Page 70 of Dirty Love

“That’s different.”

“I’m sure it’s not.” She sighs as yet another message comes in, and then puts her phone away and glances at me. “Although who knows, right? Whole new world. Sorry to leave you on your own for the weekend.”

I lift my toes out of the bubbling water. “I’m going to be just fine.”

Clara’s phone rings, and she answers it with an exaggerated, “Hello?”

Ginnifer snaps her fingers and points to the door.

Clara gives her a look of disbelief. “You were using yours.”

“For texting your father. Out you go. Conversations in the privacy room only. You know the rule.”

She waits until Clara’s gone to thump her head back against the chair. “Teenagers. It was like, ten minutes ago I was one myself. I’m not cut out for this.”

I give her a sympathetic look. “You guys have an interesting relationship.”

Her younger step-daughter and her son are in their hotel suite watching a movie with a nanny right now, but Clara wanted to come along with us—and has complained non-stop since.

“She knows I’m on her side, but I’m not her friend, and I’m not her Mom, either. It’s weird. But we’re figuring it out. Victor…” She trails off and I don’t push. None of my business. “Anyway, she’s the least happy out of all of us about his campaign. I think that’s probably the way it is for most teenagers. Nobody wants to give up their freedom.”

“I bet not.”

She laughs. “I think about what I was like at fifteen, and I just…yeah. I try to have patience for her. It’s a hard age. Right?”

“Right,” I murmur. But I don’t know, really. I didn’t get a chance to be that petulant brat. Or maybe I did, and it’s what killed my son. Either way, I can’t relate without wanting to throw up, so I pick up the nail polish color beside me and pretend I’m not sure about it after all.

“That’s a nice color. I miss bold choices like that.”

I hold it out to her. “You want it?”

She shakes her head. “Only variations on nude for me. Victor has particular tastes.”

I lift my eyebrow and wiggle it suggestively. “Maybe he’d like a surprise.”

She blushes. “Oh, no. Definitely not. And I didn’t mean it like that. He doesn’t have a nail polish fetish or something.”

“Trust me, it would be the most normal fetish I’ve discussed this week if he did.”

Now her face turns bright red, and I realize I’ve gone too far.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to laugh it off. “Just ignore me.”

“Let’s just say that your songs are the closest I’ve gotten to sex in a while,” she mutters, and before I can react tothatbombshell, her step-daughter returns.

~

After pedicures, we head back to her suite to have lunch with her kids, and I put Operation Mess-With-Grant’s-Head into motion.

Tabitha: I’ve been thinking about the next leg of the tour. Can we meet?

Grant: The one that starts in four days? No thinking allowed.

I roll my eyes. Like I don’t know how to push his buttons. I’ve been watching and waiting for this for ten years.

Tabitha: So that’s a no to meeting? Fine. It’ll be a surprise, then.

Grant: Where and when?

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