She clasped his hand. “Karen Morrison. I heard April calling you man meat earlier, so I know you got it from her.”
“I’ve always been a bad influence,” April agreed.
“Jane tells me you’re renting out a room at the house?” Karen asked.
Grant’s mind went blank. To his surprise, he was nervous. “Yes.” That was as good as he could come up with.
“Writing a book, isn’t that right?” Karen continued.
He nodded. “That’s what I do.” When no more words came to him, he lifted his drink to his lips.
Jane jumped in. “He’s an award-winning writer of creative nonfiction about the outdoors, California wilderness areas in particular but the West more broadly.” Her hand landed on his shoulder. “The Chronicle put his first book on their ten-best list that year.”
Slowly he turned his head to look at her. “How did you know that?”
Jane squeezed his shoulder. “He’s too modest to tell people that. I found it online.”
Before he could cop a feel, Jane removed her hand, stepped to one side, and gestured at the makeshift bar. “Do you have something to drink, Mom?”
Karen winked at him—yes, he was quite sure that was a wink—and then helped herself to a bottle of mineral water. “April, please let me know the second you’re sick of doing this. Jane has more than enough experience mixing drinks.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jane asked, but her tone was mild, as if she and her mother bickered out of habit, not passion. “I guess my secret’s out. April, you might as well know I lead a wild, irresponsible lifestyle.”
“I can relate,” April said. “Before I met Zack, I crashed on my brother’s couch and slept with strangers. You?”
Jane helped herself to another lime from an orange bowl on the table and squirted it into her drink. “That actually sounds fun, except my brother is a college student. I don’t think he has a couch.”
“You want to sleep with strangers?” Karen asked.
Jane brought her glass to her lips and drained it, which couldn’t have been healthy. She coughed a little and then said, “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes it crosses my mind.”
Grant stopped himself from asking if he counted as a stranger. He feared not.
“You should go ahead and do it then,” Karen said. “Whoever you find couldn’t be any worse than Andrew.”
“Thanks.” Jane reached out for the vodka bottle. “Mind if I pour, April?”
“Help yourself. Don’t expect a tip though.”
Karen put her hand on Jane’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey. I was just so shocked to see him here.”
“See who?” Jane tipped the bottle over her cup.
“I suppose you felt like you had to invite him since you were together so long. Were you hoping he’d give Billie and Ian a nice gift? I never thought of him as the generous type—”
Jane stared at her mother. “Andrew is here?”
“You haven’t seen him?”
“Of course not. I never want to see him.” Jane’s head swiveled as she searched the crowd on the lawn. “What does he think he’s doing?”
Grant looked around too but saw no sign of the guy.
“Don’t get upset,” Karen said. “Billie must’ve invited him. She doesn’t carry a grudge like you do.”
“Of course she doesn’t! She never lived with him.”
“Don’t let her know you’re angry,” Karen said. “This party means a lot to her. It’s her happiness that matters, not yours.”
Grant curled his toes into the grass, hoping to dig a hole and disappear. The urge to defend Jane from her own mother was overpowering.
“In general or just today?” Jane asked.
“Jane, I love you very much, but if you make your sister cry at her combination wedding and baby shower in front of all these people, I’ll cut you out of my will.”
The use of money to manipulate family behavior was too much for Grant, who opened his mouth, struggling to find a polite way to tell Karen to shove her will up her ass.
Luckily, Jane spoke first. “Don’t worry, Mom. The only person who’s going to cry is Andrew.” She took another sip of her drink.
“It’s not that I’m not angry at her for your sake,” Karen said. “How about I talk to her about it later?”
“This has nothing to do with Billie,” Jane said. “She’d never invite him without telling me. She never liked Andrew.”
“You never liked Andrew,” Karen said.
Jane put her arm through Grant’s and squeezed. “Grant and I will go have a little talk with him.”
“Good idea,” Karen said. “Show him you’ve moved on.”
“I need a trading card for this guy,” April said. “I’ll spit in his beer.”
Jane saluted her with her empty cup. “Thank you, but hopefully that won’t be necessary.” Still clutching Grant’s arm, she turned away from the drink table. “You up for this?”
He drained his cup. “I have never been so ready.” He put his hand over her soft arm, aware his heart was beating too fast.
“Here’s the thing about Andrew,” Jane said as they walked across the lawn, scanning the crowd. “He’s socially obtuse, so subtle cues won’t work with him.”
“I noticed that.”
“When he cheated on me and I started packing my bags, he didn’t do anything because he thought I was just going on another business trip.”
“What did he do when you told him?”
“I never did,” she said. “I have no idea how long it took him to figure out I wasn’t coming back.”
He laughed. “I almost feel sorry for the guy.”
“You should. I made all his meals. He could’ve starved to death.”
“Guess he figured out how to dial takeout,” Grant said, pointing at the lanky figure in the driveway next door. Andrew wore khakis and a plaid camp shirt, looking more respectable than he had at the house when Grant had first met him. As soon as Andrew saw Jane, he stepped over the shrubs lining the driveway and strode toward them, shooting Grant one hostile look before fixing his gaze on Jane.
