The World: According to Rachael (25 page)

When the door closes, I turn around and walk to the tray, removing the plastic wrap covering the cheese plate. Graham’s arms wrap around me as he kisses my neck. “Champagne? Are we celebrating something special?”

I lean into his front as I take a piece of cheese off the plate and place it in his mouth when he goes for another kiss. “Yes. I think we are.”

He releases me and reaches for the champagne bottle, opening it with a pop. He pours a glass and hands it to me. He fills the second glass and turns towards me. “So …” He prompts.

“Well …” I drop my head, suddenly feeling bashful. “We’re celebrating a couple of things.”

He reaches for the bathrobe tie and gives it a yank. Once it’s fallen open, he slides it off of my body and it pools at my feet. He licks his lips. “Much better.”

I smirk, feeling my nerves join the bathrobe on the floor. “On the professional side, I was offered a job today when President Jones’ term ends.

Graham’s face lights up. We settle onto the sofa while I tell him about my conversation with Ken. He seems genuinely excited for me, especially when I mention that the job will keep me here in Washington. I make sure that he knows that I haven’t accepted it, and I still want to explore other ideas, but that I am seriously considering this new challenge.

While we were talking, we both finished our glasses of champagne. So when I change the subject to what else we’re celebrating, he stands up and grabs the bottle, refilling them.

“We’re also celebrating meeting each other families.” I dip my chin and look up at him through my eyelashes.

“That’s definitely something to celebrate.” He takes my legs and places them on his lap and grabs one of my feet, using his thumb he makes small circles on my arch. The pressure is delicious. I could really get used to foot massages.

“I thought maybe tomorrow you could go shopping with me, and help me choose something to wear. Something that your mom will like.” I’m feeling a bit bashful asking him this. Meeting the family is such a huge step in a relationship, and I want him to know just how seriously that I’m taking it.

He works on a knot in my left foot. “This is from wearing those damn five-inch heels.”

“Four,” I correct. “I know.”

As the knot releases, I moan, “God, that feels so good.”

“You don’t have to wear anything special to meet my parents. They aren’t the kind of people who will judge you based on what labels you’re wearing. Just be yourself, and they’ll see why you’re so important to me.”

He drops my left foot and picks up my right.

His words warm me like hot cocoa on a cold day.
I’m important to him
. I like how that sounds. His actions have told me that this is how he feels, but hearing the words confirms that I made the right decision by agreeing to introduce him to Caroline, Colin, and the rest of the crew.

“Thank you, and I can do that, but I’d like to be myself in a new dress.” I can’t keep the smile at bay.

He picks my foot up and kisses my big toe. “You have gorgeous feet, and these red toes are all kinds of sexy.” He sucks my big toe into his mouth and lets it go with a pop. “Then tomorrow we’ll shop for a new dress.”

I wiggle into the couch and look up at the ceiling, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. Graham Jackson is a dream that I never hoped I could achieve. He’s supportive, and seems to understand just how much my career means to me, and I’m important enough to him that he’s insisting that I meet his family.
Yup. I am the luckiest girl in the world.

His expert hands move up my legs and settle where I desire him the most. This time, our lovemaking is sweet and tender. He sits on the couch as I straddle his lap, finally getting to control his orgasm. I use my legs to move up and down on his thick erection. He removes the pins from my hair, allowing it to spill down my back. Sometimes I take him balls’ deep and he gently swats my behind, and other times I just take the head of his cock. When he tries to speed up my rhythm or take control by seizing my hips, I slap his hands away.

Graham whispers words of encouragement, and tells me how I make him feel. His declarations of what I mean to him makes my body yield to him every damn time.

While we shower, Graham and I decide to spend the weekend at the hotel. We didn’t talk about who was going to pay, but I checked my account balance this morning and know that I have enough money in savings to cover the weekend. He rinses and then steps out, citing a phone call that he needs to make.

I linger in the shower enjoying not being rushed and using all of the complementary luxurious bath products. While I’m rinsing the essence of orange infused conditioner out of my hair, a thought hits me so hard that I stagger against the slick marble wall.
Is he only agreeing to stay at the hotel after he was so against them because it means another couple of days that I will not ask to visit his home?
I hope that it’s not the reason, and choose to ignore my gut which is desperately trying to convince me otherwise.

