I express how much his sheer masculine beauty peeves me as we enter the hotel lobby and follow the signs that read ROXANNE AND MARK’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY.
“You’re insane. You look amazing,” Davis argues. “I nearly stopped the car three times to convince you to have sex with me in the backseat.”
“In this huge, dumb coat?” I closely resemble the kid from A Christmas Story.
The party is in full swing. Davis unzips my jacket and slides it from my arms, revealing my knee-length, curve-hugging black dress. “I knew this was underneath your huge, dumb coat.”
He’s smooth.
Davis shrugs off his own coat and checks it with an attendant at the door. The atmosphere is all very…uppity for Roxanne. She’s my funky friend—the one who would handcraft every invitation, party decoration, and table centerpiece before she would have someone else cater it for her.
This room smacks of money. Mark’s doing, I imagine. Does his family have a ton of cash or something? I’ve never seen evidence that he’s loaded, but now that the wedding planning is in full swing, I’m suspicious.
Rox bounces over to me the moment I make eye contact.
“Grace!” Champagne sloshes out of the flute in her hand as she strangles me in the crook of her other arm. Her pupils are blown out like maybe this isn’t her first glass of booze. She tilts her head to take in Davis’s height. “Hiya.”
“Hiya,” he repeats just as easy as you please. Gosh, he’s sexy. “Davis Price.”
“Roxanne Moore. My fiancé, Mark, is around here somewhere.” She waves a hand in the direction of the six-piece band.
Six band members.
Jeez Louise.
“Did your very wealthy distant aunt die and leave you her entire fortune to plan your wedding?” I ask.
Davis shoots me a look at my lack of decorum, but Rox takes it in stride.
“Mark’s mother’s doing. She’s sort of awesome.”
I take a gander around at the finely dressed staff. “I guess so.”
Rox hoists her glass as she threads her arm through one of mine. “I’m drinking as much expensive booze as I can. You should too.” She leads me away but first calls back to Davis, “Come on, hot stock guy!”
“Yeah, hot stock guy,” I tell him. “Come on.”
He plunges his hands into his suit pockets and swaggers behind us. I nearly trip and fall over Rox’s feet because I’d much rather watch his confident walk than look where I’m going.
This boyfriend thing has its perks.
Mark is talking with a group of guy friends when we approach. He gives me a pleasant smile and shakes Davis’s hand, then Mark pulls Roxanne close to proudly introduce her to the circle. She beams.
I love how happy she is. I’m glad her minor case of cold feet evaporated.
I step back and join Davis, giving Rox a moment to regale Mark’s buddies with the tale of the engagement.
“Can I get you a drink?” Davis takes my hand and walks me to the open bar.
“I’d be remiss not to try the champagne.”
“Especially since you’re a connoisseur now.” Davis places an order. As we wait to be served, I think back to the night at Bubbly’s and how my main concern that evening was how to wrap up seeing the man at my side now.
I shake off the unsettling thought and accept the glass, cheersing with Davis’s standby bottle of Sam Adams before we both take a drink. Not all things have to end instantly, I think as the bubbles pop on my tongue.
“Haven’t been to an engagement party in a while,” Davis murmurs. “I half expected Vince to be the next.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me at all. They’re perfect for each other.” Vince and Jackie fit together. Their journey was a bit of a bumbling one, but once she learned that Vince wanted her as much as she wanted him, she didn’t hold back.
“Their movie nights were basically dates dressed up as friendship. As tuned in as they were to one another, things were bound to develop.”
I ponder Davis’s comment and the way things are developing between him and me. Before I can get too deep into my thoughts, the sound system crackles and a voice comes over the speaker.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mark says into the microphone, “I’d like to say a few words about my beautiful fiancée. Rox, honey, come up here.”
Mark gestures and Roxanne places her hands on her pinkening cheeks as she strolls toward her future husband. There’s a bit of a wobble to her walk, but I’m sure no one can tell. She manages a fairly straight line and elegantly steps onto the stage, her palm in Mark’s.
