“Love you too. ‘Night.”
I hung up the phone, sighing and breathless, and rolled onto my side. At this point in the program, had I been with my Brit, boobies would be held, sweet nothings would be whispered, and even a Golden Girls episode or two might be viewed. A pang of loneliness washed over me, but I quickly pushed it aside. I turned my thoughts to the scene I’d be working on the next day. Mabel was meeting with her ex-husband for the first time since the divorce, and I knew my separation from Jack would help me create Mabel’s feelings of isolation. I missed Jack, but I would use it.
~ ~ ~
And so it went. Days turned into weeks. I rehearsed and sometimes went out with my new friends. Jack did interviews and photo shoots and went out with his friends. We talked all the time—and continued the frequent phone sex. He asked me lots of questions about the show and wanted to know everything about my new friends, the cast, and how things were going. I told Jack about everything, although I may have glossed over exactly how much time Michael and I were spending together outside rehearsal.
Some nights we met up to work on scenes he was rewriting, but we usually ended up talking, reminiscing, and laughing more than anything else. He said it helped with his rewrites to spend time with me, and I found more and more of myself showing up in the new scenes. He admitted once that he’d modeled some of Mabel’s character traits on me, especially the earlier scenes where Mabel is in college and falling in love with all the wrong guys.
One night we stayed late after rehearsal to work on a new scene, and when my tummy’s growling began to rival our rather loud discussion, I suggested we head back to my place and order a late dinner. I’d recently moved from the W hotel to a small apartment on the West Side. It was clean, close to the rehearsal space, and already furnished—everything I needed in a temporary home. Since I’d moved in, we’d fallen into a habit of ordering greasy Chinese, and the restaurant around the corner from my apartment was our number-one choice.
Secretly, this sometimes made me a bit nervous. Since battling my way back from a good deal of extra weight several years ago, I’d been dedicated to making smart food choices. But the noodles…oh my goodness, the noodles. I let myself pig out on occasion, because I knew now I could control it. I ate really well most of the time, I exercised like a banshee, and I was truly proud of my new body. This was what I was meant to look like. Nevertheless, when the noodles called, I answered. I just had to run an extra mile or two to combat them. It was worth it. Seriously, the best garlic noodles ever.
We picked up the order and settled into our usual spots: me on the couch and him on the floor next to me. He tended to make a mess, so I now made him either wear a bib, or sit on the floor where his mouth was closer to the noodle bowl. He chose the floor.
“Who was that guy you were dating sophomore year? The one that had the thing with no body hair?” he asked, shoveling in the noodles like someone was going to take them away from him.
“Um, Jason, I think? Ugh, I haven’t thought about him in years! He was odd—not one of my better moments. But fantastic in the sack, I must say.” I sighed, thinking of how happy he’d made me, but only when horizontal. He’d waxed his chest and legs, armpits, and even his bits and pieces. And this was back before anyone had ever heard of manscaping. He had zero body hair and, sadly, zero personality. Thank the maker he was equipped with nine inches of fantastic. This tended to make up for all his little peccadilloes.
“Yes, I remember you started taking yoga around that time…something about keeping yourself limber.” Michael winked mischievously, and I hit him on the head.
“Michael! Jeez! I can’t believe you remember all that. That was like, twelve years ago.” I laughed, spearing a broccoli and nibbling as I thought about how long ago it really was. Hanging out with Michael now felt like we were back at my old college apartment. He’d bring his laundry over, and we’d watch movies until we both fell asleep on the couch.
“Grace, I remember everything,” he said softly, smiling at me.
“Really? I bet you don’t remember the first time we met,” I challenged, pointing at him with my broccoli stalk.
“I’ll bet you the last egg roll I do and you don’t,” he countered, face serious.
“It’s a bet, sucker. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go ahead and mix up my soy sauce-hot mustard concoction so it’s ready for my victory egg roll.” I reached over him for the bag of condiments. He grabbed my hand.
