Page 99 of Grace on the Rocks

“Not even, you know, with yourself?”

“Oh my god, can we not?”Whywas he so curious?Justtalking about it made her feel overly warm, the blackness encroaching like she was about to faint.She’dexpected him to acknowledge it and never speak of it again, at the worst to be appalled or consider himself to have made a lucky escape, but not this… empathetic curiosity?

With no one to pass to,Diegomade a breakaway run down the pitch and aHailMaryshot on goal that slipped cheekily over the keeper’s outstretched fingers.GraceandBryanwent as wild as the crowd, jumping from their seats and cheering.Sheheld up her hand for a high five, butBryanpicked her up and swung her around, and god, he smelled good.

“That’s why the old man’s still team captain,”Bryanmurmured. “Hemakes things happen.”

Grace nodded her agreement, tears in her eyes for her big brother.Dwas a midfielder, a damn good one, but she could count on one hand the number of goals he’d scored forLA.

She texted her mom inFloridaand her dad inMexico, andDiego, so he’d see it the minute he stepped off the pitch.Fora second, she even considered textingMathilda, too, just to keep from having to faceBryanand resume their conversation, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,Rios,” he whispered after a long moment.

“I’m pretty sure there is.”

She could see his face change out of the corner of her eye, and she didn’t want his sympathy.Shejust needed him to understand why she kept running away so she wouldn’t be responsible for making him feel badly about himself.She’dhad enough of men who blamed her sex drive when the relationship inevitably fell apart, or who blamed her for being too picky or for masturbating too much—as if.Whatwas the point, when she was incapable of getting off?She’dhad enough of men blaming her, but she couldn’t stand the thought of him blaming himself.

“When was your first time?” he asked softly, andGraceinhaled sudden and sharp.Hadn’tthey shared enough for one night?

Her phone lit up with a text from her friendAndy, an explosion of emojis indicating he was watchingDiego’sgame too.

“Apologies.Toopersonal?”Bryanasked.

Abso-fucking-lutely right, but she decided to answer him anyway. “Itwas almost in high school.Afterprom.Iwasn’t really keen, but he was, until he realizedIwas… on my period.Heran screaming into the night like we’d reenacted a scene fromCarrie.So,Igot a reprieve until my freshman year of college,” she said. “Ididn’t particularly want to then, either, butIreally liked him, andIthought ifIdidn’t, he’d leave.Jokewas on me.Boysdon’t like it if you cry too much.Hedumped me anyway.”

Bryan made a sound in his throat, something like a growl. “Soundslike your partners couldn’t handle the evidence of their own ineptitude,” he grumbled, and it did funny things to her stomach, complicated things she’d rather it didn’t do.

He was too confident, too self-satisfied.Hesaw her as a challenge to fix, and when he couldn’t, he would blame her too, for not wanting to be fixed, not trying hard enough.Justlike always.Itwas why she hadn’t dated for almost eight years.

“Maybe,” she answered softly, as the game went to halftime. “Ormaybe it was nothing to do with them.I’mnot some puzzle for you to solve like your biochar or your next renovation project.I’mnot.”

“Renovation,” he breathed. “WhatcouldIpossibly renovate about you?”

It was maybe the sweetest thing anyone had ever said, but though he didn’t physically move, she could feel him withdraw at her sad smile, backing off, giving her the space she was trying to tell him she needed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’mtired, not great company.Ishould go.”

“What did we say about apologizing?Stayand finish watching your brother win this match,” he said, his voice smooth but formal, as he got to his feet. “Goodnight,Rios.”

ButLAdidn’t win.Diegowas injured in the second half, and though he limped off the pitch on his own, it was hours beforeGracecould shake her anxiety over witnessing the tackle.Despitethe red card to the other player, the team seemed as shaken as she did and ended up going down three to one, unable to recover.Maybeshe was bad luck all around.

ChapterTwenty-Six

Sleep was for the weak, right?Anyway,Bryankept telling himself so as he lay awake hour upon hour.

He’d made a terrible misstep withGrace, one he might not be able to walk back.

Tossing and turning, hard as stone, he couldn’t stop imagining various experiments they could perform, all the ways they could try to help her orgasm—though he knew she’d castrate him on the spot for daring to think it.

’Cause she was absolutely right.Shewasn’t his problem to solve.

It just seemed such a very great shame for her to go through life without ever coming if she wanted to, andChrist, he wanted to try.Shemight not get there, but they’d have a good time.

Finally, her bedroom door opened and the loo door closed, and he waited to see if she’d react to the state of it.Whenshe returned to her own room without comment and shut herself inside with her laptop, he rose and dressed and set to work.

He andLùchad already done most of the prep: tearing out a linen closet to make more space at the entrance and ripping up the old lino flooring to get at the pipes and lay additional heating coils.Thencame the tricky part, where they’d cut a hole, all the way through the outer stone wall, and inserted steel beams to add in a window.Shockingly, the neighbors hadn’t flayed him alive for it immediately, but the added light was really going to open up the tiny room.

Now it was time for the most difficult part yet: rerouting pipes.Bryanwas no plumber, but he’d learned a bit operating the still atArdbeg, and a bit more chasing leaks around hisIslayflat.Hopefullyit would be enough.

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