The Unidentified Redhead (1) (9 page)

“Hi, Jack. Things are under control here now. Can I call you back in a few minutes?” I asked, tightening my grip on Holly's mouth.

“Are you really naked? Like, all kinds of naked?” he asked in between wheezes.

“All kinds of naked. And wet. Now, that should be enough to tide you over for a few minutes. I'll call you right back.”

“Jesus, wet? Wait, Sheridan, wait!” I heard him say as I hung up the phone.

“Nice touch with the naked and wet,” Holly mumbled through my hand.

“Yeah, I thought so, too,” I answered, hitting her in the face with my loofah.

***

A little while later, with my armpit band-aid firmly in place, I sat on my bed in my robe, looking at my laptop. I had seen the pictures, several times. I looked sassy. I looked sexy.

You looked gooood.

I did look good. I dialed the phone.

“I can't believe you hung up on me after giving me that kind of visual. You little cock tease,” he grumbled. His voice was low and thick.

If I could hear Jack Hamilton say one word for the rest of my life, it would be cock.

“I had an ass to kick. I saw the pictures; sorry about that,” I apologized.

“Why are you apologizing? I should've warned you about that. That isn't the first time this has happened.”

“Yeah, Holly mentioned that things were beginning to get a little crazy for you. You OK with that?” I asked, leaning back onto the pillows. I needed to get ready to go out, but I wanted to talk to him a little.

“It's not too bad. I mean, meeting people who are fans of the stories is actually cool. It's weird though, because I'm boring. If they only knew how boring I actually am, they wouldn't be interested,” he sighed.

“I don't think you're boring. I find you quite…stimulating in fact,” I answered, in a low voice.

“Really? What exactly do you find stimulating?” he inquired.

“Well, right now it's your voice. That damn accent is driving me crazy.” I breathed into the phone. This had gone from innocent to sexpot fast.

“It's always the accent that drives you American women crazy. I'd no idea you fancied it, too…” he trailed off.

“Oooh, fancied it. Say more like that,” I begged, smiling into the pillow.

“Like what, Grace?”

“Talk British to me,” I whispered, only half joking.

“Dustbins.”

“More,” I encouraged.

“Crumpets.”

“More!” I demanded.

“Knickers.”

If I could hear Jack Hamilton say a second word for the rest of my life, it would be knickers.

“Say put another shrimp on the barbie!” I cried.

“Grace, that's Australian,” he chided.

“Say it!”

“Fine. Put another shrimp on the barbie. Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Aaaahhhhhhh!” I screamed into the phone. Holly was passing by my room and rolled her eyes. I grinned at her.

“Are you quite finished now?” he asked.

“Oh, my yes. That was great. Thank you for that,” I giggled.

“Anything for my unidentified redhead,” he replied.

His unidentified redhead? Damn skippy.

“So, what do you have planned for the evening?” I asked.

“I'm going to a club opening, somewhere off Robertson,” he said, not sounding that excited about it.

“Well, be careful. And you're not allowed to sleep with anyone from any reality show on MTV,” I warned.

“Oh, laying claims now, are we?” he teased, making me realize what I had just said.

Too early, Grace.

“Wait, don't I get to lay any claims tonight?” he protested.

Maybe not too early…

“None of my claims are getting laid tonight, but go ahead.”

“You're not allowed to sleep with anyone who has ever watched a reality show on MTV,” he continued in a silky voice.

“So there is, like, an after midnight clause?” I teased.

“Don't tempt me, Grace, or I'll comb every club in West Hollywood looking for you, starting at the stroke of midnight,” he stated matter-of-factly.

My toes curled. I still needed that second shot of Hamilton.

“Heh heh, you said—” I started.

“Stroke. I know, I said, 'stroke.' I'm on to you, Sheridan,” he reminded me.

Please be on to me…at least on me.

“OK, Holly's wearing a hole in the carpet outside my door. I need to get going. I'll speak to you soon?” I hated to get off the phone, but I couldn't take much more of this. The next time we bantered, I hoped it was with seriously less clothing on.

“Yes, I need to meet up with my mates. I'll call you tomorrow. Don't put too much sparkle on your boobies. They look great, by the way. Nice robe.” He chuckled.

