The Unidentified Redhead
Page 25

“You’re only going to be working me, George.” I arched an eyebrow at him.
He gazed at me for a moment and just the look in his eyes made my ni**les go on point.
He noticed.
“Grace, you bad girl. You’re going to enjoy this weekend … ” His voice trailed off seductively. His lips dipped to my neck and began to sweep kisses across my collarbone and his hands came up to my breasts.
I rolled away, to the furthest edge of the bed.
“Hey, where did you go?” he asked, surprised.
“We’re going to sleep, Sweet Nuts, so tomorrow will happen faster,” I answered.
He chuckled and rolled over to me, pressing his body up against me in the most comforting way, and as his hands found my breasts, he whispered, “Good night, sweet girl.”
I sighed happily and shut my eyes, willing myself to sleep.
Tomorrow, we’d drive.
And then?
Let the blessed shagging begin.
Chapter 20
When I woke up, it was like Christmas morning. And by that, I mean I was so excited to drive to Santa Barbara and have the hotel sex that I began jumping on the bed, singing a happy tune. Jack was, of course, still sound asleep, and he groaned from his place beneath the covers. I continued to jump, and sang, in a tune that sounded oddly like “A Tisket A Tasket”:
“A shagging, a shagging, I’m going to get a shagging!” Jack was under the covers, still groaning. I poked him with my toe, standing over him in a victorious pose. “Hey, get up! Get up! I thought you said the shagging would begin today,” I teased, taking my toe and pulling the covers down slowly. I revealed a creased forehead, knit together eyebrows, glaring eyes, and a frowning mouth. As the reveal continued, however, I saw a strong chest, slim hips, my favorite trail this side of Appalachia, and … hello, lover. A Morning Missile. His eyes said no, but his wood said yes.
My eyes widened at the sight, and Jack arched his back as he stretched, making it poke further at his boxers. I bit my lip in unrestrained lust. I couldn’t get sidetracked or we would never make it to Santa Barbara.
“Hey, George … let’s go, let’s go! Get up!” I prodded, humming my original shagging tune.
“Grace, stop it,” he warned, trying to retrieve the covers from underneath my bouncing feet.
“George. George. George,” I chanted with each bounce. He glared at me again through sleepy eyes.
“Grace, I’m warning you,” he scolded.
“And I’m warning you, man. You said you’d shag me today,” I repeated, now bouncing harder than ever. The bed was squeaking, inappropriately.
“I’m gonna spank you today if you keep that up,” he intoned. “Now seriously, stop all that bouncing about. I won’t tell you again.” His eyes darkened as they looked at me now fully, standing over him in my white Polo button down, hair messed from sleep, eyes sparkling. I started to bounce again, and he warned me one last time.
“Grace.” He was talking to me as if he was my dad … hmmm … my daddy … did he want to play Who’s Your Daddy?
I bounced. He moved like a cat and caught me in midair, pulling my legs out from under me, making me land flat on my back and knocking the wind out of me. He straddled me while I struggled to catch my breath between giggles.
“Grace, you need to calm down. We can’t leave for Santa Barbara yet.”
“Why the hel not?” I asked, trying to fight him off. He would have none of it.
“First of all, because you have not packed,” he began.
“I plan on being na**d most of the time,” I answered quickly.
“Secondly, the hotel won’t even check us in until noon.”
“We can do it in the car,” I quipped, trying to get my hands free so I could grab onto him. I was more persuasive when I could touch him. He knew this, and so he kept both of my hands high above my head, pinned to the bed.
“Thirdly, has it escaped your attention that it isn’t even 6:00 a.m.?” I stopped cold. I looked at the window and noticed the sun had barely risen.
The freaking birds weren’t even chirping. And I was bouncing on the bed like a mad woman singing about an upcoming shag. I looked from the window back to his face, now fully awake and glaring down at me, but not without a hint of humor.
Gulp.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize how early it was. I guess I’m a little anxious.” I grinned, feeling the blush start to creep in when I thought about how silly this was.