When I step out of the shower, I hear his voice in the other room. He must still be on the phone. That’s a long phone call, because I really took my time washing my hair. I move to the bathroom door and crack it open so I’m able to watch his movements in the mirror.

“I’m here with Rachael … Yeah … I know … Maybe we can have dinner or meet for beers tomorrow …” Then the conversation must take a turn from friendly to tense because Graham, dressed only in his boxer briefs, begins to pace back and forth in front of the bed.

“Fuck you, Max. Don’t make me fuckin’ choose, because you’ll probably not like my choice.” His tone is one that I don’t recognize. There’s a razor edge to it that I identify as being deadly serious, and it makes me shiver.

Then, in a resolved voice, he backpedals. “I didn’t mean that, and you know it. I’m just stressed. I’ll text you where to meet us, and we’ll work all day on Sunday.”

He ends the call, and he stares for a moment at his phone. His head turns, looking out the window as if he’s studying the Washington skyline. Then to my shock, he rears back his arm, throwing his phone against the padded headboard.

I move back in front of the bathroom sink and begin to work the knots out of my hair, using my fingers as a comb. My mind is swirling with possibilities of what the conversation was about. I haven’t seen Graham display a temper. I mean, everyone gets angry, but hurling his phone is a little more than just perturbed. He also mentioned working on Sunday. Once again, I’m sure that teachers grade papers on the weekend and prepare items for the week, but the tone of his voice tells me that something bad must be happening at school. I know how much lacrosse means to him. I hope whatever it is doesn’t affect his coaching. I wait a few minutes, giving him time to collect his thoughts before I walk into the bedroom.

He’s lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if whatever is troubling him is glaring down and ready to consume him whole. I join him on the soft mattress and press myself into his side.

“You heard that, didn’t you?” His voice gives nothing away.

I nod.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were still showering.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Want to talk about it?” I ask, sounding way too hopeful. I’m silently pleading with him to share with me.

“And ruin a perfectly good night? No way.” Then he rolls onto his side and stares down at me with eyes that I could almost interrupt as being filled with love.

“I want to meet him,” I state.

“Who?” he asks.

“I heard you tell Max that tomorrow we could meet for beers or dinner. I want to meet him.”

“Well, it’s not him. It’s them.” I get the feeling by the way he cuts his eyes that if I hadn’t overhead the conversation that he would have blown them off.

“Fine. Then I want to meet
them
.”

He leans over and kisses the tip of my nose. “Your wish is my command.” Then his eyes grow heavy. “Hungry?”

I reach inside his underwear and stroke his semi-erect penis. “Not for food.”

I lose count how many times and different ways that we take each other over the next five hours, but when we finally have had enough and can fall fast asleep, we do it tangled in each other’s arms, so knotted that the only way to tell where he stops and I begin is to look at his dark skin against my fair complexion.

Even after yesterday’s activities, I still wake up with the sun. It’s like my body doesn’t believe my mind that on the weekends it can sleep past five o’clock. After unwrapping myself from Graham and using the restroom, I determine that I’m not going back to sleep. Then it occurs to me that all I have with me is the suit and high heels that I wore to work yesterday, and the discarded green lingerie.

I quietly call Lou, who’s passed his phone to one of the weekend guys, and tell the Secret Service that I need to pick up a few things from my house. We arrange to meet in ten minutes.

I grab a sheet of hotel stationery and leave a note for Graham.
Went to grab a few things from my house. Be back soon.
Then, before I can stop myself, I draw a heart and sign my name under it. I’ll blame my childish drawing on my multiple orgasms yesterday.

Tom introduces himself as my weekend agent. I hope that Tom has seen a late thirties woman do the walk of shame before. If not, Tom, who looks to be twelve, will be forever scarred. My bruised cheek completes the rumpled-suit look with bare feet. I remember once seeing a picture of Britney Spears barefoot and walking out of a public restroom. Her actions were repulsive to me. Now, I get it. She might have had the kind of night that I did, which was awesome.

