The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(16)
Author: Alice Clayton

“Oh hell, if it’s defilement and violation you want I can think of a few things … wait, what did you call me? Johnny Bite Down?” he cried, turning to look at me.

“Please, like you don’t know how hot it makes you look! You with your biting down on your lower lip and your accent and your curly hair. You look like you’re gonna throw me up against the wal and make me scream your name!” I shouted, al the adrenaline from the day pumping through me and flying out of my mouth.

Too much, too much! Man Down, Man Down!

I looked at him. He sat there stunned at my outburst. I fumbled with the stereo, trying to plug my iPod back in, while I chanced another look at him.

He looked confused now, but was smiling.

“That might have been the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he said.

“Well, I say hot things when I have poo-hair,” I acknowledged with a smile, trying to diffuse the situation. I was still struggling with my iPod.

“Can I help you with that?” he asked, trying to help.

“I can’t get this into the little hole,” I answered.

“That’s what she said,” we both said, at the same time. We were stopped at a stoplight, and we stared at each other.

“You might be the most perfect girl I have ever met,” he said, looking at me in amazement.

“Perfection will cost you, pretty boy,” I said brightly, as I sped back into the city. He selected a song and we danced in our seats the rest of the way home.

When we got back to Hol y’s place, I turned into the garage and Jack directed me toward his car. It was an old MG that looked like it was held together with a string.

“Aren’t you glad we took your car today?” he inquired, nodding his head toward his car.

“Well, I suppose. Although, other than the seagull poo, this was a great day. Whose car we took wouldn’t have changed that,” I replied, as I allowed myself a small moment of honesty. He leaned up in his seat, turning his entire body toward me.

“It was a great day. I’m so glad we did this … no jokes. It was great.” The structured walls of our banter were coming down, and the deafening roar of pheromones was beginning to seep through. You can’t fight chemistry.

“So, you have a date with your g*y, if I heard Holly correctly?” he asked.

I shook my head for a moment, trying to remember. “Oh, my g*y! Yes, we’re going out dancing with Nick. You remember Nick from the other night right? He’s head of your West Hollywood fan base. You know you’re hot when you cross over into that crowd,” I teased.

“Yes, that’s what I hear.” He laughed. We were quiet for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words. I was thinking of that kiss and whether I had the right to ask for another one. I needed another hit of Hamilton. I didn’t want him to go, and he didn’t seem to want to either. However, I knew I needed to get home and get ready for tonight.

“Call me tomorrow?” I asked tentatively. His fingers came up to brush my cheek. I leaned into his hand without knowing I would do it until I did.

“You can count on that, Grace,” he answered, letting his fingers sweep softly over my lips. I kissed his fingertips lightly and then smiled.

“OK, now get out of my car, snatch,” I joked as I watched his face fall.

“You will be the death of me, Sheridan. I can already tell.” He sighed, unfolding his long legs to get out of the car.

“Yes, but it will be a good death. I’ll be gentle. You won’t even know I’m coming.”

He turned back and grinned. “That’s what she said.” Perfection.

“Oh, and Grace?” he continued, walking toward his car. He stopped when he reached it and leaned back against the door. “I will definitely know when you’re coming. And so will you,” he said, biting down on that lower lip.

Fucking Perfection.

I found my chin somewhere in my lap and attempted to drive home. I ran two stop signs and almost hit a Pomeranian.

When I arrived back at Holly’s house, it was almost six, and I wanted to make us some dinner before going out for our ass-shakery. She had a fantastic kitchen, with a professional range and Sub-Zero fridge. I indulged my inner chef whenever possible.

She wasn’t home yet, so I put two glasses in the freezer to chill for cocktails.

I paced between the pantry and the fridge, taking out everything I needed.

Opening a can of San Marzano tomatoes, I drained them into a colander and then put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Then, I rinsed off some fresh spinach and dumped it into the salad spinner to dry while I sliced and grilled some good Italian bread, rubbing it with garlic for crostini.

When Holly walked in, I was frantically chopping onions on the cutting board with tears streaming down my face.

“Grace, it’s fine. Don’t get all choked up. I’m home now,” she stated dramatically, taking in my tear-stained face.

“Funny, Holls, funny. Cocktail?” I asked, gesturing toward the fridge.

“Are you offering or asking me to make one?” She rolled her eyes, already on her way.

“Asking obviously. Extra dirty please,” I reminded her as she grabbed the vodka and olives.

“Something smells good—what the hell happened to your hair?” she asked, stopping in her tracks to take a closer look. I hadn’t had time to shower yet, and my hair was still in orbit from the beach/poo incident.

“You don’t want to know, but I’ll tell you later.” I sighed, thinking about the heaven that was happening right before the shit hit the fan.

Are you technically a fan? Hi-Yo! Bah Dum Bum.

“Never mind, I’ll let it remain a mystery,” she replied, sitting down across from me at the counter. “So, how is the British invasion going? Has he invaded your hoohah yet?”

Sweet lord.

“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” I asked, staring at her.

“Just since this afternoon, I swear,” she protested. “Things went well, though, I take it?”

“Yeah, it was good. And no hoohah has been invaded.” I gestured with my knife, pointing it at her.

“Really? You’re losing your touch, missy.”

“If I may remind you, Slutty Slutterson, I only met him a few days ago. That’s hardly enough time to let anyone invade anything,” I scolded her, dropping the pasta in the pot with a big handful of kosher salt. Giada would have been proud.

“And if I may remind you of a certain night in New York City, New Year’s Eve, I believe it was … ” she scolded back.