“When we met…” Mark starts, and I become hyperaware of Davis beside me, his hand on my back. “I knew instantly that I was in love with this woman. I was told we fell too fast, too soon. That we rushed. That it’d never last. Two of those I’ve debunked and the third will take a lifetime to refute, but I’m willing. How about you, babe?”
Rox grins and the crowd cheers.
Mark continues gushing and I blink away the mist in my eyes.
True love is rare. But not impossible.
It gives me hope.
Davis
I shove two fingers in my collar, tugging as I swallow around the lump in my throat like they do in cartoons.
Mark’s speech to Roxanne was heartfelt, and Roxanne’s humble reaction was genuine, soaked in expensive champagne, and adorable. The couple earned applause that died down long before their kiss ended.
I expected an attack of Hanna-infused memories tonight. She was elated about our future plans together. At our engagement party, I gave a similar speech to Mark’s, and though mine was laced with cheap jokes practically begging for a snare drum, it was every ounce as meaningful. Hanna and I wrote our own vows, but I never found out what hers said. Later I bitterly quipped to Vince that they were “See ya! Wouldn’t want to be ya!”
So, yeah, I expected unsavory memories to come. They did, but they didn’t circle like hungry sharks. They hovered in the distance, fuzzy. Barely discernible. And they didn’t accompany loss or humiliation.
My thoughts shift into What if…? territory. It’s easy to imagine a day like this in my future. A speech that would eclipse my former speech. A wedding that would put my previous attempt at matrimony to shame. Vows written from a deeper part of my soul than before. All of this I can easily picture with the most unlikely of brides.
A redhead named Grace Buchanan.
That idea is nuts, I know. Grace and I have known each other a handful of months—dated only a handful of weeks. And yet picturing her in my house on a permanent basis isn’t as heart-stopping as I would’ve guessed.
It sounds…awesome.
Roxanne and Mark glide over to us. She turns circles as he holds her hand over her head like she’s a pirouetting ballerina. When she stumbles, he catches her, and she lets out an effervescent laugh.
A resonant surety in my gut tells me they’re going to make it.
“Nice speech,” I tell him. “When’s the big day?”
Mark cuts his gaze to his future bride. “Soon. Just finishing up my master’s degree. Roxanne wants a destination wedding.”
Next to me, Grace stiffens. Not for herself but out of concern for me. It’s sweet. I tuck her close to my side, my hand rubbing up and down her arm.
“The Bahamas are beautiful.” In my periphery, Grace tips her chin to study me. What’d she expect, that I’d burst into tears? Duck and run? “Or Tahiti. Jamaica’s nice.”
“You know your wedding-destination locales,” Roxanne observes with a smile. Her eyes cut to Grace and they have a silent conversation. I take it Rox knows.
“I’ve done my research.” My comment invites a prying question. I’m not entirely sure why I invited it, but I’m not nervous about answering.
Mark’s eyes go to Grace, then me. “For an upcoming wedding?”
“Past wedding. It didn’t happen.” I’m alarmed by how unalarmed I am. Mark nods, taking my answer in stride. For years my biggest shame
was admitting failure. Not only at getting married but at keeping my fiancée by my side. That seems so petty now. Who gives a shit?
“I’m sorry,” Roxanne says kindly.
“Don’t be.” I slide my hand onto Grace’s shoulder. “It was a long time ago.”
Roxanne deftly steers the conversation in another direction. “Grace has to go no matter where it is. She’s my maid of honor.”
“I am?” I can hear the surprise in Grace’s voice.
Rox throws a hand. “I was going to ask you this week in a big to-do over drinks and dinner and a gift, but I couldn’t wait.”
“I could have guessed you’d jump the gun.” But Grace is all smiles.
“I couldn’t get married without you there! I’ll still buy you drinks and dinner if you say yes.”
“Yes!” Grace exclaims and then runs into her friend’s arms. She bats watery eyes and hugs Roxanne close. “How soon should we start planning?”
