Stinger (A Sign of Love Novel)(13)

I stared at her for a minute. "So, not only did that college boyfriend not make you come, but he didn't try any other positions with you, did he? What kind of jackass did you hook up with anyway?"

"Stop! He was a nice guy. Very, um, sweet and uh, considerate."

I snorted. "I bet. Okay, you're depressing me. Your turn."

"You're such an *." But she said it with a small smile on her face. "Favorite movie."

"Fight Club."

"Never saw it."

"You never saw Fight Club? That's a crime."

She laughed softly. "Favorite color."

"Blue."

"What shade of blue?"

"Just f*cking blue."

"That's not a shade."

"Yeah it is."

She laughed. "Okay. Favorite season."

"Fall."

"We do have something in common! It's a miracle!"

I laughed. "Who would have guessed?"

"Not me. Favorite dessert."

"Bananas Foster–my granny used to make it for me."

She smiled and then looked straight ahead. "Well, that was fun."

"Wait, you didn't ask me the last one."

"No, I didn't. I don't want to know. Really. I'm sure it's something I've never even heard of before. You can keep that one to yourself."

I laughed. "Chicken."

She grinned over at me and I was momentarily taken off balance by the beauty of her smile. I loved her teeth. I loved everything about her mouth. I wanted to taste it again. I stretched my legs out. My pants suddenly felt a little too tight.

We were both quiet for a minute. I was thinking about how things had seemed to shift between Grace and me. There was almost a… comfort level between us as we sat there listening to the quiet elevator music and sipping on her bottle of water. I was also thinking about how I had told her things about my history that I had never told anyone else before. There were people that knew because they were there. But I had never willingly shared my upbringing with anyone who didn't already know for one reason or another. But the fact of it was, no other woman had ever asked me to talk. And maybe it was as simple as that. I couldn't recall another woman who had wanted to hang out with me for my scintillating conversational skills. Maybe it was because I didn't have any. Or maybe it was because no one had ever been interested in finding out whether I did or whether I didn't.

We were both sitting there together, comfortable and at ease, but it definitely hadn't started that way.

"Tell me why you had a panic attack when you first realized we were trapped, Grace," I said softly, glancing over at her.

Her eyes flew to mine. She took another drink of water, clearly stalling and deciding whether she was going to answer me. After a minute she said softly, "My brother got diagnosed when he was eight. I was a year older than him. He fought for two years but when the doctors finally told my parents he was terminal, my mom kind of lost it, and my dad took on the burden of planning his funeral without her. She was literally emotionally incapable." She paused for a long time and I wondered if she'd continue, but finally she did, "My dad had to bring us girls to the funeral home with him a couple times because my mom couldn't even watch us. One time me and my sisters wandered off while my dad was talking to the funeral home director, and I don't even know why, but I climbed into one of the caskets while my sisters were looking at something else. I shut the lid and it latched into place and I couldn't open it. I panicked and started hyperventilating. I kept thinking something was touching my leg–a ghoul or the undead." She laughed a small laugh, shaking her head. But her face went serious very quickly. "But the place was so damn quiet, I was afraid to scream and make the noise it would have taken to get someone to open it for me. I didn't want to embarrass my dad. He was already barely holding on… And so I stayed in there until someone finally opened it on their own, looking for me."

"God, Grace. That must have been terrifying," I said quietly.

She looked up at me. "Honestly, I hadn't thought about it in years. But, I don't know, the thought of being stuck in a small space… I guess it just triggered that same feeling."

"Makes sense." I studied her pretty, serious face for a minute and then I smiled. "Plus, this time you had the added horror of knowing for sure that you were trapped with a demonic ghoul." I widened my eyes and did my best crazed-killer grimace.

She burst out laughing and I grinned at her, happy to see that faraway look of pain clear out of her expression.

After a minute, she raised her eyebrows. "I do believe you just got another secret out of me without having to sink a basket."

I smiled. "True. Okay, fair is fair–you get a freebie now too."

"Why do you call me Buttercup?" she asked.

I turned my head and when she turned her head to look at me, our faces were only inches apart.

I shrugged, looking into her eyes. I had told her a lot of personal stuff about myself, but for some reason, I felt like I needed to hold back now. "Maybe it's your hair," I said, glancing up at her blonde-ness. "Will you take it down for me?"

"My hair?" she whispered. "You want me to take it down for you?"