Fortunately, Tom has the car at the lobby door so I don’t have to walk far in public. While we’re driving, I check my email. It’s all work. I click on one email from someone on Evan’s team. The subject line is
Sons of Liberty: Urgent
. I star it to read later. As I quickly learned in this job, urgent doesn’t really mean
urgent.
If it’s indeed an emergency, someone will let me know.

When we arrive at my house, it doesn’t take long for me to change clothes, put on a baseball cap, and throw a couple of outfits into my overnight bag. I stop by my bathroom and gather my cosmetics, toothbrush, and something called Arnica gel that Shelby insists will make my bruise fade more quickly. As I’m walking downstairs, I remember that I didn’t grab shoes. Back up I go. I choose a pair of boots for right now, and throw some heels in my bag for wearing out to meet Graham’s friends.

I’m curious to find out if these are the same friends that came into town the last couple of weekends. I reason that they must be very close if they see each other this often.

Tom makes a coffee run for Graham and me before we head back to the hotel. I haven’t been gone long—maybe an hour. On the way through the lobby, I detour by the front desk.

“How may I help you?” the clerk asks.

“I want to make sure that the credit card that I gave you yesterday upon check-in is the same card that is being billed for last night’s stay. We’d also like to extend by one more night.” I’m barely able to see over the high counter. I don’t understand why hotels feel the need to have reception desks that are so over-exaggerated.

“Name please?”

“Rachael Early.”

He’s clicking away on his keyboard. “Let’s see, Miss Early. The gentleman that’s staying with you switched out the cards yesterday. A Mister Graham Jackson?” He looks up expectantly.

I nod.

“He also extended your stay so you’re all taken care of. Have a lovely weekend.” He doesn’t wait for me to turn around before he’s focused again on his computer.

How does a teacher afford one night at the Four Seasons, let alone two?
I’ve managed to pay off my student loans and not incur any credit card debt. Graham seems to obviously be living beyond his means. That makes me very uncomfortable. I add it to my list of things that I need to find out about him.

In the elevator, I decide that if Graham is still asleep, I’ll get caught up on my emails. If he’s awake, then I’m taking today off and giving him my undivided attention.

Much to my delight, he’s awake—all of him—and he looks very happy to see me. Our coffee is room temperature by the time we get done properly saying good morning.

“What time are we meeting your friends?” I ask as I pull on a fresh pair of jeans and nubby olive green sweater.

He strolls over to me and kisses the pulse point on my neck. “Do you really want to meet Max, Marissa, and Jake?”

“Of course. Friends aren’t nearly as scary as parents.” I reply casually as I sit down and begin to lace my leather boots.

Graham is dressed in the same clothes as he wore yesterday, except he’s left his morning stubble. It’s so damn sexy. I can’t stop myself from caressing it or feathering kisses along his jawline every chance that I get.

We’re heading to the Friendship Heights neighborhood to do some shopping. I wasn’t kidding when I’d said that I wanted a new dress to meet his family. I also need to grab some gifts for Caroline’s daughter and twin sons, as well as Aiden’s children. They call me Aunt Rachael because that’s what Caroline’s daughter, Ainsley, refers to me as, and the others just follow her lead. One day, it will have to be explained to them that sometimes family isn’t necessarily related to you by marriage or blood.

I carry my makeup bag into the bathroom while Graham taps away on his phone. Even though I used Shelby’s Arnica gel only to humor her, I must admit my bruise is faded enough that I think base will actually camouflage it. As I’m gently applying it, because it’s still a bit tender, Graham calls out from the other room, “Is eight o’clock okay?”

He startles me and I press too hard on my cheek causing me to wince. “Okay for what?” I dust some powder over the bruise and admire my handiwork in the mirror.

“For meeting everyone.”

“Works for me. My day is open.”
Because I cleared my calendar, for the first time in too many years to count.

“Is meeting at a pub okay?”

I walk into the other room. “Graham, I don’t care. Make whatever plans you want. I’m just along for the ride.”