The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(47)
Author: Alice Clayton

Cougar. And the stink of it was that I wasn’t even, technically, old enough to be a cougar.

I noticed that Jack still hadn’t walked over to look at the pictures. I shook it off, smiling through the f**kery.

“Hey, you should come see these, Hamilton! You look great, although the redhead next to you clearly needs some neck cream … hi turkey wobble!” I forced a laugh out, glaring at Holly’s pained expression.

“I’ve seen them,” he said softly. “And Grace, you’re insane. I think you look lovely in those pictures.”

“Wel , the insane part is obviously true. Cougar, huh? You dirty boy,” I joked, swallowing hard on the lump in the back of my throat that was rising swiftly.

He crossed to me and took my hands.

“Stop it,” he said, brushing his nose to mine and clasping my hands to his chest. I blinked back the tears furiously, bending my head down so he couldn’t see them. I could hear Holly typing behind me.

“So, anything else on there I should see? Ashton and Demi make any appearances this week?” I asked, turning away from him and going back over to Holly. I heard Jack grumble behind me. I was getting some control back. I was squishing it back down.

“Nope, that’s it,” she said, closing her laptop. “Look, guys, no one’s happier than me about this weird little thing you guys got going on. Truly, I think it’s great. In fact, I think it’s pretty f**king fantastic.”

“Holly, listen, I know that—” I started, and she held up her finger.

“That being said, I have to play the part of manipulative manager and say that being photographed like this, all over town—not a good idea,” she said quietly, pain in her face to say it. She looked at me apologetically. I nodded my head to her to show her that I understood, which I did.

“Holly,” Jack began, “I’m not going to change what I do in my personal life just because it’s more media savvy. We should get that straight right now,” he said, coming to me again and slipping an arm around my waist. I leaned into him instinctively, not realizing that we looked like we were presenting a united front on this one. However, I did agree with Holly.

“You know what? I think we should go to dinner, and we can figure all this out later,” I cut in, attempting to smooth this over. Jack was not upset, but I could see his jaw begin to set. Besides, I was leaving in just a few days. This would be a problem we didn’t even have to begin to deal with. It would soon be a non-issue. Holly looked at the two of us and sighed heavily.

“Jack, you know I think you’re a great guy. And I obviously love my girl more than anything. But trust me when I say, this is the worst time in your career for you to be perceived as unavailable. That’s all I’m going to say for tonight. You guys enjoy yourselves.” She smiled, kissing Jack on the cheek, and turning to me.

“And for f**k’s sake, Grace, just keep your hands off him in public and all is well,” she said, smacking me lightly on the face.

“I hate you, f**ko,” I sneered.

“I hate you more. Now scoot.” She giggled, leaving the kitchen. And me alone with my Brit.

There was an awkward silence, a first for us.

“So, should we go?” I asked, speaking first. I couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Yes, let’s go,” he said, smiling at me and catching my hand as we walked toward the door.

He stopped me right before we went outside.

“Are we cool, Gracie?” he asked, his eyes worried. I smoothed his hair back, his eyes relaxing with my touch. I traced my fingers down over his furrowed brow, down his cheek, and pressed my fingers into his lips, which formed into a pucker.

“We’re cool, George, we’re cool,” I answered, smiling at him.

Liar.

This was going to break my heart.

Chapter 19

We were quiet as we drove, both of us lost in thought. I didn’t want the night to be about the earlier conversation, but all I kept seeing when I closed my eyes were those pictures and the word COUGAR emblazoned across the inside of my eyelids. I knew the age thing was going to come back to bite me in the ass sometime—I was just hoping it wouldn’t happen so fast and in full view of his fans. I usually never felt old. Thirty-three wasn’t old, for Christ’s sake. However, if you’re dating an actor who was twenty-four and the object of young girls’

affection … thirty-three was decrepit. But God, those pictures, those pictures!

If you took all the implications away, the pictures were sweet. They had captured what we were: happy and content, funny and fresh, Jack and Grace.

I loved these pictures, especially the one at our blessed FatBurger. We were in line at the counter, waiting to order. He had me tucked into his side, and we were both looking up at the menu. And his hand, well, his hand was on my ass.

Lovingly. Like when you were fourteen and you went to the amusement park and your boyfriend parked his hand on your butt while you walked around, looking for that one slow boat ride where you could make out in the dark in front of the animatronics, hands all fumbling and frantic.

It was sweet.

And the picture of us coming out of Whole Foods? Hell, I would frame it and put it on my mantle it was so cute. Our hands were swinging between us as we walked out to my car, having just been caught by the manager kissing in the frozen food aisle. I smiled, remembering what had triggered that particular grope fest. It had been the bags of organic frozen corn. In the picture, he was holding our bags full of food that I had later cooked for him for dinner, and I was brushing his hair out of his face with the hand that wasn’t tangled with his.

We were twisted.

That was the one that had the COUGAR caption. Mother f**k. Well, technically, not yet he hadn’t.

I looked over at him, driving my car, as was now habit. Usually he drove, I sat, we talked and held hands or he played with my pant leg, trying to push it further up my thigh. I pretended to try to stop him, usually. Truth be told, I loved that he couldn’t keep his hands off me. But in this car, at this time, it was different. His hands were clutched tightly on the steering wheel as we moved west toward the coast. His jaw was tense, and I could see the worry on his face. I could fix this simply by taking his hand off the wheel and holding it in my own.

I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it though, and so I waited, and watched …

He sighed again, and I knew he was wondering how to fix the tension that had built up between us. It had grown even since we’d gotten in the car. I was quiet, biting on my lip and staring out the window. Every now and again, I saw him look at me out of the corner of his eye, darting his eyes back to the road ahead when I would try to meet them. He seemed so far away. I didn’t have a big car, but he felt miles from me.