one—it’s a promise of more, exciting all my senses.

  I want to take control, wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his body, but I don’t. I stand still and let him do ex
actly what he set out to do—to feel me feel him.

  Resting his forehead against mine, he breathes me in. “What are you doing to me?”

  I want to ask him the same. Tell him how he’s driving me crazy with his back and forth. That maybe there could be more if it weren’t for the sale of the One Stop Wedding Shop, but I don’t. I don’t ask for more because we can’t be more. So, I do what I do best: deflect.

  “Apparently, improving your personal hygiene.” I pull away and pat his cheek. “Lookin’ good, Foster, but I have to know, where did you find a razor?”

  Grant narrows his eyes and puffs out his cheeks. “Not the reaction I hoped for.” His smile tightens.

  “Just curious, I guess.” I shrug, stepping away. The distance is very much needed.

  “Well, if you must know,” Grant says as he pulls the robe over his body and secures it in place before dropping his towel. “There’s a shelf in there with these little kits.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Man-scape Miracle, Pop-dicle Paradise, Did I Shave My Legs for This, Midnight Munchies…and what was the last one? Oh yeah—Tori’s Not So Secret.” He lets out a crooked smile to match his crooked little mind.

  “Aunt Dottie.” The Tori’s Secret is a dead giveaway.

  “So, as you can tell, I used the Man-scape and took care of business.” He winks.

  “Oh!” I look down toward his nether regions.

  “Oh—no!” He frantically shakes his head back and forth. “I’m all good down there.” He smirks. “Didn’t you get enough of a view earlier?

  “Um—yeah, I didn’t see anything,” I lie.

  Grant raises an eyebrow.

  “Wh-hat?” I stutter. “I didn’t.”

  “Well then, that interferes with the activities I have planned for later,” he jokes. “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”

  “Is that right after hide the sausage?” I roll my eyes and head toward the bathroom. “What are we, thirteen?”

  “Well, after earlier?” His voice pipes up, and I cringe.

  I know he’s talking about my little outburst, which still hasn’t been addressed. With the way things are going right now, we probably should.

  Walking into the bathroom, I notice candles strategically placed everywhere. “Did you do this?”

  Grant strolls in. “What?”

  “The candles. I thought you only brought in one.” I scan the bathroom.

  “I did.” He stands there—waiting.

  Leaning out of the bathroom, I see the suite filled with them. “Candles are everywhere.” Surrounding the top of the bed, on the dresser, shelves, everywhere. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. “This room was set up for someone!”

  “Dottie,” Grant pipes up. “She was up here.”

  My eyes go wide. “Oh my God, Grant. You’re right. She was coming down the stairs when I was coming up. I was so distracted, I never asked why she was up here.”

  “Do you think…?” He gives me a side-glance.

  “Nah…” we say at the same time, both laughing.

  “I’m just going to lie down. Do you need anything? Maybe a glass of wine to go with that bubble bath?” Grant waggles his eyebrows, and I furrow mine.

  “I think I’m just going to rinse off really quick.” I nod, pulling the curtain back to start the water, surprised at what I find. A bathtub filled with bubbles and rose petals.

  I gasp.

  “You’ve had a rough day, and I was worried there wouldn’t be enough hot water.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I saw the bubbles and roses petals and thought, why not?”

  “I thought you were just being a jerk and using all the hot water,” I confess.

  “Actually, I took a cold shower.” His lips tug up, creating a sinister smirk on his sexy, chiseled face. Have I mentioned how much I love this new look? Because I do.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize, my eyes darting between him and the bubbles.

  “For what?” He places a hand on my waist, but instead of pulling me in, he turns me around.

  “For everything,” I admit.

  “Well, as much as I want to accept it,” he says as he gathers my hair and places it gently over my shoulder. “I’m sure I probably deserved it,” he continues as his fingers slowly work the lace-covered buttons, freeing me from the dress that has held me hostage for most of the day and night.

  “If not for what I have done, for what I’m about to do…later.”

  “Later,” I repeat.

  “Yes, later,” he agrees.

  “Tonight later?” I ask.

  “That’s up to you, Vegas.” He turns, leaving me there exposed and wondering when exactly later is.

  Where’s a damn clock?

  I can’t help but let out a low whistle. This new-found self-control deserves an award. Maybe even an Oscar. What I want to do and what I did are two different things.

  There’s something about Vegas Manilow that gets to me. I find myself wanting things I’ve never dreamed about. What she thinks and how she sees me matters.

