“Well, shit,” I deadpanned. “I feel just awful now about ruining the dress she lent me.”
Grant straightened. “You did what?”
I unzipped the garment bag and pulled the sides open, revealing the dress. The pink silk had dried with water stains all over it. The chlorine probably hadn’t helped, either. “A dry cleaner might be able to fix it. Or I can just buy it from her, I guess.” Please don’t let it be crazy expensive.
Grant gazed at the dress and gave half a chuckle. “What happened?” Then his gaze drifted over to the box. He lifted the lid. “Oh no.” He peered at the dozens of cookies inside, stacked in alternating colors. He shut the lid and locked his gaze on me. “Your night obviously didn’t go well. Did you sleep much?”
A few years ago, after too much wine and an evening on Pinterest, I discovered a tutorial on making French macarons. My first
attempt had been a disaster. Puffy cookie shells with cracked tops. But I wouldn’t be beaten and kept at it, figuring out the perfect temperature for my oven, and how to fold the delicate batter so I’d get shiny, perfect shells with chewy centers. I was obsessed with making them in different colors and flavor combinations. Creating the sandwich cookies had become my therapy.
Grant knew this. One look at the box announced my fragile mental state.
“Yeah, I slept,” I said, trying not to be defensive. “I got an early start.”
He meandered to his fridge. “Care for something to drink while you tell me about it?”
I took a glass of water and sat down across from him in the living room of his studio apartment. I wasn’t sure where to start. When I’d asked to borrow a dress from Morgan, I’d had to reveal what I needed it for. Grant had seen me at my worst. We’d met just two months after Kyle had left, when I’d been working my way toward rock bottom of a not-great time in my life.
So while Grant understood my desire to get closure, he’d also been worried about the emotional toll there’d be for me to get it. I’d sworn to him I was strong enough now to face Kyle. The one good thing to come out of my breakup with him was I’d grown tough and hardened my heart.
“The suspense is killing me,” Grant said, leaning back and casting a thick arm on the back of the couch. “I take it you spoke with McAsshole.”
“I did.” I took a sip of my water. “He, uh, filled in some gaps in the story.”
“Gaps? What kind of gaps?”
It burst from me suddenly, rapid-fire. How I’d left the awful voicemail that had driven Kyle away, and then the second lie I’d told which was the nail in the coffin for our relationship. In hindsight, my New Year’s Eve plan had been stupid. If I hadn’t kissed him, he would have kept his lips to himself, and we wouldn’t have ended up in the water where he gave me the fuck of my life.
Followed immediately by the most awkward ten minutes of my life.
It had been like he’d shut down after he’d gotten out of the pool and dried off. Kyle just stood there, not saying a word. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to stay or not, but it became perfectly clear when he let me walk away. He hadn’t uttered a word to stop me. Once again, he gave up.
When the conversation lapsed into silence, Grant’s gaze drifted over to the closet. “So, the dress? What happened?”
“We, uh, fell in the pool.” It wasn’t a lie, but I wasn’t about to tell him about what happened afterward. It was embarrassing how fast I’d jumped on Kyle’s dick.
My face must have given too much away, because Grant frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It was just a lot, seeing him again.” Once again, not a lie. My emotions were horribly twisted, and the hardest part was I still wanted him. I wanted to know why he was back. Why he’d only slept with three women since me.
And what the hell he thought about the moment when I turned to him in the pool and whispered, “Again.” I shivered now from the memory. It wasn’t just the burning sting from his spanking I’d enjoyed; it’d been so much more. All those lies I’d told had made something dark inside me crave punishment from him. Like I deserved it. There’d been relief at his command over my body.
Grant raked a hand through his long, mahogany-colored hair, pushing the strands back. “Any chance McAsshole wants to play a little rugby?”
I smiled. Grant was on the Chicago Lions rugby team. I didn’t understand the desire to play the rough sport and get himself beaten up on weekends during the season, but I fully understood the effect his teammates in uniform had on me. I mean, goddamn.
“No,” I said with a light laugh. “I don’t think watching you knock Kyle flat on his ass would make me feel much better.”
“And who cares about that?” Grant smiled. “It would make me feel better.”
“Aw, you’re sweet. Speaking of sweets, the macs are raspberry lemon, caramel apple, and blueberry.”
“You keep at this, and my team’s going to demand I marry you.”
I shrugged. “I keep telling you to drop some subtle hints that I’m single.”
“I do, but it always comes out as ‘stay the hell away from my friend.’ It’s strange. Must be a cultural thing, or my accent.”