Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(54)

Yeah, she pried that nugget out of me.

“And you’re good to your grandmother. Quite the catch.”

I resist the urge to toe the linoleum. I’m fine with complimenting myself and behaving like a cocky ass. I’m always uncomfortable when someone else does it.

“Not only because you bought her a fifteen-hundred-dollar computer. She relies on you for more than that, doesn’t she?” Grace waits for my answer. Reluctantly, I nod. “Those facilities aren’t cheap. My grandmother—my dad’s mom—was in a place half that nice. She had dementia. The expense of her care was substantial, and a topic of grief between my parents for years.”

This isn’t the first time Grace has brought up her parents’ fighting. “Your dad liked to argue, I take it.”

“He was a lawyer,” she says in explanation. “So’s my mother. She excels at it.”

“Is that why you didn’t go into law?”

“Arguing for a living doesn’t hold much appeal.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to be anything like them. I suppose that’s unavoidable, isn’t it?” Worry creases her brow.

“Gracie.” I reach for her hand on the table. “You’re not going to turn into either of your parents. Yes, you’re like them—that is unavoidable. I bet your mother is drop-dead gorgeous, yeah?”

A soft blush dusts her cheekbones.

“That’s what I thought.” I wink. “We inherit some things, but others we do on our own.” I swallow after I get the words out, because for years I didn’t believe that. I thought I inherited my dad’s poor taste in flighty women after Hanna hightailed it from our wedding. I wondered if I was doomed to repeat his past—a tragic love story preceding my untimely death. Things aren’t turning out too badly for me.

“My dad texted me.”

“When?” This is the first I’m hearing about it.

“Last night. He wants to see me on occasion. For tea.” She grunts.

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him I’d think about it.” She gives me a tight smile. “I want to, but I’m scared.”

“Of getting close and then losing him.”

She nods, her eyes going to where my hand rests on hers. I give her fingers a tender squeeze.

“Better to have this time with him than not. Even if it hurts,” I offer.

“Maybe you’re right.”

I stroke her thumb with mine for a few seconds until she pulls away. The topic drops along with her hand into her lap.

Grace inhales and does that cute move where she hoists her shoulders and drops them again. “So now what do we do?”

“Three guesses, and your first two don’t count.”

“Zombie television? Sex? Oh! Scrabble.”

“You ordered those in a curious fashion,” I point out. “It’s like you put the sex in the second slot because I specifically said it wouldn’t count.”

She stands and sits on my lap. I pull her close and she kisses me. I love to kiss Grace. She kisses with her whole body. Her hips wiggle, her fingers explore my hair, and her tongue and lips fight for the lead.

It’s intoxicating.

When she finishes the kiss, she slides from my lap and takes the dishes, telling me not to move. You cooked, I clean. I let her do it. Watching her ass move side to side while she scrubs a plate is damn fun.

My mind wanders, though, and soon it’s back on the night at the hotel. The “I love you” I didn’t plan on saying.

I hadn’t dropped that three-word bomb since Hanna. By the time we were about to get married, she recited it like it was a chore. I’m not sure if she meant it at the end. She couldn’t have, right? Or she wouldn’t have left.

An ugly thought creeps in. Did Grace echo what I said to avoid an awkward silence? That doesn’t sound like her, but we haven’t exchanged I love yous since. I won’t corner her again.

She pauses in her dish washing to look over her shoulder and shake her ass, and those three words lunge against my tight-lipped smile.

I’m not going to say it. Not because I don’t mean it but because I don’t want to trap her.

She’s already trapped me. And I don’t even mind.

“I was thinking…” She rinses a dish and rests it in the wooden drainer. I stand and grab a dish towel. She makes a scolding tsk sound but lets me help.

“What were you thinking?” I ask as I stack the plate on top of the others in the cabinet.

“Oh, um…that we could go out with Rox and Mark sometime?”

The emphasis she put on making that a question was excessive.

“Sure.” I take a wet plate from her hand. I’m playing it cool here, because I sense that she doesn’t normally introduce her dates to…whoever those people are. “Who are Rox and Mark?”

“Roxanne is my best friend. Mark is her fiancé.” She dips her head in a curt nod.

“Awesome.” I’m unsure what the nerves are about. “Are they weirdos or something?”

“What? No!” She laughs and some of the tension releases from her shoulders. “I just don’t…I’m not usually…” She shuts off the water and takes the towel from me to dry her hands. “I’m not used to having a boyfriend.”