Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(51)
“Not for me” is all he says before dropping his towel on the floor and exiting our tiny hotel bathroom. I watch his flexing butt as he leaves.
Is it too soon for me?
There’s a danger in overthinking it, so I don’t. I drop my towel next to his and follow him.
—
Davis logs into his Netflix account on the TV and pulls up the zombie series we started watching together.
It’s a strange choice for “our show.” Imagine, if things work out between us, we could someday tell our grandkids how we bonded over rotting, flesh-eating cannibals and a group of plucky survivors.
A shadow crosses my mind at the thought. It’s in the shape of my parents and the love that rotted in much the same way as the on-screen walking dead. My mother and father’s marriage ended long before they divorced.
Did they start out in love? They would have had to, right? My mom says most of her clients start out very much in love and devolve as the years pass. By the time they come to her, all that’s left is a bickering, petty couple who can barely agree on an appointment time with their respective lawyers.
“What episode are you on?” Davis asks. I’m in bed, leaning against his chest. We’re both wearing the fluffy bathrobes we found hanging in the closet. White bathrobes and white bedding. It’s all so lush.
“Same episode as you, I imagine.”
“You didn’t watch without me?” He angles his face to look down at me and I shake my head. “Wow. Gracie Lou, you must love me.” We share a smile as three quick knocks on the door alert us that our room service has arrived.
Davis climbs out of bed and tightens the belt on his robe so as not to flash the delivery guy.
The other man wheels in a cart holding a single red rose in a vase and four platters with domed metal covers. He exits to the hall, only to return pushing a second cart with two more covered dishes and a chilling bottle of champagne on ice.
Davis and I sort of went crazy on the ordering.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Just your absence, friend.” Davis palms a bill into the guy’s hand, and it must have been a large one because the guy doesn’t hesitate in leaving us to our food and our show.
We watch our show, eating on the bed, each taking bites from one of four entrée plates. We ordered filet mignon and smashed garlic potatoes, teriyaki salmon with asparagus, a buffalo mushroom Swiss burger and truffled fries, and vegetable croquettes that I was hoping would taste as heavenly as the ones at Milestone 299. Sadly, not even close.
I express as much to Davis, who saws off a sliver of filet and feeds me from his fork.
“We’ll go back to Milestone,” he promises.
“And the Ferris wheel?”
He slides me a stern look.
I smile, satisfied and happy.
We finish our food and, after three back-to-back episodes, our cuddling turns to kissing.
The kissing leads to touching.
The robes hit the floor.
Television forgotten, Davis and I opt to feast on each other instead.
Maybe a zombie show is a good foundation for our relationship.
I think Davis was right.
I must love him.
Chapter 19
Grace
“Gracie Lou!”
Davis’s bellow carries over the Friday-night din of patrons drinking, laughing, and asking for beers. I cash out my current customer and smile before sending Davis a good-natured glare.
Vince and Jackie are at the bar with him, the three of them are wearing fresh-from-work clothes. My people: the young professionals.
In front of Davis’s seat, I pause. “You rang?”
“He’s an ass,” Vince offers in explanation.
“I have a nice ass.” Davis pegs me with a smirk. “Don’t I, Gracie?”
I don’t answer, instead rolling my eyes at Jackie.
She shakes her head in agreement. “They really are Neanderthals.”
“They are, aren’t they?” I move closer to a woman I hope soon to call my friend. I like her. A lot. She’s sharp. Feisty. Puts up with Vince, who I bet in his own way can be as big of a pill as Davis. “What can I get you to drink, miss? I feel as if you’ve earned it. What with babysitting these man-children and all.”
Jackie laughs and Vince emits an insulted “Hey!”
Davis leans past Vince to say, “Jackie-O is right at home, aren’t you, darlin’?”
“Darlin’?” Jackie lifts her eyebrows at me. “How about a shot of tequila?”
“Make it two,” Vince says. “On Davis.”
“Make it four,” Davis says. “Gracie, you’re doing one too.”
“I’m on the clock,” I argue lamely. I’m almost done, and he knows it. He only smiles and, as if beckoned, Candace taps me on the shoulder. “Get out of here, gorgeous.”
“Four shots it is.” I snatch up the bottle of Patrón, line up four shot glasses, and pour them all.
—
I have a hard time relaxing in my place of work. I suspect the tequila shot has gone a long way toward letting me. For example, I barely notice the guy who’s been waiting a few minutes too long for his drinks at the bar, and I can almost tune out the woman behind us who is complaining about her food arriving late.