Page 7 of Spellbound
Damn it.Just damn it all. “Yes, ma’am.”
Stephanie jumped into Grant’s embrace with a squeal. Yep, I’d neatly fallen into whatever trap they laid. Grant was going to pay.
Eeegee dragged a couple more fries through a puddle of ketchup, then licked it off from end to end while she snickered at Stephanie’s antics and tossed a comment across the table that made my grandmother chuckle.
My throat went dry as I eyed her pink tongue sticking out between her lush lips and trailing the length of the fry.Well, hell.
I lifted a shoulder in a resigned shrug. “You know me; I’m always up for a good time.” I crossed my fingers and hoped on my lucky cleats that this chick was nothing like Priscilla Bayless. “I hear Thursday is Trivia Night at The Barn. What do you say, Eeegee? I’m game if you are.”
She quirked her head to the side, a momentary narrowing of her eyes causing her forehead to crease before it cleared. “You’re on,Elijah.” From across the table, the two older women snickered. “I already know one thing it’s clear you don’t.”
I lifted an inquisitive brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
Her teeth flashed with her grin. “My name.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “Do tell.”
“It’s Emma Grayce. Stephanie insists on calling me EG, but only because she doesn’t take direction well.”
“She sure doesn’t.” Grant nodded his agreement, feinted when his fiancé mimed a punch to his arm, then planted an appeasing kiss on her cheek.
While Stephanie mock-glared and sputtered comments alluding to upcoming retribution against both her husband and her friend, I chuckled at her antics and sailed right into, “All right,Emma Grayce, you feeling lucky?”
She gave me a decisive nod of her chin. “I believe I’m safe in waging my stockpile of useless information against yours tonight or any day of the week.” She accompanied her bold statement with a finger tap to her temple and a quick smile that lit up her bright blue eyes. It gave me a kick in my gut that had my heart pinch and an organ a little south of that sitting up and taking notice.Was that good? Maybe. Probably.I was dangerously in lust with this stunning, quick-witted woman I barely knew. Not my usual MO. Surprisingly, to me at least, I was totally okay with it.
In my profession, with journalists of every ilk and caliber on the loose with a phone cam and a digital recorder, I was guarded who I shared my thoughts with. More cautious who I shared a bed with. Grant hadn’t provided much background, who she was and what she did. I hated that my life had come to this, and even more so now that my career was rocketing. But this was what I’d wanted since the day I slid on my first glove way back in tee ball. I wasn’t fucking it up now.
I hadn’t been on the hunt for a wedding hook-up, but if I was cautious, she just might be the distraction I wasn’t looking for. If she was one of those girls who posted pics of every meal to her Insta and every random thought ended up on TikTok, I’d be better off facing a ball machine without a bat.
This Emma Grayce was coming out as both confident and fun-loving, a lethal combination in my book. I suddenly looked forward to matching wits with this enigmatic fireball seated beside me. And possibly digging in to learn more about her. But no matter whether we became fast friends or never spoke again after Saturday, I had a feeling I’d remember this girl long into the future.
* * *
Emma Grayce was waitingon her front porch when I arrived in my grandmother’s compact sedan to pick her up. She wore dark-wash jeans and heels, and a pullover the color of emeralds that would leave me imagining her tight curves tonight in my dreams. I held her door as she lowered herself into the car, was treated to her light and flowery scent, and then bumped my head against the metal frame as I slid into the driver’s side. Third time since I arrived, damn it. My tall, lanky body wasn’t built to fold itself in or out of this clown-sized car.
Her scent was intoxicating, and I got another whiff when I reached forward to turn down the radio. I’d been smart to change from snug jeans to slightly looser chinos.
With one hand on the wheel, I dropped the other to the console between us and resisted the urge to entwine my fingers with hers. I’d never subscribed to the theory of chemical attraction, but based on my increased heart rate when I spotted her at her door and the way my thoughts wouldn’t stay put whenever she looked directly in my eyes, I was open to rethinking that view.
And in the meanwhile, I’d avoid that admission with Grant. My friend would bust my balls over that conversation till doomsday was in our rearview.
Watching the road, I adopted a casual tone. “So you know something about a lot of things, huh? What exactly do you do?”
Her gaze skittered upward and her lips twisted, as if considering how to respond. “I write stories.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind of stories?”
She propped her chin on her fist, gave me an impudent yet vague, “With luck, the kind that get published.”
Her response made me pause—dear lord, please not newspaper stories—then let out an uncertain chuckle. “Wait. You mean like books, right? Novels? That’s cool! Anything I might have read?”
“God, I hope not,” she muttered. And with my attention on the tow truck barreling toward us and hugging the center line, I almost missed it as she continued straight into, “Lately, I’ve been concentrating on making contacts. Waiting for something big to happen to launch my career.”
“Well, I’ve only known you a day, but you seem like the kind of woman who goes after what you want.”
Emma Grayce nodded pensively. “I hope so. I’m not proud of much I’ve written lately—it’s a process, you know—and I’ve let others pull the strings for far too long. But that’ll change soon.” In a graceful movement, she pulled up her knee and turned till she faced me directly. “Except maybe that story about the baby penguins at the zoo. That was fun, but I didn’t actually publish it. I wrote it for my nephew for his third birthday.”
“Sweet. Not every aunt is that imaginative. Or creative. Mine sent money—one crisp two-dollar bill—each year till I turned eighteen.”