“Never too soon!” They erupt into breathless giggles and I swear to God my heart dips like it’s too full to stay suspended in my chest.
“You’re invited to come with her,” Mark offers.
“Oh. Uh. Thank you.”
I’m able to picture it in Technicolor clarity. An island wedding, only I’m in a guest chair, and Grace is gliding down a white runner wearing a linen dress with flowers in her hair.
Again—no alarm bells sound.
“Be honest, Mark.” I lean in while our girls chatter animatedly. “Is one of the reasons you proposed so that she wouldn’t call you her ‘boyfriend’?”
Mark lets out a sound between a cough and a laugh. “That’s the worst, isn’t it?”
“Horrible,” I agree.
“No. ‘Man friend.’ That’s horrible.”
“No shit.” I chuckle. “Grace and I haven’t agreed on a title yet.”
“Roxanne loves her. I’ve only met her a few times, but I can see why.”
“Yeah, she’s easy to love.” I mutter those words to myself, but he hears me. I get a hard clap on the back—harder than I would have expected from a buttoned-up college professor. Who would’ve guessed the guy worked out?
“It won’t be long for you, pal.” Mark signals a waiter and takes a flute of champagne from a passing tray. “You remind me of me when I first started seeing Rox.” He blows out a breath of disbelief. “I couldn’t believe she was talking to me. I knew I couldn’t do better.”
Exactly how I feel about Grace. Much like my memories of Hanna, the women who distracted me on and off over the last six years have faded, their faces grainy and blurring together.
Grace, by comparison, is a buzzing neon sign. She couldn’t fade out or blur if she wanted to.
A pregnant pause hangs in the air, and then Mark recovers our limping conversation with “You like football?”
“Go Bucks,” I answer, raising my beer bottle.
He offers an “O-H!” and I answer with a hearty “I-O!”
Much easier than talking about girls.
—
I take advantage of the band playing a slow song to pull Grace onto the dance floor with me. We fit together like jigsaw pieces, her hips aligning with mine, her fingers linked comfortably at my neck.
“You’re the perfect height.” She sounds captivated, which is a win. If there’s any pursuit worth following, it’s captivating the woman who captivated you first. “I always worried you’d be too tall. Unmanageably tall.”
Always? Interesting.
“When did you think this?” I ask.
“Whenever you were taking drinks to another woman at McGreevy’s.” Her top lip curls the slightest bit. “Though they were unusually tiny. How you liked those tiny blondes!” she chastises with a head shake.
“I was in a rut, I admit.”
“You were in a tiny-blonde rut?”
I bark a laugh that’s a touch loud in this reserved crowd.
“It may have looked like I was working a plan of some sort, but I never thought much about it. The company was nice, the ‘packages’ born of necessity. I couldn’t risk things turning serious.”
She hums her understanding.
We sway to the music and I tug Grace closer. Lowering my lips to her ear, I say, “Until now.”
She misses the next dance step but recovers easily. Her head jerks back on her neck so she can focus on my face.
“I worried that tonight might send you running for the hills.” She glances around. “Yet here you are.”
“Were you trying to get me to run for the hills? Was this a test?”
“Not…an intentional one.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”
“What about you? You dropped the boyfriend bomb the other night at my place, and now you’re inviting me to an island to watch your friends get married. Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is starting to sound serious.”
“We haven’t exactly been comfortable with the next-level stuff, have we?”
“We? You’re the one used to blowing off dates.” I give her a pointed look.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You dated and dumped everyone, didn’t you? Were you ever dumped?”
“Yes. A couple of times. I was a heartbroken teen.”
“Poor Gracie.” I offer a pout.
“What about you? How many times have you been dumped. I bet…” She trails off as she realizes her glaring faux pas. “Hm. I guess you were the ultimate dumpee, weren’t you?”
“If they handed out engraved gold cups for that kind of thing, I’d have one.”
Grace doesn’t miss a beat. “The kind with a handle on each side?”
