Sin With Me

44

1004 words

“Yes,” I interrupt, guessing what Magda has said from the context of Grace’s denial. “You should stay here. We want you to. I want you to.”

Magda throws me a killer glare that’s supposed to shut me up but doesn’t, because I’ve been on the receiving end of so many of them I’m immune.

I sink to a knee in front of Grace and take her hand. “If you don’t feel comfortable staying with me in the main house because we’re not . . . uh . . . because we haven’t . . .”

Grace’s brows lift. Magda growls at me.

I blurt, “The guest house is three thousand square feet! It has its own pool! And its own private entrance! You could come and go anytime, it would be like your own place!”

Shaking her head, Magda exhales through her nose and looks at the ceiling. Ignoring her, I squeeze Grace’s hand. “At least for tonight. Or a few days, until you get settled with whatever other arrangements you need to make. You can stay however long you need.”

Grace drops her gaze to our hands. She chews her lower lip for a moment, thinking.

“Please.”

She doesn’t say anything.

“I promise I won’t be weird or anything.”

Grace looks up at me with a furrow between her brows.

“I mean . . . more weird.”

Finally she cracks a smile.

“Is that a yes?” I press, excited.

Magda says, “Ach. Patetico.” Then she explains something to Grace in Spanish.

Grace listens. She takes another sip of her tea. When Magda stops speaking, Grace looks at her for a long while, and then at me. She says, “Whatever you’re paying her, this woman deserves a raise.”

Then she and Magda stand, so I do, too.

Sounding more steady, Grace says, “I’d like to take a shower and get into some dry clothes.”

“Yes, of course. Take a shower and I’ll find you something of mine to wear—sweats and a T-shirt okay?”

Grace nods.

“I called Kat. She’s gonna bring some clothes over for you later. I’ll get the guest house ready, and then . . .”

I trail off into silence, because I don’t know what’s supposed to happen then.

But Grace lives up to her name, because she gives me a sweet, soft smile, and kisses me on the cheek. “And then we’ll talk.”

My heart starts pounding. “Yes. Then we’ll talk.”

Is it wrong that I’m hoping she meant to say a different four-letter word that ends with a K?

Yes. It’s wrong. I’m a perv. I know. I can’t help myself. I’ve been lusting after this woman for so long now the inside of my brain is wallpapered with images of her naked body.

Then it hits me that what Grace needs right now isn’t another dude waving his d**k in her face. What she needs, more than anything, is a friend.

If I really want to do right by her, I need to be her friend, not the guy who’s trying his hardest to get into her panties when she’s most vulnerable.

Which means I need to back off.

Damn it’s inconvenient having a conscience.

She turns and walks away, down the hall toward the guest bedroom she spent the night in. I watch her go, Magda by my side. When Grace closes the bedroom door behind her, Magda looks up at me. She says in English, “You’re welcome. Don’t f**k it up.”

Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “Magda! Why have I never heard you speak English before today?”

She shrugs. Then, with a gleam in her dark eyes, she answers in Spanish.

I glare at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She smiles, pats me on the arm, and then turns and walks away.

I call out, “If I didn’t love you so much you’d be so fired right now!”

I hear her cackling long after she’s disappeared from sight.

I’m lying on my back in my bed, staring at the ceiling while I listen to my mom gripe about my younger brother, Branson, who still lives at home, when Grace walks in.

Her face is bare. Her damp hair is combed straight. She’s wearing my gray sweatpants and Neil Diamond T-shirt I left out for her on the bed in the guest bedroom while she was taking a shower. Seeing me on the phone, she hesitates in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame. Neil’s face has two perky points jutting out from the middle of it.

Trying to nonchalantly adjust my thickening c**k beneath the sweats I’m wearing, I sit up. “Uh, Mom. I have to go.”

“Go? We’ve been on the phone for two minutes! I haven’t talked to you since last week!”

“I have company.”

My mother’s silences are so rich and nuanced they’re like symphonies. This one has a top note of curiosity and a healthy baseline of irritation, because there’s nothing more she loves to do than complain to me about my brother. Luckily I only have to hear about it once a week.

“From your tone, Brody, I take it this company is of the female variety?”

I can’t look away from Grace. It’s like my eyeballs are superglued to her. A horde of zombies could crash through the window and start to eat my face off and I’d still be sitting here staring at her, stunning as a Caravaggio painting in my doorway, looking at me with her lower lip pulled between her teeth and her gray eyes soft and needy.

Be a friend. Be a friend. Be a friend, you f*****g selfish asshole.

“Yes,” I tell my mother. “Very.”