The Redhead Series

by Alice Clayton

  “Buckle up, Nuts Girl,” he said, hand on my thigh as we tore off into the night.

  When we got back to Holly’s we walked in giggling like teenagers, only to find Holly with a carton of Chunky Monkey. She took one look at us. I was dressed in his shirt, buttoned all cockeyed. One shoe. He was wearing his jacket, no shirt underneath . . . very Miami Vice. We both had bite marks on our necks. She shook her head as we went past, shaking her spoon at us.

  “You’d better hope there were no photographers wherever you were, damn it!” she shouted up to us. I ran up the stairs ahead of Jack, still naked underneath his shirt, and I swear to holy Chex Mix . . . he bit me on my butt.

  We had a crazy night, reminiscent of our first night together. It was as if we knew that by this time tomorrow night we’d be moving beyond our little sexual frontier, and it was like a countdown of our greatest hits. He made me crazy in the bed, up against the door, in the shower, and once again . . . on the floor of the closet. His hair was a mess, my hands refusing to let go whenever he got that maniacal tongue near my lady bits.

  I would like to thank whoever wrote the manual that all twentysomething men now read, because they sure love to take a taste. Not that it didn’t happen when I was in my early twenties, but the quality had certainly improved. I don’t know if I needed to thank Bill Clinton, or Internet porn, or Sex and the City, but damn.

  And how the hell did a twenty-four-year-old guy know how to find a J-spot? My first boyfriend couldn’t have found it with a TomTom. Truth be told, it took me a while, too. But my George?

  And he got as good as he gave. By the time I was finished with him, he was actually begging me to let him rest—a first for him.

  We were lying in bed, legs and arms tangled pleasantly and both positively glowing in our postorgasmic silence, except for Jack’s Happy Sound. I did love to hear that little hum, especially when we were close like this.

  I stretched, letting out a big yawn, then settled farther into the covers. Our little cocoon was so warm, and I swear that my sheets were softer when he was under them. How could that be?

  He’d snuggled down so far under the covers that all that was visible was a shock of messy hair, curls askew. He was wrapped around me like a snake, with his head on my chest. His breath tickled my skin and I giggled and poked him in the ribs. The hair jumped slightly.

  “Hey, are we really going to Santa Barbara tomorrow?”

  “You better believe it,” he said through a yawn.

  “What time are we leaving? And how long will we be there?”

  “We can leave as soon as we wake up. I know you’ll have tons to do to get ready for New York, so we’ll only be there through Sunday. Two nights.”

  Then I only had two nights after that before I had to leave. I quickly pushed that thought aside.

  “What’s happening in Santa Barbara anyway?” I asked, sliding my hand beneath the covers. I caressed his face, and his lips captured my fingers in a quick kiss.

  “I have a photo shoot with some of the other cast members. You can meet them if you’d like,” he said almost shyly.

  “Do you want me to?” I asked. We had just been told by Holly to keep things quiet, and while Jack said he didn’t care who knew we were . . . whatever we were, I knew it wasn’t a smart idea. The fewer people who knew, the better.

  “Well, yeah. I already told my friend Rebecca about you, and Lane—he plays Isaac in the film—heard me on the phone with you the other day. So, yes. You should meet them.” He was quiet for a moment and then finished with, “If you want to.”

  “Yes, I want to,” I answered, and felt him relax against me farther.

  “Right, then. That’s settled. But remember one thing, Grace.”

  “Yes?”

  He pushed his head above the covers, looking wonderfully rumpled and sexy. “When I’m working, I’m working. You can come and meet them then. Because when I’m not working . . .” He paused and I finished for him.

  “You’re only going to be working me, George.” I arched an eyebrow at him. He gazed at me and just the look in his eyes made my nipples go on point.

  He noticed. His lips began to sweep kisses across my collarbone and his hands came up to my breasts.

  I rolled away, to the farthest edge of the bed.

  “Hey, where did you go?” he asked, surprised.

  “We’re going to sleep, Sweet Nuts, so tomorrow will happen faster,” I answered.

  He chuckled and rolled over to me, pressing his body up against me in the most comforting way. As his hands found my breasts, he whispered, “Good night, sweet girl.”

  I sighed happily and shut my eyes, willing myself to sleep.

  Tomorrow, we’d drive.

