The Redhead Revealed (2) (30 page)

I ran into the house and turned to see him pulling up his pants. “Now you look like you had a little solo love out there all alone. Poor lonely Brit,” I sang out, still laughing.

He turned to me, eyes twinkling. “What was it you said about recovery time, love?” he asked, striding toward me.

“Oh man…” I laughed and ran into the house. With Jack right on my heels.

***

The next morning we had to get up and move. Jack had a photo shoot, and I still had quite a bit to get done for our dinner party the following night. Jack had invited Rebecca and Lane, and I was very interested to see how things would go down between Lane and Holly, although I was not so sure about Rebecca.

Rebecca. Apparently she was still upset with me about what I did to Jack at the premiere. And frankly, I couldn’t blame her. I knew how close they were, and I knew how Holly would feel if someone did that to me, especially on such an important night. But if Jack and I could move past it, she was going to have to as well. I was glad she was coming to the house, and I was happy to have her to dinner. I hoped this could be the impetus for a new start for us. I was in Jack’s life to stay, as was she, so we needed to get past this.

Jack left early for his shoot, and I spent the day prepping for the party and wrapping all my presents. We’d be exchanging gifts as part of the festivities. I baked pies, peeled veggies, and made as much as I could in advance so I could enjoy the time with my friends and not be stuck in the kitchen all night. Before I knew it, it was almost four p.m., and I still hadn’t had a shower. I made my way to the bathroom, stripped down, and stood under the spray for almost a solid hour, pruning. I had something I wanted to ask the Brit, but I wasn’t sure how to present it…

***

Later that night, starved, we drove to Pink’s. I craved a hot dog for some reason, and nothing would satisfy like a Pink’s. There was no way in hell Jack could get out of the car and stand in line without being recognized, so he pulled into a parking lot half a block away, and I gladly hopped out and stood in line. This was one of the first places I’d frequented when I moved to L.A. the first time, and I’d seen a celebrity on each and every visit. Everyone loved Pink’s.

After waiting for almost an hour and having a tiny fangirl moment when I saw Jim Carrey getting a dog, I took our treats (Mulholland Drive Dog for him and Martha Stewart dog for me) back to the car and we devoured them—top up, as we didn’t want to risk pictures. Paparazzi tended to circle Pink’s at night. You never knew who was going to show up. In between bites of the best hot dogs ever (they snap when you bite them), we laughed and joked and talked. He told me about the day’s photo shoot, and then about the fans at his apartment when he’d gone by that afternoon.

“I realized that even though that’s been my place in L.A. for over a year now, I’m ready to let it go,” he said. “Enough with the constant fangirls.”

I swallowed hard, thinking of what I’d been wanting to ask him.

“I mean, I’m headed back to London, and who knows where I’m going to be in January. Then I’m on location for the next film. I’ll never be here,” he continued, his voice trailing off.

I wiped the pickle juice off my fingers and turned to face him in the car. He sipped his soda, then his eyes found mine. They were serious. We each took a breath, then spoke at the same time.

“So, I was thinking—,” we both said, then laughed.

“You first,” I said.

“No, you go.”

“Huh-uh, you.”

“Ladies first.”

“There ain’t no ladies in this car,” I said, accenting my statement with a loud burp.

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head in mock disgust. “Age before beauty, Grace,” he chided.

“Did you just call yourself beautiful and me old?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, I did.”

“Well, hell, I really can’t argue with that logic. Okay, I’ll have the balls to say it first. Why don’t you just move in with me?” I said quickly, not giving myself a chance to puss out.

He stared at me, then started to speak.

I shook a finger at him and pressed on, “Wait, let me say this. You travel so much, and who the hell knows what I’m going to be doing. When we’re in the same town, when’s the last time we spent a night apart?”

He thought for a second. “I can’t remember. Not since we started…well…”

“Fucking?” I asked, laughing out loud.

“Yes, exactly. Fucking. You’re so crude, love,” he said, smiling.

I knew how much he loved me when I was crude.

“So, it just makes sense, yes? Do you even like your place?” I asked.

