The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(43)
Author: Alice Clayton

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 br**sts 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, and 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, providing new nibbles if it was fading at all. A look from him made my pulse 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 f**ked 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 br**sts.

I moaned into his touch as he gently rolled my ni**les 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.