"Reese is fun. I really like him. Is that a crime?"
"No, but hearing you say that only convinces me even more that you're sleeping with him."
"As if that's any of your business." Though she can't see it, I sit up straighter in my puffy armchair and lift my chin. "For your information, I am not currently having sex with Reese Dixon."
"Not currently?" Elena's tone changes, becoming softer and throatier, the way she always talks when she's discovered a juicy secret. "Does that mean you've done it already? Or you're about to do it?"
I sit there with my mouth open while I try to figure out how to avoid answering without Elena realizing that's what I'm doing. I suck at subterfuge, though. Always have.
My silence speaks all the words I didn't want to say.
"Okay," Elena says, "it's none of my business. But at least tell me one thing. Was it good?"
"If the question of whether I'm sleeping with Reese is none of your business, how is it okay to butt your snoopy little nose into the question of whether he's good in bed?"
"You're right. I'm sorry." She sighs with phony disappointment. "I guess I'll have to infer the answer. Chance is such an incredible lover that I'm betting Reese is fantastic too."
"Elena, honestly." I relax into my chair, twirling a lock of hair around my finger while I remember exactly how fantastic Reese was on the night we slept together. "I'm betting Reese is way better than Chance."
"Let's agree to disagree on that one."
We chat a little more, then say goodbye.
I hear the shower running in the bathroom, and my mind decides now is the right time to give me a high-definition, 3D, surround sound mental movie of Reese in the shower. Naked. Wet. The water drizzling down his body. Steam billowing around him while he runs his hands all over himself, spreading soapiness on all those muscles...
Lucky suds.
The doorbell chimes, and I drag my butt out of the chair to shuffle over to the door. I'd rather sneak into the bathroom and join Reese in the shower. But I behave like a good girl and open the door to greet whoever's there.
"Arden, darling," my grandmother says, opening her arms in an invitation to hug her.
I give in and accept the embrace. "Hey Grams, what are you doing here?"
She keeps her hands on my upper arms, though we're an arm's length apart now. "You look tired."
"Gee, thanks. You look old."
Her laughter is big and uninhibited, like always. She knows I'm joking because my lips turn up at the corners, and besides, she knows me too well to think I'd insult her. Ever since I hit puberty, Grams and I have enjoyed ribbing each other, affectionately.
Celeste Arnaud keeps her blonde hair cut short, but since she has lots of curls, it doesn't look severe. And yeah, she dyes her hair. Though she's in her seventies, she has zero wrinkles---thanks to a fantastic plastic surgeon. Her designer dress cost more than my first car. Grams stays slim too, and her perfect figure makes me look chunky.
I'm not jealous. I like my body, and I love Grams to pieces.
She cocks one hip and sets her hand on it. "Well, may I come in? I'm not used to hanging around in dank hallways."
I wave for her to enter and shut the door behind her. "It's not dank. This building is perfectly nice."
"Nice?" She stops between the bar and the sofa, swiveling her gaze this way and that. "I don't understand why you won't stay at my townhouse. This apartment is a hovel."
Yeah, I love her despite the fact she's an enormous snob.
"This is Elena's old place," I tell her, "and I like it here. It's cozy."
Grams closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Dear lord, how did I end up with a heathen for a granddaughter?"
"Watch it, Grams. I'll tell you all about the greys again."
She smiles and puts an arm around my shoulders. "All right. If you're happy, I'm happy."