Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(49)

“Uh…” I say, but nothing follows it.

“What do you do for a living, dear?”

Much easier question. “I bartend.”

“Do you love it?”

“I love it,” I say.

“Good. You should spend as much of your life as possible doing what you love. Even if you have a family telling you not to because they want you to do something different.”

“You mean like a mother who wants me to be a lawyer?”

Rose pats my hand. She nods her head, the pipe-cleaner halo waving to and fro in her cotton-ball hairdo. “That’s exactly what I mean. Don’t do it.”

“No worries. My degree is in communications anyway.”

“What do you love about being behind the bar? I’ve never been much of a bargoer. I like my whiskey now and again, but I drink at home while watching Jeopardy!”

That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

“I like people. I like interacting with them. Even the ones that are pains in the ass.”

Rose lets out a chortle. “That’s most of them, isn’t it?”

“Are you kidding me?” I banter back. “How do you think I met Davis? He sat at my bar and wouldn’t leave me alone. Nothing shocked me more than when he asked me out.”

“I’ll bet.” She studies me, her eyes trained on my hair.

“He’s not fond of redheads, I hear.” I remove my headband and fiddle with the sequined horns. She may as well know that I know.

“He was quite fond of a redhead at one time, but she did him wrong. She left a scar. A deep one.”

That’s one way of putting it.

“Almost as deep as when my Bartram died.”

“Your husband?” I guess.

She shakes her head. “My son. Davis’s father.”

“Right. I’m so sorry.”

“You know about him too?” Her white eyebrows lift into her whiter hair, her surprise evident.

“Davis told me about the accident, the coma, and his mother leaving. My dad’s…sick. I just found out.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Rose smiles—her warmth and tenderness reminiscent of her grandson’s. She takes my hand in both of hers. “Davis likes you, Grace Buchanan.”

“I like him too.” I beam, feeling special because being liked by Davis is singularly thrilling.

“Grace?”

“Yes, Grandma Rose?”

She lives up to her reputation and draws an amused laugh from me when she says, “Don’t fuck it up.”





Chapter 18


Davis


I hesitated outside my grandma’s door to give her and Grace a few minutes together. What I heard was no less than I expected.

Rose has been trying to make sure I’m over my ex for some time. I used to worry that she was fixated on it more than I was, or that it was causing her undue stress.

I thought about asking one of my dates along to visit my grandmother for her sake, but I didn’t want to lie. Introducing Rose to a woman I didn’t care about deeply would be a lie.

My grandmother is a human lie detector.

I heard her tell Grace I like her and I heard Grace admit she liked me. I lingered in that hallway, my stupid arrow headband in my hands, and smiled at my shoes.

It’s heady what the right girl can do to you.

“She’s cool,” Grace declares after we check into the hotel. She puts her bag on a pleather bench next to the dresser. I set mine on the office chair. A suite is overkill for one night, but so is the suitcase, because neither of us is going to be wearing any clothing while in this room.

I tell Grace as much and she laughs.

“I’m completely serious.”

“Hmm.” Her soft hum is paired with a demure smile. Demure on Grace looks naughty in the most inviting way. “I was hoping you’d allow some clothing, though.”

“Why’s that? Are you going to put the devil horns back on?”

“Better,” she promises with the quirk of one eyebrow.

I’m standing with my back to the bed, and she gives my chest a shove with both hands. When my butt hits the mattress, she reaches for her sweater. It flies through the air and hits me square in the face. As I pull the fabric away, I see what Grace means about my wanting her to stay partially clothed.

She reaches for the zipper on her skirt and pushes it to her ankles, and then my girl is standing in front of me wearing a lacy push-up bra, and tiny, strappy panties—both white and stark against the pale pink tones of Grace’s skin.

I fold my hands in front of me like I’m praying. “Please, please keep those on for a while.”

She slinks toward me. She has the power and she knows it.

I’m totally okay with that.

She reaches for my tie and tugs. I tilt my head back and get a close-up of breasts encased in white lace. It’s a great view. She unknots the length of silk around my neck.

“Take off your jacket, Mr. Price.”

I obey.

“I have a very special surprise for you.”

“I love surprises.” I’m hoarse, which is laughable, except I can’t laugh because I’m too turned on. She starts on the buttons of my shirt and then pushes it from my shoulders.