“No, not anymore. I mean, it was only ever just a place to sleep, never a home. And now with the paparazzi knowing where I live and all the fans surrounding the place, I suppose it does make sense…You sure about this, Crazy?” he asked, brushing my hair back with his fingertips.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I answered, kissing his fingers as they got closer to my lips.

“I can’t guarantee the press won’t figure this out. You ready for them to be camped outside your house?”

“What’s the difference? You’re there anyway. Who cares if you bring your shit over?” I smiled.

He sat back in his seat and ran his hands through his hair. He stared out the window, then looked back at me. His gaze was piercing.

“What are you thinking, George?”

“I’m thinking I was going to ask you the same thing, if I could move in with you,” he said.

“Are we insane?” I asked him.

“Totally and completely,” he answered, leaning in to capture my lips with his own. His mouth was warm and sweet, tasting of relish and mustard, and I couldn’t get enough. We kissed slowly and romantically, the glow of the Pink’s Hot Dogs neon sign in the distance.

And when we went home and walked inside, it felt good. We slept wrapped around each other in our bed.

The Redhead Revealed

Chapter 21

The day of our Christmas dinner party was warm and sunny, but with enough of a nip in the air to remind you it was the holidays. And if you still weren’t sure what time of year it was, there were always the reindeer strung across Rodeo to remind you.

Jack slept in while I busied myself around the house. When he finally got up, he helped me as best he could. I assigned him to help me trim the Brussels sprouts, but instead he kept trying to throw them away when he thought I wasn’t looking. “Brussels sprouts, Grace, really? These are our friends. Why are you doing this to them?”

But I made Brussels sprouts so well that even people who never liked them asked me how I made them taste so good. I had mad Brussels skills. The Brit was not convinced. Finally, I sat him at the counter and put him in charge of dicing celery for the stuffing. He paid great attention to detail, making sure each dice was the same size as the sample I sliced for him. With him doing busywork, I had time to finish everything else.

Once I got enough stuff done that I felt like we could relax a little, we snuggled into the couch and watched retro specials, starting with Charlie Brown and ending with Rudolph. I pressed back against him on the couch, and we burritoed ourselves in a blanket. The rich scent of turkey wafted through the air, and it was incredibly cozy.

When it was T-minus two hours, I finally got up to take my shower. I repeatedly refused his attempts to get into the shower with me, as I knew we’d never make it out in time. I needed a utility shower today. Showers with Jack always turned recreational.

Ninety minutes later I was in the kitchen, beginning the gravy and letting the turkey rest. Veggies and stuffing were in, whipped cream was made, and we were in good shape. I bent over to grab the turkey platter and heard a low whistle behind me. I straightened up and turned. Jack leaned on the counter, taking in my dress. It was a deep green with a full skirt. I’d paired it with little gold heels and a string of pearls. Over the dress? A retro-style apron.

It was going to drive him mad all evening.

“Fucking hell, Grace. What are you wearing?” he asked, as his eyes took in everything.

“I wanted to get dressed up a little, that’s all,” I answered primly, twirling so my dress flared out.

He clenched his fists and bit down on his lower lip as he watched me. He came closer, and I pointed my hot pad at him.

“No, no, Sweet Nuts, after dinner. I still have too much to do. Self control, please,” I instructed, as he finally backed away. As I futzed with a few last-minute things, he set the iPod on shuffle and got us some drinks. Heineken for him, dirty martini for me. He’d been practicing the last few months, and he could now mix me one mean cocktail. I sang a little as I finished up, and soon the doorbell rang. Jack went to get it, and I could hear Holly and Nick’s voices from the entryway.

“Get in here, dillweed. I need help!” I yelled.

“What the fuck do you think I can do?” she asked as she entered. “I’m kitchen disabled,” she said, making her way to the martini shaker.

“Yes, I know this. But you can open cans. I’ve seen you do it. There are olives over there, and cranberry sauce, and they need to be on the table. Hop to it, missy. Jack will make you a drink,” I instructed.

She rolled her eyes, but she went for the cans. Jack walked back into the kitchen with Nick stuck next to him. His arms were looped through Jack’s, and he gazed at him adoringly. I laughed when I saw them, and Jack smiled down at Nick.

“Would you quit molesting my boyfriend and get your ass over here so I can hug you properly!” I squealed. He reluctantly let go of the Brit, then launched himself at me.

