The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(45)
Author: Alice Clayton

The phone broke me out of my sad-sackery. It was Holly.

“Hey, asshead,” I said, sniffing up the last of my tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, why?”

“You’ve got that donkey voice, that’s why.”

“Donkey voice?”

“Yeah, when you’ve been crying, you sound like Eeyore.” I laughed aloud. I loved her so.

“Come on, meet me for coffee,” she said.

“Don’t you have to work, Holly?”

“Eh, all the Scientologists are on vacation. It’s been a slow week.” y

She watched me pull into the Starbucks lot, waving at me while I looked for a spot. While I was putting the top up, I saw two guys check me out and I smiled. I was still not used to attractive men checking me out. Once a fat girl, always a fat girl in your head. Although, I knew I was glowing lately. Must have been the round-the-clock orgasms I’d been receiving. They always did wonders for a girl’s complexion.

I walked up to the table where Holly was sitting outside and smiled when I saw she had already ordered for me.

“Hey, dillweed, nice of you to order for me,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek and sinking into the chair across from her.

“Yes, I thought you could use some caffeine. Are you enjoying the view?

You’ve spent so much time horizontal lately—be careful now.”

“Who says we were only horizontal?” My face lit up at the thought of him, vertical, horizontal, or otherwise.

“I see … whore,” she whispered, laughing at me as I sipped my drink.

“Holly, I have to tell you, with the way it’s been already, you better get some earplugs for when we finally do the deed … ”

“What? Wait … he hasn’t even f**ked you yet?” she asked, or rather yelled, judging by the curious faces of everyone sitting outside at Starbucks. My face burned as brightly as my hair as I looked on apologetically.

“No. Jesus.”

“How the hell is that possible? Furthermore, how the hell is that possible?

All that screaming and moaning and groaning and grunting and thrashing about that you’ve subjected me to, not to mention the hole in the wall behind your headboard, and no—”

“—dick, I know. No actual dick, yet.” I finished her sentence, hiding my face in my hands. Then I looked up with a curious expression. “There’s a hole in the wall behind my headboard?” I smiled at the thought.

“Yes, I noticed there was drywall on the floor of my closet, so I went into your room and saw it. It’s being patched next week. Although, now I have a newfound respect for young Mr. Hamilton. All that yelling with no actual penetration, no bang bang?” she cried, her eyes wide. “So, then when is this momentous occasion going to happen?” she asked, still in awe that I had yet to ride the lightning.

“I don’t know. I wanted to wait … and now I’m leaving in less than a week … I … I don’t know.”

“Wanted to wait? Get on the stick woman. Literally. Get. On. That. Stick!” she yelled.

“Dammit, Holly, I know. It’s not like I don’t want to. I just wanted it to be special, OK?” I sank back into the chair, looking miserable.

“Who are you? Blossom? Grace, you have a twenty-four-year-old man in your bed every single night, and you are not letting him into the sanctuary?

A man, by the way, that women all over the country are lining up to f**k the brains out of?”

“Believe me, he’ll be let into the sanctuary! And thanks for reminding me about all those other women. That’s a great visual for me to have when I’m walking around Manhattan. Can we please talk about something else?” I begged her to change the subject.

“Yes. Why were you crying earlier?” she asked, switching topics quickly. I grimaced and took a long pull on my iced mocha.

“I don’t know. It has just been a whirlwind the last week, and there are many different things banging around in my head. I’m so jazzed about this show, and you know I’ve always wanted to live in New York, even temporarily. And my house, I’m leaving it right as I was going to get to move in!”

“And?” she asked, pushing me.

“And I backed out of the showcase. I feel terrible about that.”

“And?”

“And I will miss you, of course … you’re like my Dirty Martini Bitch,” I said, my eyes flashing warmly to her.

“And?” She smiled gently.

“Oh, God, and I don’t want to leave my Brit … I mean, I really don’t want to,” I sighed heavily, my hands coming up to my hair and running through it.

“And why would that be exactly … ” she asked one last time. I was quiet, chewing on my lip. Then my face broke out into a huge grin.

“Because I haven’t gotten the dick yet?” I asked brightly. She couldn’t help but laugh as she let me off the hook.

“Look, whether you want to say it out loud or not, it’s obvious, Grace. And it’s obvious to anyone with eyeballs that he feels the same way.” I fiddled with my wallet, my way of telling her this discussion was over.

“One last thing, if I may?”

“Yes?” I asked warily, looking at her over the rims of my glasses.

“If you don’t want to tell me, at least tell him. You should, you know,” she said, sipping at her own drink.

“I am considering all options,” I answered. We were quiet for another moment.

“So, really, all that with just his hands?” she asked again.

I smiled proudly. “And his fingers. And his mouth. And his—”

“Stop it, you’re making me blush.”

We dissolved into giggles to the entertainment of all who had coffee at the Starbucks off La Cienega that afternoon.

After coffee with Holly, I headed back to the house. I had gotten a text from Jack about dinner tonight:

Gracie,

I’m meeting a friend for coffee after looping and then running by my place for a bit.

Dinner tonight? Wear something sexy, not that this would ever be a problem for you.

George

His text made me smile, but I was also feeling a little blue. Which friend was he having coffee with, was it this Marcia?

You were supposed to stop saying it that way …

I know, I know.

I went upstairs and grabbed my iPod and headed out to the terrace. I wanted to soak up as much California weather as I could, although autumn in New York was truly beautiful.