The Redhead Plays Her Hand (Redhead #3)(18)
Author: Alice Clayton

“Adam? You brought Adam here?” I hissed, drawing the sheet around me even more tightly and looking around him to the hallway.

“Sorry, love, yes. He was taking me home and needed a piss. I couldn’t very well let him out on the side of the road, could I?” He reached for me as I moved out of his grip.

“Where’s Bryan?” I seethed.

“Night off. Besides, I told you, Adam drove me home. Hmm . . . you’re mad, aren’t you?” He finally succeeded in taking my hand and pulling me toward him.

“You’re kidding, right?”

He wrapped himself around me and tried to snuggle me down onto the bed. He lay back against the pillows, sighing as I unscrambled myself out of his arms.

“Jack, seriously, is he still here? Jack? Dammit.” I pushed at him as he settled into the pillows, his breaths getting deeper. “Wake up, Jack.” I nudged him again.

He was passed out cold. Son of a bitch. I heard the tinkle of broken pottery in the other room. I slid into my robe and made my way out to see our guest.

“Hey, Grace. Sorry about the mess. If you have a broom, I’ll clean that right up.”

Adam Kasen stood in the entryway, broken bowl at his feet and shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

“Thanks. I’ve got it,” I replied, walking past him into the kitchen. He followed me.

“I’m really sorry about that. It was dark when we came in and—”

“What are you doing?” I asked quietly as I grabbed the broom.

“Trying to clean this up?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He looked at me shrewdly. “You don’t like me much, do you?” he asked after a beat, his head cocked to the side.

“I don’t know you.”

He grinned.

Hit him with the broom!

We stood across from each other, silent. The air was full.

“I’ll see myself out,” he finally said, backing away toward the door.

“Watch yourself,” I added, nodding to the pile of broken pottery on the floor.

“I’ll buy you another,” he said, his hand on the door.

“Yes, you will.”

He grinned once more.

Ram him with the end of the broom handle!

After he left, I cleaned up his mess and got into bed with Jack, who was still passed out.

Still think you should have whacked him upside the head with the broom . . .

The next morning I had an early call, but not so early that I didn’t wake up our fair Mr. Hamilton. He moaned and groaned as I pulled his covers down.

“Gracie, please, it’s too early. Covers, covers!” he griped, inching his way down the bed and trying to burrow back under.

“I know. Sucks to be woken up so suddenly, doesn’t it?” I smiled, perching at the end of the bed with a cup of coffee. He sniffed the air.

“That smells good. Bring me a cup?” he asked, still inching lower on the bed.

“Man, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” I lifted an eyebrow and the duvet farther out of his reach. He opened one eye, then the other. Confusion flooded into his face.

“What’s going on?”

“I’d like to ask you the same question.”

He rubbed his face, stretching. He inched again, and I held fast to the covers.

“I broke something last night, didn’t I?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re angry, right?”

“Yep.”

“Any chance we can talk about this later?”

“Jack . . .” I sighed and let the covers drop. I walked back into the bathroom, then heard him shuffling after me. He appeared in the doorway, in a duvet burrito.

“I’m sorry about the bowl, Grace. I’ll buy us a new one.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to. Your good friend Adam already said he’d take care of it.”

“Are you really this upset about a bowl?”

“Are you really so thick that you think I’d be this upset about a bowl?”

“Heh-heh, you said thick.”

I whirled on him, pointing with my eyeliner. “Don’t be charming. I have no patience for it right now. I’m trying to be understanding, really I am. But getting so drunk you pass out and leave that guy in our living room? Not okay with that.”

“You don’t like Adam. Just say it.”

“Oh, I’ll say it. I. Don’t. Like. Him. At all. But what I really don’t like is being woken up in the middle of the night by you, wasted out of your mind, acting like an ass!” I poked him in the chest, leaving a charcoal smudge. I started brushing my hair angrily, as he rubbed at the spot.

“Okay, so this isn’t about the bowl?”

I had to hang on very tight to the hairbrush to stop me from throwing it at him. I closed my eyes, trying to calm down before the yelling began. I felt his hands on my shoulders.

“Hey, Crazy. I’m sorry. I know it’s not about the bowl. I was just blowing off some steam last night. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, okay?” he said softly, holding open his arms and the duvet. I let him fold me in.

“I just worry. I worry about you.” I sighed. He smelled like a club, but underneath it all was that Hamilton s’more smell that won me over every time. “I’m allowed to worry, right?”

“Of course, if there were something to worry about. But there’s not, I promise. I’m just having some fun,” he soothed, his strong arms around me, enveloping me. “And Adam’s a good guy. You just have to get to know him. He’s a little intense, but he’s cool. Maybe we’ll have him over, spend some time with him. You know better than anyone that just because it’s in a magazine doesn’t mean it’s true.”

I bit my tongue. I literally bit it.

Ow . . .

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s a good idea if I spend some time with him. I’d like to talk to him about a few things,” I began, thinking this over. If Jack was going to be spending as much time with Adam on this new film as it looked like, I should know him better.

“How about we have dinner with him before Holly’s party this weekend?” Jack offered, and I bit my tongue again.

Okay, seriously, stop it.

“Sure, we can do that. But no more middle-of-the-night shenanigans.”

“The only one I’m shenaniganing in the middle of the night is you.”

“Pfft. Right now I’ve got to get to the studio. I should be home early tonight. Stay in with me?”