“Why don’t we wait on that, since I’m totally going to win this bet,” he said, moving my hand back to my side.
“Hmmph, whatever. Okay, when we first met: Freshman year, first day of class. We were in Professor Miller’s Acting 1, lower level of the theater, Room 301. We got paired up for scene work. I was wearing khaki shorts, Keds, and a Sigma Nu T-shirt. You were wearing a black ball cap, a Ministry T-shirt, jeans, and your Vans. I remember because at first I thought your shirt said ‘Minister.’ I thought, ‘Well, that sucks. I can’t very well bang a man of the cloth.’” I blushed, remembering that I really had been attracted to him from the start. “So there,” I finished, sticking my tongue out and blowing a raspberry.
He smiled, and I reached across him again to take my egg roll. He stopped me once more.
“Hey, man, I won! Give me my egg roll, you ass. Don’t be a sore loser,” I whined.
“That isn’t the first time we met,” he said, grinning big.
“What? The fuck it isn’t. I remember it like it was yesterday, O’Connell.” I fought him for the roll. He continued to hold my hands back, laughing now.
“The first time we met was the week prior to class starting. I was at registration, and you were in line in front of me. I heard you telling the registration clerk you wanted to switch your Acting 1 class to a different section so you could take some astronomy class. When you left the line, you tripped over the rope and fell down.”
I felt my face grow red at the memory. “Shit, that’s right! I totally fell flat on my face, and some guy had to help me get all my shit together. I was so embarrassed because my birth control pills fell out of my purse, and he handed them back to me with a huge smirk.” I laughed, blushing again. I’d hightailed it right out of there after that, convinced my entire college career would be marred by the incident. But I’d forgotten about it until now.
“And you saw that? How mortifying!” I laughed.
“I was the guy who handed you your pills, you dork! And then I made sure the clerk switched me into your acting class,” he said, wearing that same smirk I remembered from registration. “And you were not wearing a Sigma Nu T-shirt that first day in class, it was an SAE shirt. And they weren’t khaki shorts, they were cut-off jean shorts,” he finished quietly.
We looked at each other for a moment, lost in that particular memory.
“Take the fucking egg roll,” I finally said. “You totally won.”
He smirked and took it, stuffing half into his mouth with one bite. He offered the rest to me. “We can share it. I can’t believe you remember the Ministry shirt.” He laughed.
“Ya know, Holly was in that class too, but we didn’t meet until after when we all decided to grab a beer. I can’t remember what she was wearing that day,” I said thoughtfully, crunching down on my half of the egg roll.
“Neither can I, Grace,” Michael said softly, eyes on me.
My eyes locked on his.
I chewed my egg roll.
He scratched his nose.
Mrs. Kobritz’s yappy dog barked upstairs.
Our eyes stayed locked.
My cell rang. And rang. And rang.
Our eyes stayed locked.
Answer your phone, Grace.
My phone? Shit, my phone!
I broke away, grabbing for my phone, and got it right before it went to voicemail.
“Hello? Hello?” I shouted unnecessarily into the phone. Michael chuckled and leaned back into the couch.
“Gracie? Hey, I was just about to leave
you a raunchy message,” I heard my Brit say.
“Well, do you want me to hang up so you can leave it?” I asked, a little out of breath. I pushed myself off the couch and went into the bedroom, out of earshot.
“Nah, I’d rather tell you what I wish I was doing to you—that way I can hear you react.” I could hear his voice change into Johnny Bite Down mode. I could never resist him when he nibbled on that lower lip—swoon-worthy for sure.
“You want me to react, huh?” I asked, wheeling about and wondering how I could get Michael out before Jack got me off. I was about to head back into the family room when Michael showed up in my doorway, leaning against the frame.
“I’m going to take off, Grace. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mouthed, kindly keeping his voice down. I waved goodbye and followed him to the door, still listening to Jack.
“Yes, love, I’m dying for a reaction from you to my talented sexy ways, as I work my magic through your fingers,” Jack continued in a low voice.
