The Redhead Plays Her Hand

  A normal twenty-four-year-old guy who was chased by paparazzi on a regular basis and screamed at by adoring fans whenever he went out in public. A guy who couldn’t get ice cream with his girlfriend without it showing up on Twitter, and a guy who couldn’t have a bad night without TMZ questioning whether he was in the middle of a breakdown.

  I sighed.

  “I hate when you sigh,” a voice said from the porch. I looked over and could make out his silhouette, leaning in the doorway.

  I smiled into the darkness. “It’s just deep breathing, really.”

  He crossed the patio to sit next to me, taking my glass of wine and draining the rest. “I hate when I make you sigh. How about that?”

  “Good thing you weren’t here when I was crying then,” I responded softly.

  Now he was the one sighing. He moved his hands under the blanket, pulling my feet into his lap and kneading at my toes, rubbing my skin. I leaned down and flung the other half over him. He was in his skivvies after all, and it was chilly. With his hands anchoring me, I stretched out a bit, leaning back into the pillows and watching him thoughtfully.

  “Can I apologize for real now?” he asked, looking at me.

  I had my Jack back. I nodded.

  “I’m so sorry for being an ass tonight. You were right to be pissed. And may I tell you again, for the record, you were amazing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Seriously, Grace, I’m so proud of you. You killed it. It’s gonna be a huge success.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that. Right now I’m not so worried about whether my show does well. I’m a little more focused on how well a certain Brit is doing.” I shifted a bit toward him to sweep my hand across his brow. He squeezed my foot.

  “See, that’s the exact opposite of the thing I want you to be focused on right now. You should be enjoying this, focusing on you and everything you have going right now. Don’t worry about a prat like me. I’m fine.” He pulled me across the love seat and into his lap.

  “I wish I could believe you, George.” I breathed into his neck as he clutched me close.

  “I wish you could too,” he answered, lifting me and carrying me into the house.

  He pressed countless kisses into my skin, shifting me in his arms so I could wrap my legs around his waist as he walked, feeling his strong body underneath and all around me. In between the thousand kisses, his lips told me how beautiful I looked tonight, how lovely, how he couldn’t believe I was his, how he didn’t deserve me. I tried to argue with him, but each time I tried to speak he planted another searing kiss on me, stopping my thoughts right in their track and funneling them into an entirely different thought process—one where we existed alone, just mouths and lips and arms and legs and tongues and all the time in the world.

  His arms were tight around me, hands roaming, then settling on my bottom, pushing me where he wanted me most. I chuckled in spite of myself and didn’t let go of him when he placed me on the bed, my legs bringing him down to me.

  “Something funny?” he asked, his fingers hurrying to unbutton my shirt. I answered with my mouth to his, kissing him deeply and letting my body tell him how much I needed him, wanted him, loved him.

  “You’re the beautiful one, Jack.” I sighed, this time in a very different way than before. He stretched above me, all long limbs and bronzed skin. His eyes flashed green, even through the darkness. His fingers blazed a trail toward where my panties would be, if I were wearing any . . .

  Finding me bare beneath brought forth a deep groan from him, and he ripped the last of my buttons through the buttonholes as he grew impatient.

  “Dammit, you tore my shirt.”

  “I’ll buy you another.” He grinned as my feet alone managed to push his boxers down and entirely off his legs. “Impressive.”

  “You got that right,” I managed as he nudged against me with the part of him that never failed to intoxicate. Seconds later, he was inside.

  “Christ, that feels good,” he breathed into my ear, then leaned back to rise up on his knees, digging his hands deep into my hips. I arched my back, throwing my head into the pillow, arms opened wide. He slowed his thrusts, tilting my hips up higher as he circled his own. Now he let one hand creep higher on my body, fingers teasing at my nipples, then pressing into my mouth as I kissed his hand.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered as his hand now drifted lower, sweeping across my abdomen, dipping into my belly button, fluttering below. Kissing his own fingers, he returned them to me, where we were joined, where he now pushed into me agonizingly slowly. My entire body was taut, my hands tangled in my hair as he pressed into me. His fingers sought me, where I needed him, circling and twirling, rubbing slick and hot. I panted, bowing off the bed as he touched me, bringing me closer to the edge.

