The Redhead Series

  “Hey, George. You still with me?” I poked him with my big toe as he settled under the covers.

  “Sorry, Gracie. Yes, I’m still with you.” He smiled, but something wasn’t right.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, sweeping his hair back. He relaxed under my touch and scooted closer to me in bed.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just glad you’re here,” he said as he snuggled up against me. He laid his head on my chest, and when he was comfortable, I began to play with his hair the way I knew he liked. I scratched his scalp and worked the knots out, making his curls soft and silky.

  He sighed contentedly. “I’m glad you could make it back here for this.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” I whispered into his hair, kissing it softly.

  “It’s going to be crazy, I’ll warn you now,” he said, his voice darkening.

  “Well, lucky for you, I happen to know all about crazy.” I smiled and resumed my stroking.

  We were quiet for a few minutes as I scratched his head and kissed him every so often. His breathing deepened, and before I knew it, he was fast asleep. I looked down at him, his eyes closed. He looked so young in that moment, like a kid almost. He looked perfectly peaceful. I shifted slightly to turn off the TV.

  As he felt me move, his green eyes flickered open long enough to meet mine, and he smiled sleepily. “Love you, Gracie.” He yawned and rolled me over onto my side. He pressed his body against mine, and his hands crept under my shirt and up to my breasts. With one in each hand, he kissed the side of my neck, sighed once, and said, “Fantastic.”

  Then he promptly fell back asleep. I felt his warm chest through the thin cotton of my (his) T-shirt and his gentle yet possessive grip, and I smiled as well.

  “Love you too,” I whispered, but the only response was the tiny snore he always had when he was first asleep. I was out within five minutes, wrapped in Jack.

  eleven

  The next morning we woke to the sound of phones ringing. Mine rang first, then his, and in the confusion we bonked heads in the middle of the bed.

  “Ow!” I rubbed my forehead while I answered the phone. He mumbled a similar hello into his.

  “It’s a big day for your boy, so wake the fuck up,” I heard Holly’s merry voice say.

  “Asshead. So good to hear from you so early in the morning. Exactly how early is it?” I settled back against my pillow and squinted my eyes at the alarm clock. Jack had a perplexed and still-half-asleep look on his face, his curls everywhere.

  “Holls,” I mouthed to him, and he rolled his eyes.

  “Holly, why are you calling both our phones at— Christ, woman, it’s seven a.m.!” he exclaimed, lying back on his pillow as well. He yawned and rolled on his side to look at me. I smiled at him, rolling my eyes too.

  Holly’s loud morning voice came through both phones. “This is a big, big day, and there’s no time for sleeping in. Besides, I need to be sure you’re up before I come over for breakfast. I’m bringing bagels and coffee, since I know you have nothing in the house,” she continued.

  Jack chose that moment to hang up on her.

  “Did he just hang up on me? I swear that boy is getting too big for his britches,” she said.

  Jack chuckled, still able to hear her chirping. He let his eyes travel down my body, and they stopped on my leg, exposed by the tangled sheets. He grinned sexily, then danced his hand across my skin, starting at my ankle and working his way up. His hand dragged up my leg, making circles on my knee. My skin tingled.

  I shook my finger at him as I attempted to listen to Holly. It was getting very hard to concentrate. His hand moved higher, ghosting across my thigh. Then he slipped lower on the bed, bringing his head down to my tummy and pushing up my shirt. I gasped as I felt his mouth brush my skin. It felt wonderful.

  Holly heard me. “You okay, Grace? What’s going on?”

  “Hmm? Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” I sputtered, as he grinned into my skin. He was determined to push it.

  He looked back up at me, his chin resting on my belly as his hands snuck to the band of my panties and began to slowly push them down my legs. I shook my head at him, and he nodded his head right back.

  Demon . . .

  He settled down lower on the bed and nudged my knees apart with his nose, grinning wickedly.

  I mouthed “No,” but he just rolled his eyes as if to say, “Oh, please.” His tongue touched me, and my back arched immediately.

  That motherfucker.