  And then?

  Let the blessed shagging begin.

  twenty

  When I woke up, it was like Christmas morning. I was so excited that I began jumping on the bed, singing a happy tune much like “A Tisket, a Tasket”: “A shagging, a shagging, I’m going to get a shagging!”

  From under the covers, Jack groaned. I poked him with my toe, standing over him in a victorious pose. “Hey, get up! I thought you said the shagging would begin today,” I said teasingly, using my toe to pull the covers down slowly. I revealed a creased forehead, knit-together eyebrows, glaring eyes, and a frowning mouth. As the reveal continued, however, I saw a strong chest, slim hips, my favorite trail this side of Appalachia, and . . . hello, lover! A Morning Missile. His eyes said no, but his wood said yes.

  My eyes widened at the sight, and Jack arched his back as he stretched, making it poke farther at his boxers. I bit my lip. I couldn’t get sidetracked, or we’d never make it to Santa Barbara.

  “Hey, George, let’s go! Get up!” I prodded him, humming my original shagging tune.

  “Grace, stop it,” he said, warning me, trying to retrieve the covers from underneath my bouncing feet.

  “George. George. George,” I chanted with each bounce. He glared at me again through sleepy eyes.

  “Grace, I’m warning you.”

  “And I’m warning you, man. You said you’d shag me today,” I repeated, bouncing harder than ever. The bed was squeaking inappropriately.

  “I’m gonna spank you today if you keep that up,” he said. “Now seriously, stop all that bouncing about. I won’t tell you again.”

  His eyes darkened as they looked at me now fully, standing over him in my white button-down, hair messed from sleep, eyes sparkling. I started to bounce again and he moved like a cat, catching me in midair, pulling my legs out from under me so I landed flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me. He straddled me while I struggled to catch my breath between giggles.

  “Grace, you need to calm down. We can’t leave for Santa Barbara yet.”

  “Why the hell not?” I asked, trying to fight him off. He would have none of it.

  “First of all, because you haven’t packed,” he said.

  “I plan on being naked most of the time,” I answered quickly.

  “Secondly, the hotel won’t even check us in until noon.”

  “We can do it in the car,” I quipped, trying to get my hands free so I could grab on to him. I was more persuasive when I could touch him.

  He knew this, so he kept both of my hands high above my head, pinned to the bed.

  “Thirdly, has it escaped your attention that it isn’t even six A.M.?”

  I stopped cold. I looked at the window and noticed the sun had barely risen. The freaking birds weren’t even chirping. And I was bouncing on the bed like a madwoman singing about an upcoming shag. I looked back to his face, now fully awake and glaring down at me, but not without a hint of humor.

  Gulp.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize how early it was. I guess I’m a little eager.” I grinned, feeling a blush start to creep in.

  “Crazy,” he said, shaking his head at me. He pulled me up and pressed me close to him. I let my hands come up to his shoulders and hugged him tightly. We embraced for a mo
ment, his hands tracing up and down my back. I breathed in his scent, amplified by his sleepy heat. Pipe tobacco, chocolate, and Hamilton.

  “Is it crazy that I can hardly wait for tonight?” I whispered in his ear, my heart damn near beating out of my chest.

  “Me either,” he whispered back. He pressed his lips to my cheeks and then my lips. “Now, Grace, for the love of God, can we please get a few more hours of sleep?” He sighed, pulling me back down with him.

  “You can sleep, but I need to get packing. You still need to pack, too. What time should I get you up?”

  “I’m already packed. My bag is in the car.” He yawned, tugging at my hair, trying to get me to lie back down next to him.

  “You already packed? You mean we could have left last night?” I shrieked. He covered his ears.

  “Grace, we’ll leave in a few hours,” he said, trying to placate me. “Pipe down, woman, and bring me those tits. You know I can’t sleep without a handful.” He succeeded in pulling me close enough to get ahold of me and I giggled, letting him slip his hands beneath my shirt as I tucked in next to him again.

  His fingers roamed for a few moments, as was customary, sweeping across my nipples until they were sufficiently hard. He always did this until I sighed and arched into him a little before he settled in. He would sneak one arm under the pillow and me, and the other would drape under my arm, cupping me and pulling me tightly against his chest until I was in a Hamilton sandwich. His mouth would always return to mine for one last kiss, and then I usually got another one right behind my ear as his head nestled on the pillow behind mine.