  “Love to watch you come. Love to watch you come apart for me, for me,” he whispered as I writhed before him. He seated himself fully inside again, now speeding up his thrusts. “God, you should see yourself.” He groaned as I brought one of my hands down to tangle with his, guiding him as he rode me harder.

  Tiny specks of light began to dance at the corners of my vision, and my body contracted, pulling him deeper, so deep into me as he held me open wide. I chanted his name over and over again as my orgasm raced through me.

  “Mmm . . . that’s my girl.” He moaned, his eyes closing as I burst around him. He fell forward onto me, sweat slippery between us as he shook in my arms. “Love you, love you so much, Grace. I’m so sorry.” He murmured into my neck, his arms now tight as a band around me as he exploded. I scratched at his scalp and soothed him, hugging my legs around his back and keeping him inside as long as I could.

  “I know, Jack. I know,” I whispered, kissing everywhere I could reach. Slipping out of me with a loss I desperately felt, he turned me onto my side so he could wrap his arms around me, tucking me into him, back to front, with his hands full of me.

  I realized as he slipped toward sleep that we had avoided once again discussing what had happened tonight, and that at some point we were going to take this to the woodshed. But it wasn’t tonight.

  fifteen

  When I opened my eyes the next morning, I was staring into green. Jack was awake, turned sideways on his pillow and watching me. I grinned back at him, snuggling deeper into the covers and into him, breathing in the scent of his warm skin all over me. Kissing the exact center of his chest, I rested my head over his heart, the tiny hairs tickling my nose.

  “How long have you been up?” I asked, my voice thick with sleep.

  “Awhile.”

  “You should have woken me up.”

  “I wanted to let you sleep. I know it’s been a busy week.”

  “It’s been a busy everything.” I groaned and stretched a bit, which resulted in the sheets pulling down just enough that the boobies made their first appearance of the day.

  Just as Jack waggled his eyebrows enough to communicate his intent and make the girls go on point, his phone buzzed on his nightstand. Huffing, he rolled away to get it as I pulled myself together a bit. I sat up to lean against the headboard and could see over his shoulder just enough to note the call was from Adam, although Jack at least had the good sense to not answer it. Rolling back over with a mischievous gleam in his eye, he looked right where he’d left the girls, grumbling audibly when he saw they had been put away.

  “But, wait, where did they—”

  “Shut it, George. We’re talking.”

  “We’re already talking, Grace.”

  “If the boobies are out, no talking will happen.”

  He snorted and tried to sneak a peek. “Just because you’re incapable of paying attention doesn’t mean I can’t.”

  “No way. Uh-uh. No boobies till we talk.” I tucked the sheets under each armpit and clenched my hands at my sides.

  “How about one booby? One booby while we talk, and if I can contain myself, then I get them both before breakfast,” he offered, throwing his hands up in the a
ir in supplication.

  “How old are you?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “You know ruddy well how old I am. Recovery time, remember? Now drop the sheet on the left one and talk, woman.” He poked me in the left shoulder.

  Sighing, I adjusted the sheet so that the . . . good lord . . . so that the “left one” was out.

  “Okay, what are we talking about?” he asked it.

  “Eyes up here, George. It’s out, but you still have to make eye contact.” I grabbed his chin and twisted him to look straight ahead.

  He blinked, shook his head, and then looked me in the eye finally.

  “Okay, let’s talk about last night, just for a minute. I don’t want to rehash everything, I promise.”

  He sighed heavily, then nodded for me to go on.

  “I mainly just want to talk about Adam, but in a calm, rational way. I want you to understand more about why I don’t like him. I probably shouldn’t even say I don’t like him. I barely know the guy and—”

  “Grace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t like him. It’s okay. You can say it.”