  I came here not only because of my grandparents passing, but because of her. Their endless stories and countless pictures. I saw why they fell in love with her, and why they wanted Vegas to always have a job at One Stop Wedding Shop.

  Vegas is passionate about life—a very organized one made up of lists and calendars, but still passionate. Someone like her would complement my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants lifestyle.

  Now, I’m lying on the bed, second-guessing everything I’ve done. Was it enough? Was it too much? Does she even like wine? I feel like I know so much, yet still so little.

  I thought after a nice soak in the tub, she would enjoy a little candlelit picnic. I wasn’t going for the romantic setting, but when you’re locked in a honeymoon suite during a blackout, it’s a tad difficult.

  I don’t know how many times I’ve moved the setup from the table to the bed to the floor and back to the bed. Nothing seems right. The table is a little impersonal, but the bed suggests more, and the floor, disgusting. The cleaning crew does a fantastic job, but that still doesn’t change the fact that thousands of people have probably passed through this room on this very carpet.

  “Okay, Grant—I think everything is good to go.”

  Food (on the bed)

  Dessert (on the nightstand)

  Wine (chilling)

  I give myself a little pep talk as I check everything off my list. Vegas would be so proud. It’s a shame she’ll never find out about it. Her lists are like Gremlins—you add water and they multiply. If I told her I actually used one, she would start synching our phones, and that’s not happening.

  “Um…Grant?” Vegas hollers from the bathroom.

  Jumping out of the bed, careful not to knock off the tray, I run to the door. “Yeah, you okay?”

  “I have on the robe but noticed there are some undergarments in here and was wondering…” she trails off.

  “Just put them on, Vegas. Your only other option is going commando.”

  “But they are…”

  “Fucking hilarious,” I laugh out. “Just put them on.”

  “You swear you have on the tuxedo boxers?” She peaks her head out.

  “Yup!”

  “Let me see.”

  “Starting playtime a little early, I see.” I lick my lips and give her a little wink, playing into the theatrics of it all.

  “Just show me,” she growls, which makes me laugh harder.

  Turning to the side, I open my robe and strike my best Adonis pose.

  “Those are…” She snorts.

  Still in my pose, I swing my head around to interrupt. “Flattering? Sexy? Edible?”

  “Those are edible?” she gasps. “What flavor?”

  “No, they aren’t, but I am.” I straighten up and throw the robe off.

  “What are you doing?” She begins to shut the door, only peeking through the crack.

  “Well, the robe is pretty heavy,
and if you haven’t noticed, power’s out and there is no circulation.” I push the door open, eyes closed, and point around the corner. “There are matching T-shirts on that shelf. The grooms should hang to your knees.”

  “You just want to see me in my underwear.” She hides behind the door.

  “I don’t need to.” I nod to the mirror, which shows the reflection of the mirror behind the door. “It’s more than I’ve ever imagined.” I wink.

  She gasps and slams the door.

  Truth is, I didn’t see a thing. After I was done shaving, I sat on the toilet, lid down, and memorized those lists. Every. Single. One. This blackout made me see how the little things matter. Leaving them undone can unravel everything around it.

  Lists suck.

  Vegas doesn’t.

  Or does she?

  I better mark the last one off. Lists drive me crazy, and so does Vegas Manilow, in the best possible way.

  Vegas

  “I’m coming out now.” I open the door and stick my head out.

  “Do you want a drumroll?” he calls out.

  “Nooooo!” I holler back, but the thought had crossed my mind.

  “Oh—I know! Is this a ‘what’s behind door number one’ game? Because we already have the costumes and a few doors,” Grant continues to ramble on. Good thing he can’t see me because my eyes just rolled to the back of my head. “But, warning, I always go for the big deal.”

  “I bet you do,” I mumble. Taking a step out of the bathroom, I kick up my bare leg.

  “Door number one is looking mighty fine.” I can hear the smirk in Grant’s voice.

  A part of me wants to keep this game up, but it’s not me, and whatever is happening between us isn’t real.

  “What about door number two and three?” he asks, but I just stand there. “Hello?” I can hear the concern in Grant’s voice.

  “This is stupid.” I do a little bounce from foot to foot.

  “What’s stupid?” Grant rounds the corner.

  “This!” I step back, arms out. “I look ridiculous.”

  He mimics my movement. “And I don’t?”

  I take a moment to appreciate the view. And what a view it is. His sculpted, tan chest cuts down to a perfect trim waist. His little happy treasure trail disappears with his V, down into the cheesiest tuxedo boxers. I’m thankful for the comic relief of black shorty shorts. They are the only thing keeping my hormones in check.