“Thanks. I, wait, how did you know I'm wearing a—”

“Night, Grace,” he whispered.

I sat for a minute on my bed.

What the fudge?

I heard a snicker and looked toward the door. There was Holly with her camera phone. On the screen was a picture of me just a few minutes ago. My robe had fallen open just enough that you could see the tops of my yahoos, to say nothing of how high it was open on my legs.

The worst part was that she had taken it when I was screaming after he said “shrimp on the barbie.” I looked like I was in a porno.

She danced away from my lunge and said, “Never throw your loofah at me again. I know where it's been.”

The_Unidentified_Redhead

Chapter Nine

The night was fun. Holly and I met up with Nick at a club in West Hollywood. They were having “decades” night and we danced all night in the 80's room. I didn't mention to Nick the fact that I had been engaged in a back-and-forth with Jack. First, I knew how big a crush he really did have. Second, he worked in the industry too, and that was just too tempting a rumor.

After the hangover from the other day, I made sure to restrict myself to a two drink maximum, despite Nick's best attempts to get me wasted and on stage with a drag queen. It was not going to happen—the getting wasted part. I did dance on the stage…

I packed my tired ass into bed sometime after three—well past my bedtime—and was asleep almost instantly, although not so instantly that I didn't spare a thought to the Brit, and wondered whether he was home yet or not.

***

Only a few hours later, after some much needed power sleeping, I decided to go for another run in Griffith Park. As I drove through the canyons on the way, my phone rang. It was the Brit.

“Hey there,” I chirped merrily into the phone. I was happier than I wanted to be to talk to him.

“Hey, Nuts Girl. What are you up to?” he asked, his voice deliciously thick. He sounded like he'd just woken up.

“I'm going for a run. You?”

“I'm still in bed, trying to decide if I can talk the girl at Starbucks into making a home delivery. Is it too pretentious to ask if she's a Time fan?” he asked, already knowing my answer.

“Yes, it is. Don't you dare,” I chided.

“Where are you going for your run?” he inquired, setting me up. I let him.

“Griffith Park, why?”

“Oh, that's really close to my place. Pity I don't know who that unidentified redhead was. I bet she'd get me some coffee.”

“Maybe if you ask really nice and then you kiss on her for awhile, she might consider it,” I teased, loving where this was leading.

“That's a deal. When I see her, I'll kiss on her until she tells me to stop.”

“Who says she'll tell you to stop?” I hinted.

“Well, then you better get your sweet ass over here so I can begin the kissing,” he invited.

You are going to let him touch your boobies, aren't you?

Maybe. Probably.

“OK, I'm going for my run and then I'll be by with your coffee. Did you need a muffin, too? Or am I just your java wench for now?” I sassed back.

“Haha! Just the coffee, but skip the run. I'm lonely.”

“No, I need to run. Besides, that will give you time to clean up your place,” I pushed.

“How do you know if I need to clean up my place or not? You've never been here,” he asked.

“You're twenty-four right? Let's see, twenty-four. I am going to guess that your boxers are on the coffee table, there are pizza boxes on the floor, and the bong is on the back of the toilet. Yes?”

He was quiet for a minute and then he burst out laughing. “Go for your run, I'll see you soon. And the bong isn't in the bathroom,” he chided.

“Kitchen?”

“Maybe.”

“Has it ever been in the bathroom?” I pressed.

“Dammit, yes.”

“I am the master! Text me your order and your address and I'll be along soon. I'm warning you, though. I will be all hot and sweaty from my run. You may not want to kiss me.”

“Not possible. I'm looking forward to the hot and sweaty. And Grace?”

“Yes?”

“Run fast,” he said darkly.

“No problem. See you soon,” I promised.

I ran like my ass was on fire.

***

I made it to his apartment in less than 60 minutes, forgoing my usual longer run in favor of a more Jack-friendly workout. I had picked up his coffee, Grande Espresso, and my Iced Mocha as well. I climbed the stairs to his door and knocked carefully, balancing the two cups.