  Holly had switched topics and was now going on about the dress she was wearing to the premiere. I really tried to listen, but between the tongue and the fingers and the lips and the vibrating moans he was directing at my oonie, I never stood a chance.

  “Holls, I need to . . . wow . . . I need to call you . . . fuuuuck . . . back . . . I . . . God damn!”

  “Ah jeez, while I’m on the phone, Grace? I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Knock it the fuck off by then,” she instructed.

  “Better make it . . . unhh . . . shit, that’s good . . . Make it an . . . hour—hour—hour—Jack!” I dropped the phone and my hands plunged into his hair as he made me come four mother-loving times in a row. It was so good, I almost blacked out.

  When he finally finished, he looked so damn proud.

  As well he should be.

  “Jesus, George. What the hell?” I moaned as he crawled back up my body, laughing at my noodle arms as I tried to hold him close.

  “Don’t die on me now, love. Climb on up here,” he said, rolling onto his back and tucking his hands back behind his head.

  I gamely pushed myself up, rolled my neck, and cracked my knuckles. “Climb on up here? Is this what you want me to climb up on?” I asked, gesturing to the very prominent Nice-to-See-You beneath his boxers. I brought him out to see the world on this fine morning. I gave him a quick stroke, then poked Mr. Hamilton with my finger to watch him wag back and forth.

  “Are you kidding me with this shit?” Jack asked, raising one eyebrow at my shenanigans.

  I sighed, then cracked my back, rolling my neck again. I really was trying to get some blood moving through my system again after those annihilating orgasms, but I also enjoyed torturing him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Grace, you’re not a gladiator going into an arena, you’re about to shag your man. Who, by the way, just made you come several times. Now get on top like a good girl,” he said, his fingers still laced behind his head.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I fake-grumbled, planting a knee on either side of his waist.

  “That’s what she said,” he teased, and I started to lower myself.

  “Wait!” he cried.

  “What the fuck, George? I’m trying to get my groove on here.” Oonie had sensed her Mr. Hamilton, and she was anxious to be reunited.

  “Shirt off, please. I need to see those fantastic tits.”

  I obliged. He hissed as he caught sight of them, then laughed as I got stuck when my T-shirt caught on one of my earrings. The shirt was stuck halfway up my face, my nose propped up in a very Miss Piggy–like way. His laughter grew, and as he laughed, his hips rose. I shifted my weight, trying to get a better angle on my cotton prison, and Mr. Hamilton and Oonie took that very moment to embrace.

  I was on top of him, naked, T-shirt stuck around my head. I must have looked like a cross between a Muppet, Jenna Jameson, and the Flying Nun. Jack couldn’t stop laughing, even as he groaned and pressed into me farther.

  “A little help here, please? And don’t start without me,” I said, trying to be fierce.

  He finally reached out to gently pull off the shirt. My nose was released, then my eyes. My ear was still caught, but when the shirt cleared my eyebrows, he let go. He was laughing too hard.

  “Stop it. Come on!” I said, the T-shirt now sticking up and out behind me like Erykah Badu.

  “Fucking Nuts Girl,” he gasped between chortles. Tears streamed down his face.

  “You think I won’t sex you up good with th
is on my head? Watch me,” I threatened, rolling my hips in a tantalizing way that was made less impressive by the current ridiculousness.

  “What the hell else would I watch? This is the best show I’ve ever seen,” he said, resting his hands on my hips as I began to ride him.

  “I will totally fuck you exactly like this,” I said, fluffing the shirt out like my hair.

  “You’re already fucking me. Less talk. More fucking.” He groaned as I began to move faster.

  Jack thrust into me with conviction.

  I rose up on my knees, then sat back down fast, taking him into me hard. I felt him go deep, really deep, and I began to moan with him.

  It soon became too ridiculous even for us to have this thing on my head, so we managed to get it off before we got off, throwing it on the floor, his hands quickly returning to my hips, urging and guiding me.

  “You feel so good, Gracie. Just . . . like . . . that . . . God . . .” he said, his eyes smoldering as he watched me.

