Page 62 of The Fake Husband Play
Jesus Christ.
This man.
I’m lucky my wobbly knees make it to the door.
But they do, and I end up fighting a burble of laughter as Grammercy fumbles with his keys, drops them, and swears prolifically in French.
Is that ever not going to be hot?
Probably not, I think, as I bend to retrieve them. “Here, let me. We have to help each other out.”
“I’m not sure bending over in that dress is helping right now.” His voice is strangled, but he’s smiling as he watches me slip the key into the lock. “God, you’re beautiful. Have I told you how beautiful you are? I mean, really told you, so you know that just looking at you…” He sighs. “It destroys me a little bit sometimes.”
“You destroy me, too,” I assure him, leaning in to press a kiss to his lightly stubbled cheek. He shaved this afternoon, but he’s already bristly, and I love it.
It’s hard to think of anything Idon’tlove about this man.
As we push through the door, Nancy’s still on the couch, half-asleep in front of an episode of Singles in South Hampton, some horrible new reality show she swears is actually kind of fun. She takes one look at us—my puffy lips, his mussed hair, the way we’re standing way too close—and reaches for her purse.
“Mimi woke up once for a drink and a cuddle, but went right back to sleep,” she says as she pops up fromthe couch and breezes our way. “Hope you guys had fun. Even though you’re home, um…very early?”
“So much fun.” I shove money at her, hoping it’s enough, but knowing we’ll sort it out later, if not. “Thanks, Nancy. I’ll touch base soon.”
“Totally,” she says, calling over her shoulder as she heads for the door, “Have so much fun, you two. You deserve it!”
The lock clicks behind her.
Silence falls, and the fact that we’re basically alone—finally alone—settles between us.
And suddenly, standing there inches from this beautiful man in the place we both call home, the weight of what’s about to happen crashes over me.
This is Grammercy Graves.
My secret crush. My podcast fodder.
And now, through some unfathomable twist of Fate, my friend, my co-parent, and about to be…my lover. How is this even real?
“I should check on Mimi,” I say, my heart racing from nerves as much as lust.
Can I do this? Now? With still so much unsaid between us? With my secrets unspoken and maybe his, too? This is brand spanking new. There are still so many things we don’t know about each other.
“Elly?”
“Yes?” I gulp.
“If you don’t go now,” he says quietly, “I may have to kiss you again, right here. And then the chances that we’re going to make it to my bedroom aren’t looking good.”
“They aren’t,” I agree, my nipples tight and tingling again just from the look in his eyes. Every piece of meyearns for him with a primal need that won’t be tamped down by something as flimsy as logic.
Not even fear can hold a candle to how much I want him right now.
“Go check on our girl,” he adds. “I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.”
Ourgirl. Like she belongs to both of us. Like we’re really a family and this isn’t temporary or pretend.
I don’t know what’s more confusing, the fact that he said those words or the fact that they don’t feel as crazy as they probably should.
I practically run down the hall, needing to move, to pull in deep breaths, something to give common sense one last chance at pulling me back from the edge. Mimi’s door is cracked, spilling warm light into the hallway. I peek inside to find her sprawled across the bread in her tragic Victorian fashion, Miss Sparklehorn draped over her chest and her mouth open in a tiny snore.
