“Stop it,” she chastised with a smirk, knowing that she would still look thoroughly humped no matter what she did. Not that she cared. If the bar patrons hadn’t heard them, they’d been gone long enough for them all to figure it out. She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the cold outside of Max’s embrace. “What time do you leave in the morning?”
“Six.” Max pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “I’m gonna head back to the boardinghouse, get some food, and call it a night.”
Grace nodded. “Okay.” She watched him carefully as he opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“You’ll be okay getting home on your own tonight?”
He usually took her home when she worked late at the bar. She smiled and nodded. “Can I . . . while you’re gone—can I text you?”
The side of Max’s mouth lifted. “Sure. Call if you want.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoed. “I . . .” He paused, uncharacteristically fidgety. He wiped a palm across his forehead and an uncertain laugh burst from him. “Shit, okay, I’m outta here.” He half-turned away from her. “Are you sure it was all right that I, that we— You’re fine?”
His rambling never ceased to endear him further to Grace. “It was very fine.”
Max licked his lips. “Damn straight, girl.” He grinned and turned fully. “Speak to you soon,” he called as he took the cellar steps two at a time, only to be greeted by rapturous applause, cheers, and catcalls when he pushed his way through the door and back into the bar.
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Adore.
Adore who?
Adore is between us. Open up!
Grace. Seriously.
Knock, knock.
Really?
Come on. Knock, knock.
Who’s there!?
Harry.
Harry who?
Harry up, it’s cold out here!
That’s it, I’m blocking you.
You’d never.
You’re probably right.
Grace grinned down at her phone before sliding it into the front pocket of her apron. She’d been abusing Max with her dad’s old knock-knock jokes for two days and he was still humoring her, God bless him. It was Saturday and, after her run, Grace had locked herself in her darkroom to work on her gallery collection, the deadline for which was looming quietly.
She hummed and bobbed her head slowly to Marvin Gaye’s Trouble Man, her favorite album for when she was developing photographs. She picked up one particular shot with her tweezers and let the developing solution run off it. It was a favorite of hers, taken of Max, unaware that she’d taken the picture. It was July Fourth while they were hanging by the lake. He was smiling, his eyes creasing in that adorable way of his, his laughter almost audible from the print. There was no hint of the pain or struggle that Max had endured. He looked truly peaceful, truly beautiful.
Grace fastened it to the line that hung from one corner of her darkroom to the other with a small clip and stood back, observing the shots she was to use in her collection as well as those she’d decided to hide and keep for herself. The latter were mostly of Max. That man had a face made for film.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Max.
Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Ivana.
Ivana who?
Ivana hump your brains out!
Grace snorted.
I wish you could. But you’re not here. For now, I guess, I’ll have to pleasure myself.
The three small gray dots on her cell screen flickered and then disappeared, as though he was typing then deleting repeatedly, before his reply finally came through: Damn. Are you really?
She laughed while typing: No. No time, although I may do that later. I have to get ready for my girls’ night. Bet you wish you’d taken my panties now, don’t you?
“Wow, Max, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Everything all right?”
Max looked up from his cell phone to Josh, who was sitting across the table of the burger and grill place the team had chosen to eat. There were twelve of them at a long table in the center of the place, all of them talking and ravenous from the day’s labor. Max ached in places he’d forgotten about since his gym sessions in rehab. It was no wonder he hurt, considering all the lifting and lugging he’d done over the past few days.
“What’s up?” Josh asked, looking at the phone in Max’s hand.
Max shoved his cell into the pocket of his jeans, which were a little snug thanks to Grace’s message. Shit. He’d created a monster. “Just a text from Grace.”
Josh raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can tell what kind of text, too. Ruby is a nightmare for that when I’m away and can’t do anything about it.”
Max grimaced. “Dude, that’s my cousin.”
“And my daughter,” Vince called from three places down above the noise.
Josh sat forward, ignoring his father-in-law. “So, you and Grace, huh?”