  “Mmm, Jack. Tell me I’m your good girl,” I said breathlessly, watching his eyes widen.

  “Fucking hell, Grace, you’re my only good girl,” he whispered, his left hand leaving my hips to palm my breast.

  He rolled my nipple between his fingers and pinched it slightly. I cried out at the touch, and he increased his pressure. My skin was hot, crazy hot as the morning sun poured in the windows. His body was slick with sweat, and my hands snuck down to tease where we were joined. He watched as I stroked myself, grunting his approval.

  “Jack, oh, God, so good . . . I . . . mmm . . . please . . . Jack!” I screamed as I came hard around him, clamping down and shaking as I threw my head back. He caught me, sitting up beneath me, driving deeper and farther into me as his own orgasm made him cry out.

  “Grace,” he murmured as his body shook with rapture.

  I cradled him to my chest, feeling him pulse inside me. I wrapped my legs firmly behind his back, making sure to keep him where I wanted him. My hands slid across his back and into his damp hair, rocking him slowly as we settled in. I was thoroughly overwhelmed with feeling for him, this man who was so dear to me. He felt so close, so warm, so mine.

  I kissed his cheek, pressing my forehead against his as he smiled. “I love you so much. You know that, right?” I looked him dead in the eye, suddenly serious. I was overcome with a longing to hold him here, in this bed, in this room, and never come out. We were perfect, in this bed, in this room.

  “I do know that. I love you too, sweet girl.” He sighed, crushing me to him, face tight against my chest.

  We were quiet. We were still. We were content. It was the calm before the storm.

  The rest of that day was surreal.

  It began with Holly’s arrival with bagels and the laughing judgment of our performance she’d heard over the phone. She was a dirty girl and hadn’t hung up right away, instead enjoying the free phone sex we so thoughtfully provided.

  Jack took a long shower while we had some girl time. She complimented me again on the colors I’d chosen for my kitchen as we sat and talked. It was the first time I’d seen her since I’d left for New York.

  “I love how you laid out this kitchen, Grace. It’s perfect. I’m thinking of redoing mine. Maybe next year,” she said thoughtfully, swirling cream cheese on her Asiago bagel.

  “Don’t you dare! Your kitchen is perfect. You just miss me cooking in it, which I’ll do as soon as I get home. Michael and I cook all the time in my kitchen in New York, but it’s nothing like this one,” I added, spreading butter on my own everything bagel.

  “When do you think you’ll be coming home?” she asked, looking around.

  “Jack’s in the shower, why? What’s up?” I looked at her carefully.

  “Well, do you think the show’s going to be picked up? If it does, are you ready to move across the country? If it does well, you could be there a year, maybe even longer,” she said, taking an obnoxiously big bite. Cream cheese oozed out the side of her mouth.

  “You’re disgusting. You know that, right?” I frowned as I handed her a napkin.

  “Shut it, and don’t change the subject. What will you do? Are you prepared for that? You sure this is what you want?” she asked again, wiping her chin.

  I sighed and leaned on my elbow. I’d been thinking a lot about this lately. When I first got to New York, it was just so busy and exciting and thrilling. But now that we were getting close to the previews, and there was a real shot at this becoming a fully mounted production, I realized things could change. For real.

  “This is the single most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d be an idiot to turn my back and walk away,” I answered, putting down my bagel and laying my head on the counter. My stomach had felt strange all morning, and now it was fluttering like crazy. Must be nerves about tonight.

  “Grace?” Holly asked, placing a hand on my shoulder and shaking me a little.

  “How could I walk away?” I asked, almost to myself.

  “From the show or from Jack?” she asked quietly. Her bagel thunked down on the plate.

  “What does Jack have to do with this?” I asked the countertop sharply.

  “Grace, look at me,” she commanded.

  I peeked at her through my arms.

  “Where’s your head? Why does it sound like you’re making a choice all of a sudden?”

