Page 61 of Drop the Mitts

Grace moved her legs under the sheets. André held perfectly still, wondering if any part of her would brush his skin. “Sothat’swhy you haven’t quit.”

He frowned. “Uh, not following.”

“You’re still smoking because it’s like an eff you to your old man. He didn’t like that you took his Marlboros, so now you do it whenever the hell you want.”

André adjusted his arm under his pillow. “Love that you’ve become a therapist in the past ten minutes, but no. I don’t think so.” He didn’t bother telling her that he hadn’t smoked all week.That would only incite more questions, and the night hadn’t made him quite that bold. Admitting you wanted to sleep with someone was one thing. Admitting you were making lifestyle changes? Too deep when the only date you’d been on was self-proclaimed and with your sister in attendance.

“What is it then?” Grace asked.

“I thought you’d already figured that out. I’m immature, remember? I think I’m invincible?”

She made a soft sound in her throat. “Right.” She didn’t sound as convinced as she had on the street in front of Curtis’s house.

“You changing your mind about me, Fairbanks?”

She scoffed. “No, I just wondered what your explanation was.”

“Interested in how deeply delusional I am?”

“Exactly. I need more fodder for my ongoing psychoanalysis.”

His mouth curled. “Psychoanalysis? That’s Freud, right? Wasn’t he convinced that sexuality was key to understanding the human mind?”

Grace laughed. “His philosophies are very outdated.”

“Well, how do we know that? How do we know you can learn anything about my deeply traumatized and twisted psyche unless you observe me sexually?”

She snorted. “Observe?”

“Experience. That’s the technical term.”

“Mm. I see Psych 101 is paying off for you.”

“First time ever.” He propped himself up on his elbow. “Wait, Freud thought all men wanted to sleep with their mothers. He had a term for it?—”

“Oedipus complex.”

André sighed. “I can’t believe you, Grace. You’ve been setting this up all along. Shaming me for wanting you despite our age gap, suggesting we watch MILF island, and?—”

She reached over and shoved his shoulder. “I did not suggest we watch that!”

He caught her wrist, pulling her closer. “I didn’t force you to watch two hours of it.”

Grace struggled, laughing herself breathless. “I was asking a question, you’re the one who brought up Freud.”

“You’ve been incepting me with these thoughts of being with an older woman, I can’t believe—” He grunted as Grace’s free hand dug into his ribs, trying to force him to let go.

Instead he dragged her against him and rolled, pinning her to the bed. She laughed so hard, she couldn’t breathe. She tried to twist her wrists out of his grip, but her body betrayed her, and her arms went limp. “André, I can’t—” She gasped, and he shifted onto his hip, taking the pressure off her ribcage. She hyperventilated, then finally succeeded in drawing a full lungful of air.

They lay there panting, their bodies pressed tight, his hands still binding hers. Grace’s body was soft and pliant beneath him, no longer tense. He thought about adjusting his position a second time to keep her from noticing the response his body had to hers, but didn’t.

Grace swallowed, the sound deafening in the silence. “I should—we should get some sleep.”

“Mm. Exactly what I was thinking.”

She let out a breathy laugh. When she tugged away from him, he loosened his grip. But just before she rolled out from under him, he dragged his hand up the inside of her arm. Her breath caught as he leaned in closer. “Eighty-twenty.”

Her breathing quickened. “See? Delusional.”

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