Page 21 of The Fake Husband Play
My thoughts stutter to a stop as I realize I still don’t know Mystery Girl’s name. I didn’t give her mine, either.
But that’s something we can remedy on the way to the hospital.
I’m so glad I’m going with her. She shouldn’t have to face something like this alone. I don’t know exactly what’s happening between us, whether it’s Fate orcoincidence or just a case of New Orleans being a smaller city than most people give it credit for.
All I know for certain is that it feels like I was supposed to be here tonight, and now I’m supposed to go with her.
To take her where she needs to go, no matter where the night leads.
Chapter
Six
ELLY
I am currently in Grammercy Graves’fancy car…
Sitting next toGrammercy Graves, the only man to ever melt my panties through a television screen with nothing but a wink and a grin.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be having a full-blown fangirl meltdown, complete with hyperventilation and pinching myself repeatedly to make sure this wasn’t a dream.
But right now, my heart is racing and my thoughts rush in frantic circles, imagining all the scary things that could be happening with Mimi at the emergency room. All this luxury—the plush seats and futuristic dashboard; the posh British voice guiding us through the city streets—feels surreal.
It’s like that Sliding Doors movie.
I stepped into that closet as one woman and stepped out another, a version of Eloise Thibodeaux with a shinier, easier life. A life where I don’t have to fight for an Uber in the Friday night rush. A life where a verykind (veryhandsome) and shockingly down-to-earth guy has my back.
Grammercy is even more amazing than I imagined he would be, and I’ve done my fair share of fantasizing about this man. But the way he listens? The way he seems tocareabout the struggles of a complete stranger? The way he smiles, like he means it.
Like he genuinely thinks I’m funny…
Hell, I may need to have my heart checked while we’re at the hospital. I’m pretty sure the force of this man’s sweet, sexy grin has done permanent damage to my aorta.
Even the way he drives is perfect.
He drives like he plays hockey, controlled but fluid, confident without being cocky. His hands rest on the steering wheel like they belong there, and every few seconds, he glances my way, monitoring my emotional state along with the traffic.
And how is my emotional state, you may ask?
Frantic, but not losing my mind with worry, which is kind of crazy.
Usually, I would have WebMD-ed my way into a panic attack by now. I’ve done intensive research on juvenile arthritis. But every time Mimi ends up spiking a sudden fever or developing a new co-morbidity, it’s like I’m back at square one, scared and desperately searching for a reason to believe my baby is going to be okay.
And yes, Mimi is still top of mind—I won’t be anything close to resembling okay until I’m with her—but another part of my mind is replaying that moment in the closet. The one where Grammercy caught me as I fell and pulled me against him.
The way his hands lingered on my waist as his gazedropped to my lips flickers on repeat on my mental screen, making me keenly aware of how close we are right now.
How good he smells…
How much I want to bury my face in his neck and memorize the scent of his cedar and sea air cologne…
Get it together, woman. Your daughter is in the hospital with a fever that could fry an egg.
Valid, Inner Voice, I acknowledge.So valid.
I’m already in the middle of a shame wave when my phone buzzes against my thigh, finishing the job of jolting me back to reality.
Nancy:She’s doing better! After the IV meds, her fever is down to 102. She’s still asking for her mama, but the pain seems to be backing off, too.
