Page 42 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“I wanted to come inside. I was originally planning on just sleeping on the couch to not wake you.” The excuse is weak. I hear the bristle of his hand against his stubbled beard as he scrubs his palm over his jaw.
“That’s not why you were going to sleep on the couch. You were going to pretend like you didn’t want to crawl into bed next to me, even though that’s not the truth, is it,” Grady says, as if knowing that the moment I stepped foot in the house I wouldn’thave had the willpower to stay in the living room anyway. Not with him sleeping mere feet away down the hall. “I think the truth is … you wanted to get caught. I think you wanted me to find you and drag you to my bedroom so that you wouldn’t have to be the one to admit that you were thinking about it all along.” I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly very dry. I don’t have a rebuttal. On some level, I know he’s right. He dips his face close to mine, his breath forming a cloud of warm air between us. “Well good news. You’re coming inside, but you’re going to sleep with me. I won’t have it any other way.”His voice rumbles through me, and I know that the shiver snaking down my spine is no longer because of the cold rain seeping through my coat.
Grady takes my face in his hands and wipes the hair off my forehead. His lips meet mine in a wet kiss, warming me against the chill.
The last boundary within me snaps, like an elastic stretched too tight. The feeling is a relief. I don’t have to keep pretending that I don’t want Grady anymore. When he pulls away from our kiss he reaches down and tugs my hand, and I follow him inside. Into the warm comfort of his home.
I follow him up the split stairs, away from my mother sleeping soundly in the ground-floor guest suite, my feet quietly padding on the hardwood. I follow him into his bedroom, and without a word between us, Grady turns to me and unzips my soaking wet jacket, peels off the damp shirt I have underneath. I step out of my flannel bottoms, now completely soaked as well. Grady doesn’t make a move on me the way he has in the past when I’ve been standing in front of him, naked except for my underwear. I thought him seeing me in my PJs and rain boots was embarrassing, but I’m suddenly very self-conscious of the dainty floral print granny panties I chose to wear to bed. Grady doesn’t seem to care. He plucks a folded T-shirt off the end of the bed as if it was set out for me. As if he knew he would be bringingme back inside with him. As if he knew me well enough to be sure that I would come.
He slips the T-shirt on over my head, the soft fabric on my skin warming me from the outside in. It smells like him, the spicy vanilla and tobacco cologne he wears warming me from the inside out.
Grady walks over to the side of the bed, and pulls back the covers for me to climb in. He crawls in next to me, pulling me close, his body matching the curve of my spine from behind. He puts one arm behind my head, one arm draped over my waist, and buries his face in my still-damp hair.
Thunder cracks again outside, and though my shoulders still tense slightly, I don’t jump the same way I did before.
“Distract me,” I whisper into the dark.
He reaches his hand down, finding the edge of my panties and pushing them down. His fingers find my slit, while his breath warms the spot on my neck just below my ear. I moan softly as his fingers make contact with my clit, forming soft slow circles around it. He finds my opening and uses my wetness as he returns to the sensitive bundle of nerves. The circles become tighter, faster, and I find my release quickly.
My body slackens and sinks deeper in beside Grady, his arms wrapping me tighter into him. I close my eyes, savouring this feeling of comfort and safety, and it isn’t long before I drift off to sleep.
CHAPTER 17
GRADY
I’ve hadto remind myself several times this morning that the woman sitting at my kitchen counter is the senior Sinclair, and not Spencer. When I have my back turned, focusing on the omelet I’m preparing for Marla, their voices are nearly identical. Their mannerisms are, too. Especially this morning. Marla seems lighter than she did last night, and something about having her as a guest in my home is nice, familiar even.
It’s just the two of us in the kitchen, and Spencer is still in bed. I crawled out of bed as quietly as I could, letting her sleep after the harrowing night she had before I brought her inside. She looked so peaceful lying there, her shock of red hair splayed across my charcoal grey sheets. It felt like she was always meant to be there. Like my bed was missing something fundamental before her.
Even without Spencer here to bridge the gap between Marla and me, our conversation this morning hasn’t been forced or uncomfortable.
“I keep having a bit of a jump scare every time I turn around. You and Spencer are so much alike. You could be sisters,” I say, earning a hearty laugh from Marla that fills the kitchen in the same way that Spencer’s laugh fills a room with her presence.
“You flatter me, Grady.” She waves off the compliment, just like Spencer would, too, I note.
“No, really. You two are like twins.”
“I have had a lot of Botox to keep my youthful appearance, so I’ll pass the compliment along to my injector. Who, by the way, Spencer still needs to call about those horrid crow’s feet she’s getting.” Marla sips her coffee with raised eyebrows, like we’re co-conspirators. She’s read the situation all wrong. I wouldn’t change one thing about Spencer.
“I quite like Spencer’s face just the way it is,” I say, squeezing out a line of whipped cream cheese onto the egg before rolling it gently into a perfect omelet. “Aren’t crow’s feet just from laughing too much? I think it’s nice that she’s had so many reasons to smile, that her face shows it.”
Marla makes a punctuatedhmsound, so I steer the conversation back to something more neutral. Something that won’t get me in trouble.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask as she sips her coffee.
“Not a clue. Whatever Spencer is up to, I’ll probably just tag along,” she answers, and I grin to myself, imagining Spencer rolling her eyes at that statement.
“That sounds like a great day. Spencer will be busy running errands and setting up for the event later tonight.”
“What event? Spencer never said anything about an event.”Shit.I flinch and try to recall if Spencer ever said anything about not mentioning the party to Marla, and I come up short.
“I’m sure she just didn’t anticipate you being here for it is all. It’s a fundraiser that we’re hosting at the Whisky Jack. She’ll fill you in, I’m sure. She’s done most of the leg work for it.”
“I would love to help her with it,” she says, as I slide the plate across the kitchen island to her. She takes the first bite, and I watch for her reaction. She doesn’t compliment the food, I note, but she squints at me for a moment, assessing me beforesaying, “I’m glad my daughter has found you, you know.” And that sentence is better than any compliment I could ever receive on my cooking. Hands down.
I nod to her in thanks, unable to speak past the overwhelming squeezing behind my ribs.
“I’ve worried about her for a long time. Always the lone wolf. I know my life certainly hasn’t been perfect, God knows it hasn’t. But I’ve had a lot of love in my life. I’ve had passionate love, soft love. While it was hard when those relationships ended, I always had this sense that I wouldn’t have changed a thing about them. Better to have loved and lost and all that.”Marla sets her coffee cup down on the granite countertop with a clink and wraps her hands around the warm ceramic.