“What about me and Grace?”
Josh shrugged nonchalantly, avoiding Max’s pointed stare, smiling down at his pot of ranch dressing. “I just heard you guys had fun at Whiskey’s the other night.”
“Everyone heard,” Rob added from next to Max, nudging him playfully. The other guys nearest to them smirked. They’d obviously heard about Max and Grace’s cellar activities, too.
Max grinned despite himself. He knew the banter would come eventually and, truthfully, he didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed. Hell no.
Seeing the deputy’s eyes fire up when he emerged from the cellar with the smell of Grace all over him?
That shit was golden. He’d all but sauntered past the prick with a smirk front and center. Besides, he knew Grace hadn’t been too uncomfortable that they’d been heard. She’d known it was a possibility and, Christ, she’d practically begged him for it. He exhaled and picked up his fork, recollecting that shit-hot look she’d given him over her shoulder. It was filled with a dare, a want, and all the things that made Max want to do dastardly things to her wherever and whenever they could. Woman was dangerous without even trying.
He paused, and played with the food on his plate. He knew deep down he should have felt unsettled, but he couldn’t find it in himself—beneath the unfamiliar sensation of contentment that had snuck in since Grace arrived on the scene—to care. Grace was fun to fuck. She was gorgeous, and witty, and he liked being around her. He liked her. He liked what they were doing and for the first time in a while, he liked what it felt like. Their arrangement worked and he was enjoying himself. Plus, he was eight months clean and sober. With no worries, no strings, and with the heavy weight of his addiction gradually becoming lighter and easier to bear as each day passed, life felt pretty damn awesome.
“You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Rob muttered under his breath. “She’s smoking hot.”
“Aren’t you married?” another guy, whose name Max couldn’t recall, and who had cornrows and sparkling white teeth, asked from Rob’s other side.
“Please,” Rob countered with a shrug. “Just ’cause I’m eatin’, don’t mean I can’t look at the menu.”
Max picked up his cheeseburger and took a mammoth bite, not even the least bit guilty for enjoying the sliver of smugness that wrapped around his chest.
“So are you guys, like, exclusive?” Josh asked, sipping from his beer bottle.
Max shook his head. “We’re not a couple or anything, it’s casual, but we don’t sleep with anyone else.”
“Damn. There goes my shot,” Josh’s friend Aiden drawled, snapping his fingers. He looked at Max with attentive gray eyes, his blond eyebrows furrowing playfully. “Wait. How long you stayin’ in Preston County? When do you go back to New York?”
The table laughed again at Aiden’s suggestion, but for some reason, Max struggled to join in. He smiled faintly at Josh as he shook his head good-naturedly at his friend, and picked up his drink, rub
bing the heel of his hand against a sudden heat burning deep in the center of his chest. He eyed his burger distrustfully.
Damn indigestion.
A few hours later, after leaving the majority of the guys propping up a whiskey bar in the city, Max headed back to the small but comfortable hotel they had been put up in. It wasn’t that watching other people get shitfaced while he stayed sober wasn’t super-duper fun, but there was only so much Max could resist before the scent of bourbon developed into a siren’s call.
He’d called Tate as he walked the four blocks, explaining where he was and what he’d been doing. It was a casual conversation—they shot the shit, he dodged questions about Grace, and they caught up—but Max could hear the underlying concern in Tate’s voice that appeared whenever Max called unexpectedly. Months ago the sound of it would have had his molars grinding, but now he found himself smiling. It was a good feeling having people on his side.
Throwing himself down on his hotel bed and switching on the TV, Max glanced at his watch. It was a little before midnight. He tapped his cell screen against his knuckle, wondering whether Grace would still be up. She’d said something about a girls’ night so it was entirely possible. With a shrug he started typing out a text.
Back at the hotel. How was your night?