My body responded, as it always did when I heard his voice get like that. Fuck, he could get me hot in 2.3 seconds. Three thousand miles couldn’t make a dent in his sex vibe. When he wanted a reaction from me, he got one—even across the Continental Divide.
“You’re dying, are you?” I laughed as I opened the door for Michael.
He stopped and looked back at me as if he was going to say something, but then lifted his hand in goodbye. I waved back, smiling, and he disappeared down the hall.
“But first, Crazy, I have some great news,” he said as I locked the door, leaning back against it. I looked at the Chinese takeout everywhere and sighed. What a mess I’d made.
“You okay, sweet girl?” he asked, forcing me to focus.
“I’m good. I just miss you is all,” I whispered, feeling a lump in my throat. Suddenly I missed him so much I literally ached.
“Then, love, you’ll be happy when I tell you my news,” he said.
“What is it, please?” I asked, not daring to hope for what I wanted.
“I’m coming to see you,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes, leaned my head against the door, and said a silent thank you.
“Gracie? Are you there?” he asked, chortling.
“I’m here, George,” I whispered, my throat tight.
“What do you think?”
“I couldn’t have gotten better news. I’m thrilled!” I sighed happily, a grin breaking across my face that rivaled Jack Nicholson’s Joker. Then I broke out in a fit of giggles, unable to stop. I laughed so hard I began to cry, and I could only imagine what it must sound like on the other end of the line. Jack laughed along with me, indulging my outburst with the patience of a saint. Truly, no other twenty-four-year-old man on the planet had his tolerance, especially when dealing with me.
When I finally calmed enough to form sentences again, I sighed deeply, making my way toward the couch from where I’d collapsed in front of the door. I didn’t actually make it off the floor—my tummy hurt too much from laughing to let me up. I had truly gone fetal.
“What the hell was that, Sheridan?” he asked, laughing again as he heard me moan dramatically when I finally lifted myself back onto the coach.
“Just a little emotional breakdown, Hamilton. They happen, you know. When are you getting here? Don’t tell me you’re in the hallway! I can’t handle that.” I smiled into the phone, my heart leaping at the thought he might be that close.
“No, sorry. I will be there this Friday night, though. Soon enough for you?”
My heart now leaped out of my chest. I quickly did the math. “You’ll be here in four days?” I squealed, arching my ass off the couch as every muscle in my body clenched involuntarily.
“Yes, ma’am. Will you be ready for all that lovin’?” he teased, voice getting lower.
“Oh, God, Sweet Nuts, I’m gonna work you over so good, you won’t be able to get back on that plane. How long will you be here?” I asked, my voice getting husky as well.
“What if I said you get to keep me until Tuesday night?”
I actually closed my eyes and bit down on my knuckles to keep the shrieking inside. “Five days? Do you have any idea the kind of damage we can do to each other in five days?”
“I have some idea. What do you want me to do first?” he asked, indicating the beginning of the sex. I smiled contentedly, and as my hands began to work their way down, I imagined all the ways I could answer that question. They were spectacular in their promise.
Chapter 2
“So what do you two plan on doing this weekend, as if I didn’t already know?” Even over the phone from L.A., Holly’s voice made me smile.
“Believe it or not, we actually did make some plans,” I said. “We’re seeing a show Saturday night and a new exhibit at the MOMA on Sunday. And between my rehearsal schedule and his interviews, we’ll barely have any quiet time at all.” I sighed, stretching out across the old couch in the back of the rehearsal studio.
Holly had called in between early-morning phone meetings. Being both my best friend and my manager—not to mention Jack’s manager—was a multifaceted role she was so far handling really well. She was great at her job, especially with new talent like Jack. She was crafting his career with precision—keeping him visible, but not overexposed.
And speaking of Jack, he was due in tonight! His flight got in around five, and I was meeting him at his hotel. We were strategic that way—we didn’t want to waste any time. I was hoping our hellos would be quickly followed by my panties’ removal.
