The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(52)
Author: Alice Clayton

There was one more favorite Jack’s Happy Sound, that gentle contented hum, and then within a minute or two, I knew he was back to sleep. I lay quietly, surrounded by the man I didn’t even know a month ago.

I couldn’t wait for tonight …

I finally got his ass in the car by ten-thirty. I had lain in bed with him until I knew he was sound asleep again, and then I packed as quietly as I could. I snuck into Holly’s room when I knew she’d be up and we powwowed briefly about what lingerie I should bring … slutty or sweet? I brought some of each.

I woke him up precisely at nine, actually dragging the covers down and leaving him curled in a ball. He was a little grumpy this morning, but when I quickly flashed him a boobie, he got right up. Then he tried to get up, ahem, but I killed all that noise real quick. I told him to conserve his energy, as he would need it later that evening.

I hadn’t looked forward to an event as much since the New Kids reunion concert, and that was an all-time high.

We ate a quick breakfast at the house: cold cereal and fruit. I refused to spend any time cooking when we could be on the road. He ate with agonizing slowness, chasing his Honey Nut Cheerios around with his spoon. When he started having a conversation between himself and the leftover Os, I took away his bowl and dumped it in the sink. He laughed at my eagerness and finally relented.

“Ya know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stal ing,” I teased, shaking a finger at him while he slowly sipped his juice.

“I’m not stal ing, but breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Grace,” he answered back, selecting his banana with uncommon diligence.

“I think you are stalling. Are you worried about tonight? Are you having a little performance anxiety there, big guy?” I asked, grabbing the banana and making obscene gestures with the fruit.

“I hardly think so. I’m just enjoying watching you squirm. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a bit randy,” he joked, letting his arms wrap my waist.

“Randy? Hell no, we’re way past that. I need to get pounded, and you’re the guy that’s going to do it,” I said severely, pushing him toward the stairs, holding the banana like a light saber. “I got a hole that needs fillin’, a field that needs plowin’, and a stocking that is aching to be stuffed.” His eyes widened at my words and he arched an eyebrow. “That’s crude, love,” he quipped, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“Now get the hell up those stairs, get in the shower, wash your kibbles and bits, and then drive my randy ass to Santa Barbara so you can make me see God,” I finished, my voice rising to a fevered pitch as I forced him with the banana to walk backward up the stairs. He laughed the entire time and finally went into the bedroom, still shaking his head.

That little f**ker was playing with me. I might have to drive.

We were driving up the coast, top down, shades on, music loud. It was another one of those perfect Southern California days: temperature in the mid seventies, no clouds and bright sun. The ocean was to our left as we drove north along PCH toward Santa Barbara.

There was an open bag of Chex Mix between us. We passed Wheat Chex and Melba toasts back and forth, enjoying our time together. Every so often, the thought of leaving for New York would flit across my mind, but I would firmly push it aside. We had limited time left before my move, but I would spend every second of it being present, in the here and now, loving this man next to me.

I was very skilled in the art of pushing things aside.

His right hand set up camp on my left knee. I had worn shorts for just this reason. Any opportunity for his skin to touch mine was gladly accepted. I watched him as he drove, hair blowing, sunglasses on. He hadn’t shaved that morning … I hadn’t given him enough time to do so. I’d stood outside the shower while he was in there, threatening to flush the toilet if he didn’t get a move on. He’d tried to get me to shower with him, as was now the custom, but I steadfastly refused, knowing we’d be incapable of showering together without some hanky panky.

His profile was stunning as always, strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, sweet lips. He turned to me, catching me staring, and his upper lip curled in that sexy smile I loved so much. “What’s up, Crazy?” he asked, bringing my hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Just watching you. I’m burning this into my brain. Us, together,” I answered, brushing back the hair from his face. “Jeez, I’m schmaltzy today!” I exclaimed, leaning back against the seat, tucking my legs beneath me, laughing at my own triteness.

“I don’t think so. I’ve been doing a little brain-burning myself. What am I going to do without my Nuts Girl?” he asked, sounding more serious than I think he meant to. We were both thinking about it, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t.

“I know! Who is going to make you watch Golden Girls?” I teased.

“Who is going to make sure all the shampoo is washed out of your hair?” he teased right back.

“Who is going to keep you stocked up on FatBurger?”

“Who is going to dump niblets in your knickers?” he deadpanned.

“Whose boobies are you going to hold while you sleep?”

“Who is going to listen to you snore?” He chuckled.

“Hey, I don’t snore!” I yelled, turning to him and giving him a light slap on the face.

“Fine, Grace, you don’t snore,” he said sarcastically, shaking his head. We were both quiet for a minute.

“Seriously though, wil anyone be listening to you snore? I mean, in New York?

Do you think you wil … I dunno … be snoring for anyone else?” he asked, turning the banter into something serious. He looked nervous, but was covering well.

“Well, will you be holding anyone else’s boobies while I’m gone?” I asked quietly, my mind immediately thinking of this Marcia.

“I asked you first,” he said.

“Well, I would like to make it clear that while I officially do not snore, the answer is no. I don’t plan on snoring with anyone else while I’m gone,” I said, nervous now myself. This was the first time we had discussed, really discussed, where this was going.

He was quiet, and I could see his jaw relaxing. He’d been quite tense.

“And?” I asked.

“And what?” he asked back.

“What about you? And holding boobies? Will you be … holding … anyone else’s boobies?” I could barely breathe. This was a twenty-four-year-old guy who could have practically anyone he wanted. Could I really be asking him if he was planning on monkhood while I was gone?