“That’s the one.”
Her green eyes hold mine.
Captivated.
“You don’t like being called ‘boyfriend,’ do you?”
“It’s emasculating. And ‘man friend’ is geriatric,” I toss in before she tries that one out.
“Agreed.” She purses her lips as she thinks. “What if I introduce you as ‘my guy’?”
“It’s accurate. I am your guy.”
We turn another circle, her smaller hand resting comfortably in mine.
“Are you?” she asks. “Mine?”
I let go of her hand to lift her chin. I don’t break eye contact when I confirm.
“Gracie Lou Buchanan. I’m your guy.”
We kiss as the song winds to an end, parting when the beat picks up. Moments end, and this one is no exception.
“You two are positively delicious!” Roxanne says as she and Mark go swing-dancing by.
“Think we can take ’em?” I ask Grace.
She hoists a brow in challenge. “I think we should try.”
I take both her hands and we do just that.
Try.
It’s what we’re doing with everything—the dating thing. The us thing. We’re trying.
From my point of view, it would appear we’re succeeding.
Chapter 21
Grace
Once we returned to my place, I invited Davis in for a nightcap.
He followed me to the refrigerator, pulled my hand off the handle, and prodded me upstairs by poking me between the ribs as I giggled uncontrollably. I’m ticklish and made the mistake of admitting it a few days ago.
He won’t let me live it down.
He removes my dress, taking his time kissing my neck as I cup his manhood and massage his swelling erection through his suit pants. He rakes his teeth over my collarbone as he slides his hands around my ass. Then I’m in the air, being lifted and placed over his lap.
We half fall onto the bed before he sits up again and arranges my knees on either side of his thighs.
“I want you on top,” he rasps. I look down at him, admiring his painfully handsome face, clean-shaven jaw, and eyes the color of cloudy skies in the winter. Except there’s nothing cold hovering in Davis’s eyes. Especially now.
He unhooks my bra—black to match
my dress and heels, both long gone. He pulls the straps down my arms and his eyes darken hungrily when my breasts are bared.
He ducks his head and takes a nipple on his tongue, and I rake my hands into his thick hair. Pleasure shoots like lightning from my breasts to between my legs. His attention goes there next, and he watches me openly while slipping his fingers past the barrier of a scant pair of silken panties.
My breaths are truncated, shortened by lust and an emotion far more dangerous than lust. In the desire-soaked air between us, Davis seems to share that thought. It’s scary and titillating and distracting and exciting. It’s the Ferris wheel all over again—the instability of the carriage, the intoxication of being up so high…
With one role reversal.
At the top of that Ferris wheel it was Davis holding tight, nervous about being so high. I was the one who embraced it. I was the one empowered by it.
Love, for us, elicits the opposite response.
My contemplation evaporates with the next sweep of his fingers against my center. Heat builds as he suckles my breasts—first one, then the other.
“Condom,” he says as the air chills my damp nipples.
“Nightstand.”
“Get it.”
“Yes, sir.” Fire consumes me when I crawl from his lap and earn a smack on the ass. I dig the condom out of the drawer—buried beneath a brush, nail file, lotion, and several other random single-woman paraphernalia.
Back on the bed, I tear the packet open as Davis kicks off his boxer briefs. Even though I’ve seen it repeatedly, the sight of his cock renders me speechless.
Jutting out from between his legs, it promises pleasure. Davis fills me like no one else. He wraps his fist around his thick shaft and gives one tug—then another. Between my legs, another surge of pressure pulses.
“You make me so fucking hot, Gracie.”
I roll the condom on him, taking my time at the ridge along the head before easing it over his length. Davis watches. I lift my eyes to his when I’m done, then move to straddle him. He surprises me by rolling on top and pressing my back into the bed.
“I thought you wanted me on top,” I breathe.
“Changed my mind.” He pins me with his weight, hooking one of my legs over his hip and tilting his pelvis forward in one firm thrust. I gasp.
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