  “Okay, yeah. I don’t like him. But more than that, I don’t trust him. But hear me out. Haven’t you noticed that whenever we’re out, whenever you’re out—if he’s there, the cameras are there? I mean, yeah, they’re there sometimes even when he isn’t around, but have you ever been somewhere with him when they aren’t there?” I nudged his chin once again. His eyes had started to drift south.

  With a cheeky grin, he met my eyes once more. “Off the top of my head? No, no, I can’t. So you think he’s calling them, orchestrating all of this? For what purpose, Grace?”

  “His career,” I answered quickly. “It makes sense. He was over; he was being cast in all kinds of crap, and then once he was cast in a film with you—the new heir apparent to his golden-boy status—now he’s getting exposure again, right? Maybe he’s ensuring that doesn’t go away. He’s making sure people are talking about him again.”

  “Seems a stretch to me. He’s always complaining about the paparazzi. He can’t stand them when they’re around,” he said, but I could finally see the wheels beginning to turn just the tiniest bit.

  I didn’t want to lose any ground, so as much as I wanted to smack him upside the naive, I kept quiet, let him think on it for another moment. He chewed on his lower lip, looking pensive, and I let the sheet drop on the right one. He looked back up at me in surprise.

  “You’ve earned it.” I smiled.

  “Are we done talking? Already?”

  “I said what I needed to say. You listened. I appreciate that,” I answered softly as he reached out to cup an exposed breast. His fingers were tender as he stroked me, not sexual this time, but deeply sensual. Comforting. Warm. Coaxing me onto my back, he snuggled into me, head on my breast, fingers now pressing into each tiny dent between my ribs. We breathed together, watching as the sun crawled across the ceiling.

  “When are you leaving to go back to the desert?” I asked the top of his head. I hated that he had to leave again, but they still had a few scenes left to shoot.

  “Two days.”

  “I’ll be glad when you’re done. It’ll be nice to have you at home for a while.” I kissed his forehead.

  He was quiet for a minute, then started to get out of bed. He leaned back down over me and gave me a small smile. “Let’s get some breakfast, Crazy.”

  Once I had him full of toast and marmalade, we relaxed over coffee, which is what we were doing when Holly called. Kissing me on the head, he took off for the shower before I could even answer, mouthing the words in the shower to me. I rolled my eyes as I answered the phone. I wasn’t sure what was going on there.

  “Hey, dillweed.”

  “Hey, asshead. What are your plans this afternoon?”

  “Um, I didn’t really have any. Was going to go for a run maybe?”

  “Nope, you’re shopping with me.”

  “I am?”

  “Yep, let’s meet at Monica’s at one. I need to get some new dresses—something beachy and cute.”

  “Ah. You and Michael going somewhere fun?”

  “Perhaps, can you go?”

  “Sure, I’ll see you there.”

  “By the way, do you still want us all to come over tomorrow night to watch?” she asked. We’d talked about getting together to watch the night the show premiered on TV.

  “Yes, definitely. I need everyone here to make sure I don’t go looking for the bad reviews.”

  “Can we bring anything?”

  “Yes. Vodka. Lots. Not sure what you guys will all drink, but the vodka’s for me.” My heart stuttered a bit when I thought about the fact that my TV show would be debuting tomorrow night for all the world to see. Well, the American world. “Okay, see you in a bit,” I said, starting to hang up.

  “Wait, wait, is Jack there with you?”

  “He’s in the shower. Why?”

  “But he’s been home with you all morning?”

  “Yeah, why? What’s up?”

  “I’m going to wring that limey’s neck! Never mind. Not your problem. Tell him to check his fucking messages, okay?”

  “Okay,” I answered, not wanting to get involved.

  “Okay, see you in a bit, fruitcake.” She hung up.

  Thoughtful, I sat there for a bit, tossing my phone back and forth. I didn’t want to get involved, but I had to admit I was curious what was going on.

  Not your problem. Don’t get involved.

  Yeah, yeah, yeah.

  I headed back toward the bathroom, smiling when I heard him humming in the shower. Opening the door, I reached out for him through the steam.

  “Hey, get that sweet ass in here.” He grinned, shampoo suds turning his head into a cotton ball.