“Why do I think quiet times aren’t on the menu this weekend anyway? More like screaming times,” she chuckled, no doubt remembering the caterwauling she’d had to endure all those weeks at her house in L.A.
I blushed. He did get me to scream louder than any man before him, and then there were the nights when he stunned me silent. Oh, God. Is there a way to speed up time?
“So how’s the show going? You and Michael still getting along, or have you scratched his eyes out?”
“No, actually things are going surprisingly well. I forgot how damn funny he is, and we’re really having a good time together. It’s like we never stopped being friends,” I said. I was so glad we’d put the past behind us.
“Uh-huh,” she said.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just saying ‘uh-huh’,” she said, the smile back in her voice.
“Holly, you never say anything without meaning something. Now give it up, bitch.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just glad you guys are friends again. It isn’t weird at all? No old chemistry knocking around, nothing coming up between you two?” she asked.
“No, none at all. Thanks for asking, though, you scandal whore.” I laughed, hoping to change the subject quickly. There was nothing going on. However, while Michael and I had spent plenty of time reminiscing, we hadn’t addressed the feelings we’d had for each other back then, or any impact they might have on the present. I thought briefly of his eyes locked on mine during the eggroll standoff, but I brushed this aside.
“So when are you coming to visit, you dumb bitch?” I segued smoothly.
“Nice talk. I’m trying to get out there before Thanksgiving. And by the way, where are you planning on spending the holiday? Can you get back here, or will you still be in rehearsal?”
“I don’t know, but my guess is I’ll be here. Hey, I’ll get to see the parade up close and personal. That’ll be kind of cool!” I said. I hadn’t really thought about the upcoming holidays.
“Maybe I’ll wait and come out then. Can’t have my best friend alone on Turkey Day,” she said, laughing.
“Aw, that’s sweet, babe. You know there’s no one I’d rather share yams with than your bad-ass self.” I chuckled.
“So when’s he getting in?” she asked.
I ignored the obvious double entendre. “Around five-ish. I have to be here all day for rehearsal, but that’s good. It’s keeping my mind off things. I?
??m so freaking excited! I really didn’t expect to miss him as much as I do.”
I sighed, leaning back on the couch again and sipping my coffee. It was still early—not even lunch yet, and I knew this day would positively drag.
Six hours until boom-boom…
“I knew you’d miss him this much, and I have to tell you, he’s like a little lost puppy without you,” she said.
“Really? Why do you say that?” I asked, wincing a little at the image.
“I can just tell how much he misses you. He’s doing a ton of promotion, and he’s starting to really get recognized, which is a little weird for him. I know he’s going out with his friends at night a lot, but I still think he’d rather be with you, watching your God-awful Golden Girls,” she said, groaning in distaste.
“Yeah, I’m sure he’d rather be snuggled up watching Bea Arthur than out on the town,” I sniped.
“Grace, you’re an idiot. The boy is in love. Let him miss you,” she said.
I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “I know he misses me. I miss him too. A lot,” I muttered.
Just then Michael came into the studio with the musical director.
“Hey, Holly, I gotta go. I’ll call you later this weekend,” I said, rolling off the couch and walking over to the piano.
“Don’t you dare call my ass when you should be fucking the shit out of your hot British nasty! I love you, now goodbye,” she said, and hung up.
I smiled as I clicked off the phone.
“Was that Holly?” Michael asked, grinning down at me.
“Yep, she was harassing me.” I laughed as we began to page through sheet music.
“About this weekend?” he asked, his smile tightening.
“Yeah, she’s always trying to give me advice. You know how she is,” I said, nodding to the accompanist to begin.
We worked together on the song, finding the emotional beats and drawing out the subtext. Once we finished, Michael packed up to leave just as Leslie came in from the studio next door.
“So I heard your boyfriend is coming in this weekend. Are you stoked?” she asked, bounding into the room and curling up on the couch next to me.