“Girl, I’ve missed you so much!” he said, and he picked me up, twirling me around the kitchen. Then he stepped back to admire my dress as I giggled. “This is nice. Very fifties-housewife-meets-porn-star. It works for you,” he said, sneaking an olive from the dish Holly wrestled with.

“Yes, it does,” Jack whispered in my ear as he snuck up behind me and put his arms around my waist. I sighed as he kissed the back of my neck and released me with a squeeze, off to make drinks for our guests.

I heard my phone ring, and as I was up to my elbows in gravy, I asked Holly to answer it. I heard her voice rise in excitement, and I looked curiously at her. She gave my address, and Jack and I shared a glance over Nick’s shoulder. Nick was now eating olives with no regard for whether anyone else wanted any. Jack finally took them away from him like you’d take something from a child.

Holly hung up the phone and turned to me. “Is it cool if we have one more for dinner?” she asked.

“I guess so, since it would seem you already invited someone. Who’s coming?”

“Um…Michael,” she answered, and glanced at Jack. He stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed. I looked at Holly, then back at Jack.

“Michael? Why is he in town?” I asked as Jack handed Holly her martini. He rubbed my shoulders reassuringly. I looked at him and he nodded. He was okay with this.

“I’m not sure. He didn’t say,” she answered, sipping her cocktail. “Jesus, Jack, this is great. Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Nope,” I answered, winking devilishly at him.

He waggled his eyebrows back, and Nick sighed happily.

By the time I finished my gravy, Rebecca, followed quickly by Lane, had arrived. Rebecca greeted me coolly, but seemed to soften as she walked around the house, complimenting me on the festive decorations. Lane swept me into a fierce hug and kissed me on the cheek.

“Glad you’re back. I missed this sweet rack,” he said, openly staring down my dress. I saw Lane wink at Holly, then saw the blush creep into Holly’s face. She busied herself with the sweet potatoes, but Jack caught it too. I laughed when Lane pulled out his cigarettes and Jack immediately dragged him out back. Jack knew the rules: no smoking inside. He was already asserting himself as the man of the house—charming.

I began to carry the dishes out to the table, and Rebecca joined me.

“So, you back for good now?” she asked, setting down the Brussels sprouts, which had turned out great. She eyed me carefully as I smoothed my skirt and looked back at her.

“Yep, back for good…I know you’re still upset with me, Rebecca, but I’m glad you’re here tonight,” I said, turning back toward the kitchen.

“Grace?” she called, and I looked over my shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“He loves you so much. I’m glad you realized that. But if you ever hurt him again—” she started.

“Then you have my permission to kick my ass,” I finished.

She looked at me hard, then broke. “Shit, girl, like I need your permission.” She laughed, then went to grab the last few dishes.

I saw Jack smiling through the doorway to the patio, and I jiggled my boobies at him. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back. I giggled and was still laughing when I heard the doorbell. I answered it, and there was my friend. Michael. With flowers.

“Hey!” I yelled, and hugged him.

“Hey, Grace,” he answered, hugging me back. He let me go quickly and handed me the bouquet.

“Thanks for the invitation. I didn’t know I was going to be here until the last minute, and I’m headed back tomorrow. Wow, great house!” he exclaimed as we walked inside.

“Thanks. Why are you in L.A. anyway?” I asked as I set the flowers down and led him to the dining room.

“Actually, it’s an interesting story. Tell you about it tomorrow?” he said, shrugging out of his coat.

“Well, you’re Mr. Mysterious, aren’t you? Yes, tell me tomorrow. Right now we’re eating,” I said, going to the back door.

“Hey, Sweet Nuts, time to eat,” I called, and Jack and Lane filed in.

“I might have to share that nickname with the rest of the cast, don’t you think, Bec?” Lane asked, elbowing Jack in the ribs as everyone found a place at the table.

“No way. No one calls him Sweet Nuts but me.” I glared at Lane, who took a seat across from Holly. I sat at one end of the table, and Jack sat at the other.

Introductions were quickly made for Michael, and soon everyone had a glass of wine.

“Before we start, I would like to say a little something,” I said, standing.

Everyone looked at me expectantly. I cleared my throat, which was suddenly thick.