“I’ll hold him down if you want to slap him around a little,” Grant muttered.
“That would just encourage him.”
Andrew was short of breath when he reached them, sweat beading on his high forehead. His soul patch was tiny and off center, as if his razor had slipped that morning and he hadn’t been willing to shave it all off.
“You shouldn’t be here, Andrew,” Jane said.
“I was invited.”
“Who invited you?” Jane asked.
“Your sister.”
“Which one?”
“Billie,” Andrew said, pointing at the house. “I got an email.”
“You did not get an—” Jane cut herself off. She cleared her throat. “That email wasn’t meant for you.”
“Are you guys dating?” Andrew asked.
“None of your business,” Jane said. “Go home.”
“Why would Billie invite me if she didn’t want me here?” Andrew asked. “Why would Billie invite me if you didn’t want me here?”
“It was a mistake. I’m guessing you were part of an email group from before we broke up. Billie has been sending out emails about the party all week. You must’ve been included by mistake.”
“You didn’t ask her to send it, like, as a hint? You don’t want to see me again?”
“I didn’t and I don’t,” Jane said.
Andrew made a disgusted sound that seemed forceful enough to blow off the soul patch. “You know, I almost bought a present.”
“Almost,” Grant said. What kind of mental crisis had led Jane to live with this snail?
“You should leave now,” Jane said.
Andrew looked at Grant. “Are you staying?”
“Yes,” Grant said.
“All right, I can take a hint.” Andrew took out his phone, turned, and walked away, typing into the screen.
G
rant’s muscles loosened. He’d expected more of a fight.
“Don’t say it,” Jane said.
“What a catch.”
“I told you not to say it.”
“I thought you meant I couldn’t say he was a prick,” Grant said.
“I did, but you did anyway, just indirectly, with sarcasm.”
“He really is a prick. Why—” No, he didn’t really want to know the gory details. “Never mind.”
“Made me come every time,” she said anyway.
He groaned. “I said never mind.”
“Every. Time.”
“I really don’t want to know. I just had a drink on an empty stomach.”
“The thought of my orgasms makes you sick?”
Grant remembered she’d had more to drink than he had. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright.
He moved his hand up her arm and over her shoulder to the back of her neck and then down her spine. With his palm in the small of her back, he pulled her closer. “The thought of him with you makes me sick.”
She leaned into him. Exposed by the low cut of her dress, compressed against his arm, her full breasts plumped together like scoops of caramel ice cream. “I admit it,” she said. “I have terrible taste.”
“I don’t.” He bent his head, aiming for her rosy lips.
18
Jane didn’t know why she hadn’t expected Grant to actually kiss her, given she’d mentioned orgasms and then rubbed her boobs on him, but she hadn’t. A little smirk and an eye twinkle, max. A raised eyebrow and a veiled sexual allusion. A knowing chuckle.
Instead, without any suggestion that this was hilarious or ironic, he lowered his head and kept lowering, and then he was there, lips on her lips, face tilting to one side, tongue sliding between her teeth and entering her mouth.
Holy mother of oh my god Jesus f—
She went up in flames. Whoosh. Like tissue paper soaked in lighter fluid and dropped in a grass fire. Every moment today had been agony, having to keep her hands off his sporty, firm, cargo-pant butt when they were arm in arm. Her mother’s jabs and Andrew’s obtuse stalking had barely pierced the lust bubble she’d been encased in. Why should she care what was going on out there? In here, with her needs, her hot, growing needs, she had the energy to think only of Grant.
But now the bubble had burst. He’d broken it and climbed inside, and now he was licking the inside of her mouth. Oh yeah. He had muscular thighs, either from genetics or from all that mountain meandering (she didn’t care which), and now one of those thighs was between her own legs, pushing them apart. She wanted to ride him, push him against the side of the house and rub and slide and take.
And then he pushed her away. “Jesus,” he said.
Face burning with booze, lust, and shame, Jane recoiled. “You started it.”
He nodded, cupping his hand over his mouth.
“I couldn’t help but respond,” she continued.
He held up a hand. “It’s OK. My fault.”
But it wasn’t. In a court of law, she’d go down with him. Meaning incarceration, not fellatio.
“I need another drink,” she said, tripping over a clump of yellow daylilies. “Want one?”
“Hell yes.”
Hands at their sides, two feet between them, they headed back the way they came.
“Jane!”
It was her father. She considered ignoring him—he sounded as if he were far enough away to pretend—but maybe her father’s sobering influence was just what she needed. “Hold up,” she said to Grant. “It’s my dad.”
They waited for him to stride down the driveway. Victor Garcia was an absurdly successful tech executive in Seattle, never satisfied with his career or accomplishments, always striving and planning and thinking. For as long as she could remember, Victor had given up on his receding hairline, choosing to shave it off entirely. He usually wore black, although today, perhaps in honor of the happy occasion, he wore charcoal gray.
“Hi, Dad.” She felt Grant move closer to her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Victor smiled but stopped a couple of paces short of moving in for a hug. “How are you doing? You’re going to be an aunt, can you believe it? And me a grandfather.”
“I know. Hard to believe.”