  There was one more 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 hadn’t even known a month ago.

  I couldn’t wait for that night . . .

  I finally got his ass in the car by ten thirty. I had lain in bed until I knew he was sound asleep again, and then I quietly packed. I went 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 precisely at nine, 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 more—ahem—but I told him to conserve his energy, as he’d need it that night.

  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 O’s, I took away his bowl and dumped it in the sink. He laughed and finally relented.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stalling.” I shook a finger at him while he slowly sipped his juice.

  “I’m not stalling, but breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Grace,” he answered, 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 said teasingly, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  “Hell, I’m way past that. I need to get pounded, and you’re the guy who’s going to do it,” I said severely, pushing him toward the stairs. “I got a hole that needs fillin’, a field that needs plowin’, and a stocking that’s aching to be stuffed.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “That’s very crude, love,” he said, chastising me, 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 said as I forced him backward up the stairs. He laughed the entire time and finally went into the bedroom, still shaking his head.

  That little fucker was playing with me. I decided 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 midseventies, no clouds, and bright sun. The ocean was to our left as we drove along PCH toward Santa Barbara.

  There was an open bag of Chex Mix between us and 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 firmly pushed it aside. We had limited time and I would spend every second of it 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 because 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 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 caught me staring and his lip curved 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.

  “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’d expected.

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

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

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

  “Who is going to dump niblets in your knickers?” he said, deadpan.

  “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!”

  “Fine, Grace, you don’t snore,” he said sarcastically, shaking his head.

  We were both quiet for a minute.

  “Seriously though, will anyone be listening to you snore? I mean, in New York? Do you think you’ll . . . I dunno . . . be snoring for anyone else?” He looked nervous but was covering well.

  “Will you be holding anyone else’s boobies while I’m gone?” I asked quietly, 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 really discussed where this was going.

  He was quiet, and I could see his jaw relax. 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?

  Yes, you are, and he owes you an answer.

  I waited.

  “Grace, I can honestly say, with no second thoughts, that there isn’t another pair of boobies on the planet that I’d rather have in my hands than yours. Sleeping or otherwise,” he stated.

  “Oh, baby, you say the sweetest things,” I cried in a sickly sweet voice, s
macking his cheek with a wet kiss.

  “Blech, don’t call me baby. You have enough nicknames for me already,” he said teasingly, crisis averted.

  “Oh, suck it, Sweet Nuts,” I said, taunting him.

  “Now, if Jessica Simpson happens to fall on me, and I have to steady her by holding on somewhere . . .”

  I gave him a wet willy.

  We laughed, and I hoped we could keep the promises we’d just made.

  We pulled into Santa Barbara just after noon, and as the tiny streets wound through the trees, I realized where we were staying. The Four Seasons Biltmore was a famous resort, and I’d stayed there once when Holly and I first moved to California. It was Spanish in its architecture, with a classic Californian open feel.

  We pulled around to the front, the valet got our luggage, and when Jack checked us in, I was pleased to find that we were staying in one of the cottages right on the ocean. I raised my eyebrow when I thought about the extra privacy this would afford us, and he winked at me.

  “I wanted you to be able to scream as loud as you wanted to, Crazy,” he whispered, green eyes smoldering. I could feel my body warming just listening to him tease me.

  “Will someone be making me scream?” I asked in my own whisper, pressing my lips to his neck, while the desk clerk coughed discreetly.

  “Count on that, love,” he answered, his hand sneaking down to my bum and giving it a squeeze. I giggled in anticipation as the clerk handed over our keys.

  We had just begun to make our way in the direction of the cottages, kissing deeply, when I heard a woman say, “Well, well, what have we here?”

  I turned to see a pretty blonde, standing with a tall, brown-haired guy who obviously worked out a lot. They were both smiling at the two of us pawing each other in the lobby. Jack’s hand gave my bum one more squeeze and then broke away. He smiled back at them, shaking the guy’s hand and giving the girl a hug—one like you’d give your little sister.

  “Lane, Rebecca, this is Grace,” he said, pulling me back against him as I shook their hands. They seemed to be eyeing me up and down in an amused way, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I immediately got the sense that they were approving, which was a nice change of pace.