The Unidentified Redhead (Redhead #1)(42)
Author: Alice Clayton

He was watching me and Michael.

When Michael and Holly were getting ready to leave, Jack and I followed them to the front door.

“Grace, I’m really glad we got things straightened out. It will be so great spending time with you again. I can’t wait for you to move to New York.” Shit. Shit. Shit.

I heard Jack’s intake of breath, and I saw Holly’s eyes flash to him. Michael leaned in to hug me goodbye, placing a peck on my cheek. The two of them left through the front door.

I closed it behind them, waiting a little longer than I needed to before turning to face Jack. His face was confused.

“You’re moving to New York?” he asked.

“Temporarily.”

“When?”

“Nine days.”

His face hardened and he spun on his heel, walking upstairs.

When I got up to my room, Jack was standing by the bed, furiously making it. I watched him as he worried the sheets up, trying to make them smooth. I went to the other side and tried to help him, but he jerked them out of my hands.

“Thanks, I’ve got it,” he snapped, darting his eyes up to mine. Since I couldn’t smooth the sheets, I attempted to smooth this.

“Wow, third morning making a bed and you’ve almost got it. Nice, Hamilton. Impressive,” I joked, retrieving a wayward pillow from the floor.

He didn’t smile.

He fussed about for another minute, and then he finally rounded on me.

“Explain to me why you didn’t bother to tell me that this show was in New York?” he asked, frustration showing through.

Is it wrong that I still noticed how hot he was with no shirt on?

“It was only an audition at first, and there were so many other actresses up for the same role. I honestly didn’t think I had a shot in hell. And then when I found out I was cast, I didn’t, well, I didn’t know how to tell you.” I looked at the ground, suddenly really sad that I was going to be leaving this man, right when things were getting amazing.

“Grace, I know we haven’t known each other that long, but hell! This was a fairly big piece of information to leave out.” He sighed. I was still thinking about that text from last night, and I almost asked him about it when I noticed him pulling up the duvet, upside down. I smiled in spite of myself.

He was throwing a bit of a tantrum, and I was reminded of his age. He was my little emo, but the fact that he was obviously upset at the thought of me leaving touched me.

I needed to touch him. I climbed onto the bed from my side and crawled across. I sat on my knees in front of him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I laid my head against his chest, and I felt his arms come up around me.

That felt better.

“I know … I’m sorry. Is it that hard to believe that I didn’t want to tell you? I’ll miss you. I’ve kind of gotten used to you. Who will tell me my tits are fabulous?” I mumbled into his chest, feeling his little hairs tickle at my nose. I could tell I’d made him smile, even without looking up.

“Fucking Nuts Girl. Are you real y leaving in nine days?” he asked, his hands skimming along the skin between my tank top and running pants.

“Yep.”

“And how long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. It depends on how well the show does, the response it gets.

I would say at least ten to twelve weeks,” I answered, pressing my face into his skin. He smelled like my bed.

He sighed and was quiet for a moment. He finally bent down and kissed the top of my head. “Right then. Let’s not get all dodgy about this. This is great news for you. I’m happy for you, Grace. You know that right?” he asked seriously, tipping my face up to his.

“Yes, I know. The timing just sucks.”

“I agree. Timing is everything.” We gazed at each other for a moment, then he broke the silence. “Now, I believe you requested some shower time? I have cleared my morning and am ready to attend to your washing up whenever you are so inclined.” He smirked, letting me know this tiny squall had passed.

“Yes, please. I am soooo inclined,” I answered back, kissing his stomach and beginning to move south along his happy trail. His hands came up to my hair and twisted it roughly. I started to pull him back onto the bed, his arms propping himself over me as I struggled to undo his button. I unzipped and …

Hello, commando.

“Hey, I just made this bed, and you’re going to mess it up,” he complained.

I looked around at the pillows haphazardly thrown, the sheet trailing out on the side, the upside down duvet, and smiled. “I love that you tried, but what you are an expert at in this bed has nothing at all to do with making it. Now, get down here,” I teased.

I heard him mumble, “This is why it’s crap to make a bed” as he laid his full weight on me and my legs came up around him.

It was an hour before we made it to the shower.

Then at least another hour before we made it out.

That afternoon he told me that he had no real plans for the rest of that week and that, if it would be all right, he would like to “spend as much time with me as humanly possible.” Who was I to argue?

So we cocooned. We wrapped ourselves in a little bubble of lust and freaking cocooned. We railroaded right through what should have been our first twenty dates, all in four days time.

We ate at FatBurger for lunch almost every day. He was a freak for it. I made him go running with me at Griffith Park, but only twice. He had trouble keeping up with me the first time, and the second … well let’s just say we went a little George Michael behind a tree.

We drove for miles up PCH. He drove while I sat back relaxing, watching him in his sunglasses, looking sexy as all get out. We listened to music, trading iPods back and forth, playing each other our favorites.

We watched hours of DVDs. We watched The Office—UK and US versions, Flight of the Conchords, and we spent an entire afternoon watching a Corey marathon: The Lost Boys, License to Drive and Stand by Me.

We spent a morning at my new house, helping to place all my furniture.

I couldn’t believe how beautiful it had turned out, and I wasn’t even going to get a chance to enjoy it.

We talked for hours. I told him all about my new show and how nervous I was about it. He confessed to me that he was getting a little worried about all the hype Time was creating and whether he would be painted with the same teeny bop brush as other actors the same age.

We were barely sleeping at night, but we managed to sneak naps in each afternoon. We cuddled in my bed, usually with me wearing one of his shirts. It was how he preferred me to be, if he couldn’t have me naked.