He sent it, threw the phone down on the bed, and heaved himself up and to the bathroom to clean up before he went to bed. He heard his phone vibrate as he finished brushing his teeth. He wandered back into the room, pulling his Henley over his head and kicking his boots to the corner of the room. He picked up his phone and frowned at the text.
Kmoxk Knixk
“What the hell?” Max smirked.
Seems someone has been at the cocktails again.
Yupl
Be safe. Have fun.
I wush you ware here. O miss yo.
Max chuckled while trying to ignore the warm sensation whispering across his neck.
Put your drink down and go home. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Home goin now. Yo mish me toooooooooo!!!!
Max snickered at the numerous heart-eye emojis at the end of her message and shook his head. He put his cell on charge, resisting the urge to text her back.
It didn’t matter in any case; they both knew she was right.
As forecast, the storm rolled in at seven o’clock Friday evening of the following week.
It arrived with a ferocious roar and streaks of lightning followed by rain, the likes of which Grace had never seen. The humidity that had built over the past few days had been so brutal, like breathing water through a sieve, that Grace had given up even attempting to run while it hung around. Instead, to pass the time when she wasn’t behind the bar, she cranked up the AC and worked on her photographs.
A flash of lightning illuminated Whiskey’s, setting the lights to flickering. Grace jumped from her spot by the fridge and looked toward the window. It had been in full flow for a good hour with no sign of letting up. It was going to be all sorts of fun getting home tonight.
For a Friday, Whiskey’s was all but empty except for Earl, Caleb, who’d just finished his shift, and a couple of regulars who spent so much time in Whiskey’s, Grace wasn’t sure they remembered where they lived anymore. Word had gotten around so quickly about the oncoming storm that even hot wings and liquor couldn’t entice the masses. Folks had the right idea. The only reason Grace was working was that Holly was unwell, seemingly a victim of the dreaded sickness bug that had made Grace’s life a misery more than a week ago.
Thunder shook the bar. Grace’s eyes widened and Caleb chuckled. “Ah, don’t you worry none. This is tame compared to our usual summer storms,” he offered. “You’ll be fine.”
Grace wasn’t so sure. She was just relieved that Max and the rest of the guys weren’t heading back to Preston County until Sunday, when the storm was forecast to be at its weakest. Roads would be treacherous and she’d do nothing but spend her time worrying about him getting back safely otherwise. She poured herself a soda.
Lord. She couldn’t wait to see him. It had seemed like the longest eight days of her life. They’d texted and even spoken on the phone a couple of times—even though Grace could sense Max’s awkwardness when they did—but it wasn’t the same.
An almighty crack of thunder that sounded as though it was directly above the bar snapped out the lights for a brief moment. A car alarm wailed somewhere outside as though crying out in surprise. Despite it nearing the end of July, the sky was black as rain barrelled down onto the ground below.
“Maybe I should close up?” Grace muttered, eyeing the wavering strip lights and glancing around at the faces sitting at the bar. Surprisingly, they all looked to be of the same opinion despite it being before 9 p.m. “We’d all be safer at home, right?”
Caleb slapped his hands on the bar, moving his bottle of Coke out of the way. “You’re right. I’ll head upstairs, tell Holly what we’re doing, and drop each of you off in the cruiser. That thing could drive through just about anything.”
Earl wheezed. “Cruiser, huh? Not been in the back of one of them since I was younger’n you.”
Grace turned back to Caleb. “If you’re sure.”
He nodded and disappeared up the back steps to Holly’s place. While he was gone, Grace cleaned up, thankful that the bar had been so quiet. She switched off all the electrics—save for the fridges—remembering her mother saying something about electrical sockets and storms not mixing, and stood with the other patrons at the door, waiting patiently for Caleb.
After locking the door and pushing the keys through the mailbox, Grace squealed and slid to the police cruiser, scrambling into the front seat before the rain could saturate every part of her. It was a losing battle. She pushed back hair that dripped down her nose, amazed that in mere moments the storm had left her looking like she’d been in the shower. “Ballet flats were not a great idea,” she giggled, wiggling her soaked toes.