  “Nope, no time. I’m meeting Holly for some retail therapy,” I answered, dodging his soapy hands. He responded by sticking his tongue out at me. “Speaking of Holly, she told me to tell you to check your messages?” I tried, raising my eyebrows but keeping my tone light. He nodded at me but submerged under the spray. “I’m also going to pick up some things while I’m out today for tomorrow night. I was thinking we’d just make little nibbly things and everyone can nosh while we watch. Sound good to you?”

  “Wait, what? We’re having people over tomorrow night?” He emerged from under the spray.

  “Yes, Jack, for the show, remember? It’s on TV?”

  He stood there, blank-faced, as the shampoo washed down the drain.

  “Right, sure, of course. Who’s coming?”

  “Holly, Michael, Nick, Lane is going to try, and I think Rebecca too.”

  He grimaced. I waited for him to say something, but he was quiet.

  “So, nibbly things? Okay?” I prompted.

  “Sure, sounds good, Grace.” He nodded again, then returned to the spray, ending the conversation.

  “I’ll see you later this afternoon then?” I asked, backing out of the bathroom. He nodded once more, then turned toward the water.

  “And then he just went right back under the spray! It’s like he totally forgot about everyone coming over tomorrow night!” I exclaimed into the mirror as I waited for Holly to come out in yet another dress. We’d been at the boutique for only fifteen minutes, but she’d already found several she just had to have.

  “Are you sure you told him to call me?” she asked over the dressing room door.

  “I did. I told him to check his messages, as directed.”

  “Did he?” Her head popped up over the door.

  “That I don’t know. I told you, I just deliver the messages. I’m not getting involved.” I sipped the champagne the boutique had so thoughtfully provided. “What’s going on anyway?”

  “Thought you weren’t getting involved.” She chuckled, coming out in a strapless dress that was sex on legs.

  “I’m not; I’m not. Forget I asked.”

  “He’s just really hard to get ahold of right now, a
nd we’re in the middle of negotiating the Time sequel. Not a great time to go incommunicado.” She poofed her cleavage. “What do you think?”

  “Hot. Way hot. What are all these dresses for anyway?”

  “Michael’s taking me somewhere tropical. Not sure where. He just said bring frilly dresses.”

  “Frilly?”

  “I figured out that frilly translates to skimpy in Michael language.”

  “Not even close.”

  “Yeah, frilly means flouncy, which means blowy, which means barely there. That took about five minutes and some show-and-tell to figure out what he meant.” She laughed, a blush creeping into her cheeks.

  “I’m so glad you two are together,” I said suddenly. I watched her smile into the mirror.

  “You are?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course! Things worked out perfectly.”

  “Not gonna lie, I wasn’t sure you’d be okay with it,” she said as she turned toward me.

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?” I asked her, looking everywhere else.

  She huffed as she headed back into the dressing room. After a moment the dress came up over her head. “Grace, shut up. Obviously there’s history between you.”

  “Okay, sure, but it’s just that: history. Honestly, I couldn’t be happier for you two.”

  She poked her head back up over the door. “I’m pretty happy too. Now we just need to get Jack figured out and my world will be all roses and fucking fairy tales.”

  “I’m getting worried, Holly, like, really worried.” I met her eyes.

  She nodded. “Me too, fruitcake.”

  The next day started out like all Shit Days: totally normal. Sex with Jack—awesome. Breakfast after sex with Jack—delicious. Call-in radio interviews all afternoon—stellar. That night? Oh boy.

  Jack was out and about most of the afternoon, which was better for me. Talking about myself was weird, and talking on the radio—selling myself and my show—was hard to do when you have a hot Brit making faces at you and trying all manner of naughty to get you to screw up. Once the interviews were over, I went for a run in Griffith Park to unwind and calm my nerves. No such luck. I was wired. I ran my normal circuit almost ten minutes faster than I usually did, and I could’ve gone another round without thinking twice. I was nervous, I could admit that. Tonight was the real test. Up until now only industry people had seen the show, now it was up to the public to say if it was any good.