He kept smiling. Shoved his hands in his pockets, looked over her shoulder. “Hell of a view up here. Is that Alcatraz?”
“I think so,” she said. Under normal circumstances, it was hard to have good conversations with her father, but right after the flaming, crazy kiss with Grant, she could barely speak in sentences. Nobody had ever kissed her like that before. Or maybe it was no man had done so little to bring about so much of a response in her. Adrenaline still pumped through her veins, preparing her body for fight or flight.
And Jane wasn’t sure which it was going to be.
She wrestled her emotions into submission. “This is Grant, a friend of mine renting out a room in my house,” she said. “Grant, this is Victor Garcia, my father.”
They exchanged pleasantries and shook hands.
“Well, I saw you walking by and thought I’d say hi,” Victor said. “Do you know where Billie is?”
“I’m not sure. I saw her when we arrived, but that was a while ago.”
He nodded, smiling some more, and then gestured at the backyard. “I’d better go see where she is, give my regards.”
“Sure,” Jane said. “See you later.”
As he walked away, Victor reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Definitely.”
When he was out of earshot, Grant said, “For a man with grown kids, your dad sure looks a lot like Vin Diesel.”
“He’d love to hear you say that. I’m thinking he must take supplements.”
Grant patted his chest. “Impressive. I want to be like that when I grow up.”
“On steroids?”
“Really?”
She felt bad he’d believed her. “No, I’m sure he’s not on steroids. He and my stepmother are health nuts. I’m just bitter because he’s better looking than I am.”
“Like hell he is,” Grant said.
More adrenaline pumped into her bloodstream. Were fight and flight really her only choices?
“Do you want to meet the rest of my family?” she asked.
“At the moment, no.” He looked down at her, moved closer.
They stood on a strip of lawn halfway between the front and backyard. She heard barking inside the house—the high-pitched yapping of several small dogs. Somebody turned up the stereo. A group of people on the elevated deck next door, overlooking where they stood on the lawn, were laughing and shouting at each other.
She didn’t know how to be with him and have it work. What did she know about relationships? People? Men? She didn’t inspire romance. And she did have terrible taste. Look at Andrew. Why would this turn out any better?
“You really should meet my sister Holly,” she said, taking a step away from him. “She’s into hiking.” She began walking toward the music.
“That’s not all I’m into,” he said behind her.
19
Jane walked up the steps into a screened-in porch facing the backyard. Stereo speakers were balanced on cardboard boxes, propped against the screens, aiming the music outside. The current tune was a Lily Allen single with the dirty bits bleeped out.
“Odd choice for a baby shower,” Grant said.
“April made the playlist.”
“I like it. Do you think your parents will mind?”
They walked up another step or two into the kitchen, which was busy with a trio of caterers moving around platters under foil. Food that smelled a lot like a popular Tex-Mex chain restaurant.
“They aren’t easily offended,” she said, dodging a woman lifting a tortilla warmer out of the microwave as they hurried through the kitchen. “In fact, there’s my stepfather, playing along.”
Ken sat at the dining room table with a guitar, acoustic this time, with a g
lass of iced tea and Aunt Trixie at his side.
“Jane!” Trixie jumped up and embraced her. “Don’t you look sexy!”
That was the risk of interacting with Trixie; you never knew what she was going to say. “Thanks, you too.”
Trixie held out her arms and twirled as if she were wearing a glamorous gown instead of a sleeveless, plaid shirt and lime-green capris. Her white hair was cut short, and she wore large silver hoops in her ears. “Hugo keeps me spicy,” she said. Widowed years ago, she’d recently married Hugo, a local vet. She patted Ken’s shoulder. “I’m sure you do the same for Jane’s mother.”
Ken strummed a chord. “She doesn’t need my help.” He glanced up at Jane and Grant. “Hey, kiddo. Going somewhere?”
“Right here, Ken.” Jane leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “You know me, I like any excuse to dress up.”
“Girls,” he said, returning to his music.
Jane glanced at Grant and started to move into the next room. There was no reason to form bonds between him and people he’d never see again. Just because she’d kissed him once or twice (twice) didn’t mean they were going to get married and have babies and hang out with her family at future baby and wedding showers that might even be hers.
It would be pointless.
“Hi, I’m Grant.” He offered Trixie a hand. “The man meat.”
“Oh! You’ve met April.” Trixie took his hand between two of hers and squeezed. “How’s the door?”
“The— Oh, that was from you, wasn’t it? It’s fine. Beautiful.”
“I hadn’t met you yet when I picked it out,” Trixie said, “or I might have found something less opaque.” She laughed.
Jane was torn between embarrassment and pride. Nobody had ever flirted with Andrew.
Ken slapped his hand over the guitar strings and looked at Grant. “You’re the one living with Jane.”
“Renting the front room,” Grant said.
Ken got to his feet and held out his hand. “Sorry I didn’t greet you properly. I didn’t realize who you were.”
“My tenant?” Jane asked. What was the matter with these people? She’d told them he wasn’t her boyfriend. Maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe they should start making out right here and they’d know there was nothing to get excited about.
Going Wild Page 13
