The Unidentified Redhead (1) (20 page)

He was watching me and Michael.

When Michael and Holly were getting ready to leave, Jack and I followed them to the front door.

“Grace, I'm really glad we got things straightened out. It will be so great spending time with you again. I can't wait for you to move to New York.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I heard Jack's intake of breath and I saw Holly's eyes flash to him. Michael leaned in to hug me goodbye, placing a peck on my cheek. The two of them left through the front door.

I closed it behind them, waiting a little longer than I needed to before turning to face Jack. His face was confused.

“You're moving to New York?” he asked.

“Temporarily.”

“When?”

“Nine days.”

His face hardened and he spun on his heel, walking upstairs.

***

When I got up to my room, Jack was standing by the bed, furiously making it. I watched him as he worried the sheets up, trying to make them smooth. I went to the other side and tried to help him, but he jerked them out of my hands.

“Thanks, I've got it,” he snapped, darting his eyes up to mine. Since I couldn't smooth the sheets, I attempted to smooth this.

“Wow, third morning making a bed and you've almost got it. Nice, Hamilton. Impressive,” I joked, retrieving a wayward pillow from the floor. He didn't smile.

He fussed about for another minute and then he finally rounded on me.

“Explain to me why you didn't bother to tell me that this show was in New York?” he asked, frustration showing through.

Is it wrong that I still noticed how hot he was with no shirt on?

“It was only an audition at first and there were so many other actresses up for the same role. I honestly didn't think I had a shot in hell. And then when I found out I was cast, I didn't, well, I didn't know how to tell you.” I looked at the ground, suddenly really sad that I was going to be leaving this man, right when things were getting amazing.

“Grace, I know we haven't known each other that long, but hell! This was a fairly big piece of information to leave out.” He sighed. I was still thinking about that text from last night and I almost asked him about it when I noticed him pulling up the duvet, upside down. I smiled in spite of myself.

He was throwing a bit of a tantrum and I was reminded of his age. He was my little emo, but the fact that he was obviously upset at the thought of me leaving touched me.

I needed to touch him. I climbed onto the bed from my side and crawled across. I sat on my knees in front of him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I laid my head against his chest and I felt his arms come up around me. That felt better.

“I know…I'm sorry. Is it that hard to believe that I didn't want to tell you? I'll miss you. I've kind of gotten used to you. Who will tell me my tits are fabulous?” I mumbled into his chest, feeling his little hairs tickle at my nose. I could tell I'd made him smile, even without looking up.

“Fucking Nuts Girl. Are you really leaving in nine days?” he asked, his hands skimming along the skin between my tank top and running pants.

“Yep.”

“And how long will you be gone?”

“I don't know, it depends on how well the show does, the response it gets. I would say at least ten to twelve weeks,” I answered, pressing my face into his skin. He smelled like my bed.

He sighed and was quiet for a moment. He finally bent down and kissed the top of my head. “Right then, let's not get all dodgy about this, this is great news for you. I'm happy for you, Grace. You know that right?” he asked seriously, tipping my face up to his.

“Yes, I know. The timing just sucks.”

“I agree, timing is everything.” We gazed at each other for a moment, when he broke the silence. “Now, I believe you requested some shower time? I have cleared my morning and am ready to attend to your washing up whenever you are so inclined.” He smirked, letting me know this tiny squall had passed.

“Yes, please. I am soooo inclined,” I answered back, kissing his stomach and beginning to move south along his happy trail. His hands came up to my hair and twisted it roughly. I started to pull him back onto the bed, his arms propping himself over me as I struggled to undo his button. I unzipped and…

Hello, commando.

“Hey, I just made this bed and you're going to mess it up,” he complained.

I looked around at the pillows haphazardly thrown, the sheet trailing out on the side, the upside down duvet, and smiled. “I love that you tried, but what you are an expert at in this bed has nothing at all to do with making it. Now, get down here,” I teased.

I heard him mumble, “This is why it's crap to make a bed,” as he laid his full weight on me and my legs came up around him.

It was an hour before we made it to the shower.