When he opened the door, my breath drew in with a hiss. He was wearing a white t-shirt, low slung jeans and was barefoot. The hair was curly perfection and he hadn't shaved for a few days. The roughness of his beard accented his jawbones, making him look both virile and angelic at the same time. He was smiling at me while looking devilish. I said hello to him, walked past him into the hallway, and continued into what I assumed was the living room. He said nothing, just followed me in. I could hear the soft slap of his bare feet on the wood floors. I turned around to hand him his coffee and he was right behind me. He took both cups and set them on the table.

“I got it with two sugars, just the way you…” I was silenced by his stare. He slid his hands around my waist and pulled me into him. His green eyes were blazing, his jaw set as his fingers touched the skin between my tank top and my track pants.

“Sorry, I told you I was going to be sweaty, do you want me to—”

“Grace?” he interrupted.

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up and enjoy this,” he whispered, as he bent his head to mine.

He's right, Grace, shut the fuck up.

His lips touched mine, and though yesterday's kiss was sweet and amazing, he was serious today. His mouth moved over mine urgently, incessantly. I had been dying to touch his hair since the first day I saw it, and now I dug in. I felt the silk and the soft of every strand as I wound my fingers throughout, drawing him closer to me. I sucked lightly on that damn lower lip, and when his tongue met mine I…thought…I…would explode.

His hands were rough on my hips, tugging me closer, and I could feel each fingerprint pressing into my skin. My senses were so heightened in that moment that I could even feel slight calluses on his left hand as they dragged toward my belly. I moaned into his mouth, feeling my skin pebble and shiver. He pulled back for a nanosecond and inhaled, gazing at me through heavy eyes and then leaned in for more.

His lips trailed down my jaw towards my neck and I turned my head to give it all to him. It was my sweet spot, the one that made my toes point…yep, they were pointing. He used his tongue to tickle his way from my collarbone up to my ear, stopping only to nibble and nip here and there. I pulled my right hand away from his hair and began running my fingertips up and down his back, feeling his strong muscles through his thin shirt. His hands returned to my hips, pushing me backwards until I felt my legs hit the table. He stopped, then, and lifted his head from my neck to look at me. I took the opportunity to snake my hands around to the front, slipping them under his shirt and letting them feather across his stomach. He closed his eyes.

“You're driving me crazy, Sheridan,” he groaned, pushing me back onto the table.

“You like crazy, remember?” I quipped, scrambling up so that I was sitting with him in between my legs. “Now, come get your crazy,” I whispered, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back down to me.

It was hot.

He was hot.

I was hot. I was really hot. I was almost…uncomfortably hot. I was, burning?

“Ow ow ow!” I shouted, pushing him off me and springing off the table. “What the what?” I cried, feeling my back. I had lain right on his espresso, knocked it over, and it was now all over my back and sweet mother of pearl it was hot! It was dripping off the side of the table and onto the floor.

“Are you OK?” he exclaimed, un-sticking my shirt and holding it away from my body so I could get a little air flow.

“Yes! God dammit, that hurts!” I cried. And what the hell, who makes out with someone as hot as this guy and then lays in hot coffee?

You do, Grace.

“You'd better take that off. It's cooling now,” he observed, staring at the coffee destruction that I had inflicted on my shirt.

“Ya think?” I asked, more frustrated that the kissing had stopped than the fact that my back was probably blistering. I could tell he was concerned that I'd really hurt myself, but there was also a twinkle beginning to build in his eye. He was trying not to laugh as he continued to hold my shirt away from my back.

“If I take this shirt off, I'll be topless. No bra, mister, can you handle that?” I inquired.

“Why don't we just take a look at your back first, make sure you're OK. Then I'll see about handling you,” he teased, still trying not to laugh. I turned around and grasped my tank top, pulling it slowly up towards my shoulders. As I revealed my back to him, I heard him gasp.

“Yeah, that's right. Liking the view?” I asked, swaying my hips suggestively. I peered over my shoulder in what I thought was a seductive gaze. He was frowning.

“Settle down, Crazy Girl, you are really red back here. Let me get you some ice,” he replied. “Stay here.”

He walked into the kitchen and I could hear him puttering about. He came back in a minute, holding a Ziploc bag filled with ice, and was wrapping a kitchen towel around it. He took my elbow and began leading me into his bedroom. I still had my shirt pulled up around my chin, trying to keep the girls under cover in front. I saw him sneak a glance down and then shake his head. He was smiling that sexy little half grin.