“Crazy,” he said, shaking his head at me. He pulled me up and pressed me close to him. I let my hands come up to his shoulders and hugged him tightly. We embraced for a moment, his hands tracing up and down my back. I breathed in his scent, amplified by his sleepy time heat. Pipe tobacco, chocolate and Hamilton.
“Is it crazy that I can hardly wait for tonight?” I whispered in his ear, feeling my heart damn near beat out of my chest.
“Me either,” he whispered back. He pulled away slightly, pressing his lips to my cheeks and then my lips.
“Now, Grace, for the love of God, can we please get a few more hours of sleep?” he sighed, pulling me back down with him.
“You can sleep, but I need to get packing. You still need to pack, too. What time should I get you up?”
“I’m already packed. My bag is in the car.” He yawned, tugging at my hair, trying to get me to lie back down next to him.
“You already packed? You mean we could have left last night?” I shrieked.
He covered his ears.
“Grace, we’ll leave in a few hours,” he placated. “Pipe down, woman, and bring me those tits. You know I can’t sleep without a handful.” He chuckled, succeeding in pulling me close enough to get a hold of me. I giggled, and let him slip his hands beneath my shirt, tucking in next to him again.
His fingers roamed for a few moments, as was customary, sweeping across my ni**les until they were sufficiently hard. He always did this until I sighed and arched into him a little before he settled in. He would sneak one arm under the pillow and me, and the other arm he would drape over my hip and up under my arm, cupping me and pulling me tightly against his chest until I was in a Hamilton Sandwich. His mouth would always return to mine for one last kiss, and then I usually got another one right behind my ear as his head nestled on the pillow behind my own.
There was one more favorite Jack’s Happy Sound, that gentle contented hum, and then within a minute or two, I knew he was back to sleep. I lay quietly, surrounded by the man I didn’t even know a month ago.
I couldn’t wait for tonight …
I finally got his ass in the car by ten-thirty. I had lain in bed with him until I knew he was sound asleep again, and then I packed as quietly as I could. I snuck into Holly’s room when I knew she’d be up and we powwowed briefly about what lingerie I should bring … slutty or sweet? I brought some of each.
I woke him up precisely at nine, actually dragging the covers down and leaving him curled in a ball. He was a little grumpy this morning, but when I quickly flashed him a boobie, he got right up. Then he tried to get up, ahem, but I killed all that noise real quick. I told him to conserve his energy, as he would need it later that evening.
I hadn’t looked forward to an event as much since the New Kids reunion concert, and that was an all-time high.
We ate a quick breakfast at the house: cold cereal and fruit. I refused to spend any time cooking when we could be on the road. He ate with agonizing slowness, chasing his Honey Nut Cheerios around with his spoon. When he started having a conversation between himself and the leftover Os, I took away his bowl and dumped it in the sink. He laughed at my eagerness and finally relented.
“Ya know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stal ing,” I teased, shaking a finger at him while he slowly sipped his juice.
“I’m not stal ing, but breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Grace,” he answered back, selecting his banana with uncommon diligence.
“I think you are stalling. Are you worried about tonight? Are you having a little performance anxiety there, big guy?” I asked, grabbing the banana and making obscene gestures with the fruit.
“I hardly think so. I’m just enjoying watching you squirm. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a bit randy,” he joked, letting his arms wrap my waist.
“Randy? Hell no, we’re way past that. I need to get pounded, and you’re the guy that’s going to do it,” I said severely, pushing him toward the stairs, holding the banana like a light saber. “I got a hole that needs fillin’, a field that needs plowin’, and a stocking that is aching to be stuffed.” His eyes widened at my words and he arched an eyebrow. “That’s crude, love,” he quipped, his eyes dancing with mischief.
“Now get the hell up those stairs, get in the shower, wash your kibbles and bits, and then drive my randy ass to Santa Barbara so you can make me see God,” I finished, my voice rising to a fevered pitch as I forced him with the banana to walk backward up the stairs. He laughed the entire time and finally went into the bedroom, still shaking his head.