Then at least another hour before we made it out.

***

That afternoon he told me that he had no real plans for the rest of that week and that, if it would be all right, he would like to “spend as much time with me as humanly possible.” Who was I to argue?

So we cocooned. We wrapped ourselves in a little bubble of lust and freaking cocooned. We railroaded right through what should have been our first twenty dates, all in four days time.

We ate at FatBurger for lunch almost everyday; he was a freak for it. I made him go running with me at Griffith Park, but only twice. He had trouble keeping up with me the first time, and the second…well let's just say we went a little George Michael behind a tree.

We drove for miles up PCH. He drove while I sat back relaxing, watching him in his sunglasses, looking sexy as all get out. We listened to music, trading iPods back and forth, playing each other our favorites.

We watched hours of DVD's. We watched The Office—UK and US versions, Flight of the Conchords, and we spent an entire afternoon watching a Corey marathon: The Lost Boys, License to Drive and Stand by Me.

We spent a morning at my new house, helping to place all my furniture. I couldn't believe how beautiful it had turned out and I wasn't even going to get a chance to enjoy it.

We talked for hours. I told him all about my new show and how nervous I was about it. He confessed to me that he was getting a little worried about all the hype Time was creating and whether he would be painted with the same teeny bop brush as other actors the same age.

We were barely sleeping at night, but we managed to sneak naps in each afternoon. We cuddled in my bed, usually with me wearing one of his shirts. It was how he preferred me to be, if he couldn't have me naked.

It always started out with me on my back and Jack draped across my chest. I would scratch his head and he would trace little circles on my arm. His breath would get heavier—I had learned to recognize his sleep patterns. Right before he would really fall asleep, I'd turn on my side and he would fit his body into mine, holding me close against his chest, his arms under my shirt, holding my breasts in his hands.

We stayed in and I cooked for us every night. Holly would usually join us and then retreat to her room as Jack cleaned up. He felt that he should do the dishes since I cooked, and I let him. I found that I could watch him do almost anything and be happy.

We would usually go for a swim after dinner and he kept a bottle of wine on the side of the pool for us while we splashed and played. Sometimes, if I was lucky, he'd make us skinny dip.

We sang songs as if we were at freaking camp. I finally got him to play guitar for me and he was amazing. Watching those fingers all over that guitar with the same tenderness and attention that they gave to me was amazing. And hearing him sing? He had a sweet voice, but rough at the same time. A little mushy, thick and wonderful. He was truly talented, his voice hypnotizing. He played some of his favorites, and some that he had written. He played songs he knew I knew so I could sing along. We were so trite. It was nice. He would strum absently while he watched me get ready in the morning, and when I'd make the bed (I'd taken back this particular duty) he'd write me my own little action soundtrack, his playing mimicking my motions. When he thought I should be moving faster, he played faster.

We kissed constantly. We kissed for hours. Whether we were at the table, in the shower (which was now always a synchronized event), in the hallway, on the couch, we kissed. Slow and sweet, furious and frenetic, wanting and needing, we kissed.

We touched. We were unable to keep our hands off each other. Whether it was hands being held across the hot tub or his hand on my thigh while we were driving, we were in contact, always. He would sweetly keep his hand in the small of my back when we were walking anywhere. I would curl my legs around him when we were watching a movie, and he would nudge at my hand like a cat until I scratched his head.

And we touched. There was virtually no part of his body that I had left unexplored, and the same for me. We were in an almost constant state of arousal. He kept my Hamilton Brand fresh each day, new nibbles if it was fading at all. A look from him made my pulse beat faster and we became so good at meeting each other's needs that it almost was inconsequential that we had yet to really have…sex.

I needed it. And I knew he needed it. It was only a matter of time. But we both seemed to know that we wanted to wait for it to be…(Tonight, on a very special episode of Grace and Jack)…special. I wanted it to be special. Because somewhere, in all of this heightened, super sped up, crazy world of ours, we were moving beyond whatever this started out to be. And I found myself falling completely and totally in love with him. It almost hurt it was so good.