Caleb’s lips tilted up at the corners. “Okay?” he asked before looking back at his posse of drowned rats. Despite the weather, a collection of whoops and hollers greeted him in reply.
Caleb drove carefully, dropping each person off, making sure they reached their front doors safely before he set off again. He was clearly a good driver, but from the clench of his jaw it was obvious the rain, and the water now rushing the roads, were setting him on edge.
He finally pulled up outside Grace’s house and turned off the cruiser. The rain thundered against the roof, hood, and windshield. He looked at her pulling an eek face. “On the count of three?”
“One. Two. Three!”
They both darted out of the car, ducking and weaving through the torrents, shouting until they reached the porch. Grace slid the key in the door and pushed, slipping on the laminate floor. Caleb caught her, his hands on her waist for a brief moment, before reaching for the light switch. It clicked but no light appeared.
“Oh no,” Grace grumbled, trying it herself, twice.
Caleb shut the door behind him. “Shit. This might have affected the whole town.” He frowned at the unresponsive spotlights as though they were somehow to blame. “Where’s your fuse box?” he asked, pulling his flashlight from his belt.
Grace laughed nervously. Other than Max and Kai, both of whom she trusted implicitly, she’d not been alone with a man in the house. She moved backward slowly, toward the couch. “Um, I have no idea.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes gently, watching her distance. He lifted a hand as though calming a startled animal. “Hey, I just want to make sure you’ve got power before I leave you, okay?” He unclipped his radio, holding it out to her. “Do you want to call someone to come over while I’m here?” His face was entirely indulgent, with no hint of a lie or ulterior motive.
Grace fisted her hands together at her stomach, as the storm battled overhead. “No,” she said finally. “Sorry.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I’m just being— Forgive me; it’s the storm making me jumpy.”
C
aleb smiled small. “No worries. I get it.” He reattached his radio and turned on his flashlight, as he cleared his throat. “Let’s find that fuse box, huh?”
After an hour’s search, Caleb managed to locate Grace’s fuse box and had the power back on before he left. Apparently, despite the extensive work that had taken place, her house’s electrics were still touchy about thunder and lightning. Caleb had left soon after and was, as always, polite and gracious. Grace couldn’t deny that she felt a tad silly for reacting the way she had with him, but, as Nina had explained, even though she was making positive steps with men in some ways, in others it would still take time.
By noon the following day, the rain had eased and the cracks of thunder had lessened to sporadic rumbles that rolled up and over the mountains. The storm had eased for the most part the horrendous humidity that had smothered the town for days, and Grace didn’t hesitate in throwing on her running gear and setting off toward the cottage, along the well-worn track she and Max took daily, and back into town to grab her latte and muffin. The forecast for the evening was much the same, so Grace wasn’t planning to dally about.
“Hey, Grace!” Ruby stood at her shop door waving and smiling. “Good to see you survived last night.”
Grace jogged over, sidestepping the huge puddles that had gathered. “Just. You?”
“Yeah, I’m just checking that my business is still here and hasn’t floated away.” She laughed.
Grace smiled. “Hey, did your power go out?” Ruby shook her head. “Mine did. Caleb had to fix it.”
“Lord. I’m glad he was there to help. Was Max not around?”
Grace frowned. “He’s in Philly.”
Ruby’s smile faltered. “No, they . . . they got back last night. Maybe eight o’clock. Did Max not call? Josh said they decided to risk the weather and head back. I’m glad they did. It was so nice having him in bed last night. I hate storms.”
Grace exhaled, a strange, heavy sensation twisting up her back. “I didn’t know.” She shooed the feeling away with a roll of her shoulders. “He was probably exhausted. I’ll call him later.” Her eyes found the sky. “Before the next heavyweight bout.”
An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2) Page 27