That little fucker was playing with me. I might have to drive.
We were driving up the coast, top down, shades on, music loud. It was another one of those perfect Southern California days: temperature in the mid seventies, no clouds and bright sun. The ocean was to our left as we drove north along PCH toward Santa Barbara.
There was an open bag of Chex Mix between us. We passed Wheat Chex and Melba toasts back and forth, enjoying our time together. Every so often, the thought of leaving for New York would flit across my mind, but I would firmly push it aside. We had limited time left before my move, but I would spend every second of it being present, in the here and now, loving this man next to me.
I was very skilled in the art of pushing things aside.
His right hand set up camp on my left knee. I had worn shorts for just this reason. Any opportunity for his skin to touch mine was gladly accepted. I watched him as he drove, hair blowing, sunglasses on. He hadn’t shaved that morning … I hadn’t given him enough time to do so. I’d stood outside the shower while he was in there, threatening to flush the toilet if he didn’t get a move on. He’d tried to get me to shower with him, as was now the custom, but I steadfastly refused, knowing we’d be incapable of showering together without some hanky panky.
His profile was stunning as always, strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, sweet lips. He turned to me, catching me staring, and his upper lip curled in that sexy smile I loved so much. “What’s up, Crazy?” he asked, bringing my hand to his lips for a kiss.
“Just watching you. I’m burning this into my brain. Us, together,” I answered, brushing back the hair from his face. “Jeez, I’m schmaltzy today!” I exclaimed, leaning back against the seat, tucking my legs beneath me, laughing at my own triteness.
“I don’t think so. I’ve been doing a little brain-burning myself. What am I going to do without my Nuts Girl?” he asked, sounding more serious than I think he meant to. We were both thinking about it, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t.
“I know! Who is going to make you watch Golden Girls?” I teased.
“Who is going to make sure all the shampoo is washed out of your hair?” he teased right back.
“Who is going to keep you stocked up on FatBurger?”
“Who is going to dump niblets in your knickers?” he deadpanned.
“Whose boobies are you going to hold while you sleep?”
“Who is going to listen to you snore?” He chuckled.
“Hey, I don’t snore!” I yelled, turning to him and giving him a light slap on the face.
“Fine, Grace, you don’t snore,” he said sarcastically, shaking his head. We were both quiet for a minute.
“Seriously though, wil anyone be listening to you snore? I mean, in New York?
Do you think you wil … I dunno … be snoring for anyone else?” he asked, turning the banter into something serious. He looked nervous, but was covering well.
“Well, will you be holding anyone else’s boobies while I’m gone?” I asked quietly, my mind immediately thinking of this Marcia.
“I asked you first,” he said.
“Well, I would like to make it clear that while I officially do not snore, the answer is no. I don’t plan on snoring with anyone else while I’m gone,” I said, nervous now myself. This was the first time we had discussed, really discussed, where this was going.
He was quiet, and I could see his jaw relaxing. He’d been quite tense.
“And?” I asked.
“And what?” he asked back.
“What about you? And holding boobies? Will you be … holding … anyone else’s boobies?” I could barely breathe. This was a twenty-four-year-old guy who could have practically anyone he wanted. Could I really be asking him if he was planning on monkhood while I was gone?
Yes, you are asking him, and he owes you an answer.
I waited.
“Grace, I think I can honestly say, with no second thoughts, that there isn’t another pair of boobies on the planet that I’d rather have in my hands than yours. Sleeping or otherwise,” he stated, with a glance at my chest.
I got it.
“Oh, baby, you say the sweetest things,” I cried in a sickly sweet voice, launching myself across the seat at him, smacking his cheek with a wet kiss.
“Blech, don’t call me baby. You have enough nicknames for me already,” he teased, crisis averted.
“Oh, suck it, Sweet Nuts,” I taunted
“Now, if Jessica Simpson happens to fall on me, and I have to steady her by holding on somewhere … ” his voice trailed off.