This was all kinds of fucked up.

***

Late one night, on the fourth day of Grace and Jack Lockdown, we were lying in my bed, watching Say Anything. We were watching the part where Lloyd plays the song to her through the window. I sighed deeply, feeling Jack's fingers as they gently worked at a knot in my hair.

“Oh, jeez, not you, too.” He laughed.

“What? Not me what?” I asked, tapping on his knee.

“You…all girls. You all love that scene. You all want the boy with the radio outside the window,” he teased, planting a kiss on my head as he finally worked the knot through.

“That's not true. I mean, I love that scene, it's iconic. And I love that song…my God, I love that song. But I don't need the Grand Gesture.”

“The Grand Gesture?”

“Yeah, you know, he runs through the train station to bring her the flowers before she leaves. He drops down on one knee in front of a room full of her friends to propose and try to win her back. He says he loves her in front of a football stadium because he'd never had the guts to say it when it was just them. I don't want that. I don't want all that schmaltz. It's the little things, the daily choices. That's the love.” I picked at a loose thread on the blanket. It was the closest I had come to telling him how I really felt. “I tell you what, if someone ever played a Peter Gabriel song outside my window, I do believe I would lock that very window,” I finished, turning around to look at him.

“Hmm, you are curious, Grace Sheridan. Just when I think I have you sorted out…”

“Ah, you'll never sort this out. It's a mess in here. Stay clear, Hamilton, stay clear.” I sighed, rolling back against him.

“So, no schmaltz, huh?” he asked.

“Well, a little schmaltz is fine; every girl needs a little schmaltz. I do have a small romantic bone in my body.”

“Heh heh, you said bone,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, man…” I laughed back, snuggling back down to him again and turning back to the movie.

We were quiet for a moment, watching, when he said, “Grace, do you mind if we turn this off?”

“Fuck no. I was just waiting for you!” I cried, pouncing on him. He laughed his surprise into my mouth, but then quickly turned on that Hamilton sex that I needed so badly.

We were already ready for bed, so he was wearing only his underwear campaign worthy boxer-briefs that still made me shake like a schoolgirl whenever I saw him walking across the room in them.

He'd started to unbutton my shirt when I pushed him back in the bed. I slowly swung a leg over him and straddled him. I had barely brushed him when his hands came up rough on my hips.

“Ah ah ah, love, slowly now,” I teased, as I began to unbutton my shirt for him. I settled lower down on his lap, feeling his hardness through his thin boxers. This time I had gone commando.

I hissed at the feeling of him pressing against my skin, and I relished the idea of how he would feel when he was inside me. I rocked my hips against him slowly, purposefully, and watched as his face changed.

Slipping the last button through, I parted my shirt for him. I was naked and his eyes drank me in. His hands left my hips to come up and around my breasts. I moaned into his touch as he gently rolled my nipples between his talented fingers. He tugged at me and I cried out. His eyes were wild as he watched me above him and I rocked harder against him, feeling the indescribable friction that our bodies were creating.

“Fuck, Grace. That feels amazing,” he groaned, his eyes becoming even wilder, his face almost animalistic.

I pushed him in the way that I knew only I could push him. I lowered my body onto his, pressing myself against him. I looked him in the eye and said, “What would feel amazing is that tongue of yours. All. Over. Me.” I punctuated each word with a hard thrust, slamming my hips into his Rock. Hard. Mr. Hamilton.

His eyes narrowed and he unleashed a low growl from deep in his throat.

He lifted me off his lap with one swift movement and I found myself with my knees on either side of his face. He grabbed at my hips, pulling me firmly down to his mouth. His tongue snaked out and he licked me. Hard. I sucked a breath in sharply, my hips bucking frantically as he fought to hold me still.

“No,” he warned, his eyes hard as he stared up at me, green blazing.

He licked me again. Harder.

I rocked my hips, desperate for the friction, and he growled again. He pulled me down once more, roughly, and began lapping at me, quickly, violently. His mouth closed around me, sucking greedily at me.

I was all kinds of wet.