  “Well, don’t I have to? I mean, it’s going to come down to that eventually, right? How the hell can we keep this going like this? This is insane . . .” I was surprised by the words coming out of my mouth.

  Where was this coming from?

  Where do you think? You have a giant mental drawer of I’ll-think-about-you-tomorrows you’ve piled up and never gone through. Someone asks you one little question, and Now It Will Rain Shit.

  “Grace? You really want to do this now? What else is going on?” she asked.

  I looked at my best friend. The one who’d taken care of me so many times, looked out for me, and opened her home to me. The one who helped me get back on track and never, ever asked for anything in return. She knew me better than almost anyone else, and the knowledge that I wouldn’t be able to hide anything from her made me lose it.

  The tears came in a rush, flooding my eyes and dripping onto my cheeks and my shirt—his shirt. He’d cut a slit in each side of the neck hole so it would never get stuck again, making it mine now. When I’d said something about it, he smiled and said, “Heh-heh, you said neck hole.”

  I sobbed silently, with no idea exactly why I was crying. All I knew was it had to come out. My thoughts were swirling, not letting me take a breath.

  Holly just patted my hand—neither of us was big on the sister hug—then handed me a napkin to wipe my nose with when I began to calm down.

  “Okay, start at the beginning,” she said, her eyes kind.

  “I don’t even know where the beginning is! I didn’t even know I was upset! I—I—” I began to wail again.

  “Grace! Grace, get control. Calm down, ya dillhole,” she instructed.

  Her words broke through and made me laugh a little. I took some deep breaths and laid my head back down on the cool granite.

  “Just talk, fruitcake, and we’ll see what sticks to the wall,” she said.

  So I talked. And I talked. And I was terrified at what came out of me. I talked about how amazing the show was and how happy I was in New York. I talked about how glad I was to be back up on a stage again, thrilled to be working with such amazing people. I talked about Michael and how glad I was we were friends. I talked about Michael and how close we’d gotten again.

  I closed my eyes in sudden exhaustion. I was frightened by the images playing on the inside of my brain. My own little highlight reel:

  Snapshots of Jack and me driving up the coast, happy and carefree.

  Michael and me arguing over lunch. Him stealing my fries when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  Jack and me sexing it up on the floor of the closet together. r />
  Michael walking away with Abigail, her tiny hand in his.

  I stopped suddenly.

  “Holly, do you ever think about having kids?”

  “What?” she asked, her face astonished. Neither of us had ever wanted kids. It was one of the things we’d bonded over right away. We both promised we’d never turn into breeders.

  “I mean it. Do you ever think about it?”

  “Umm, no. Why? Is there something you want to tell me? You’re not . . .”

  “No! I mean, no. But don’t you ever think about it?”

  “Do you ever think about it?” she asked.

  I chewed my lip. I hadn’t thought about having kids for years. I always assumed it meant something, that I’d made it this far in life without an inkling of thought toward the subject. It meant I wasn’t meant to have children. I’d decided something at twenty-two, slapped a sticker on it that said DECIDED, and filed it away in The Drawer.

  I would have wanted them by now, right?

  Kids made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to talk to them; they were weird, and they smelled funny. I hated baby talk, and I never went ass-over-apple cart when I saw a stroller go by, trying to peek inside. Isn’t that what women did when they wanted kids?

  Not all women behave that way. That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be a great mom. No one would be more entertaining.

  Had I made a decision about this too young, not allowing myself to even consider a different life, a different path? Did I need to think about whether I wanted kids? Could I allow myself to think about it?

  I was thinking about it . . .

  Let’s timeline this. You’re thirty-three, about to turn thirty-four. If you want kids and marriage and that life—well, hell! Let’s pretend, just for a second, that you’re with someone other than Jack, someone who wants kids.

  I flinched, thinking about it not being Jack.

  You’d need to get married, and that would mean dating for at least a year. Engaged at thirty-five. Then, depending on how long the engagement lasts, maybe married at thirty-six. You wouldn’t want to have kids right away—be a wife for a while. So, maybe Baby Number One at thirty-seven.