Sin With Me

45

She laughs. “Oh my. That sounds serious.”

“It is.”

After another deafening pause, she says sternly, “I expect you to be responsible and wear condoms, son.”

“Christ, Mom! I’m twenty-nine years old, not twelve! Also—gross!”

“Condoms aren’t gross, honey, they’re practical.”

“You telling me to wear one is gross! This conversation is gross!”

“Well, I’ve seen pictures in my entertainment magazines of some of those ‘ladies’ you date, and quite frankly I’m surprised you haven’t yet been diagnosed with some incurable venereal disease.” She gasps. “Or have you and you’re just not telling me?”

“I’m hanging up on you now.”

“On a related topic, the pill isn’t always one hundred percent reliable, you know—”

“Oh my God! Dude!”

“I am not a ‘dude,’ I’m your mother, and I’m ready for more grandchildren, Brody, but not by some floozy named Iguana Azalea or Bone Chyna or Rainbow Trout or whatever. We are not the Kardashians.”

“Good-bye, Mother.”

“One final thought: antiviral lubricant is very effective at killing a wide variety of—”

I hang up before she can succeed in making me puke.

Grace stares at me with one elegant brow c****d. “That sounded interesting.”

“You really don’t want to know.”

“That was your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Did I hear the word ‘condom’ mentioned?”

I drop my head into my hands and groan.

Grace walks over to the bed and perches on the edge of the mattress. I open two fingers and peek at her.

She asks, “So you’re close with your family?”

“Unfortunately.”

When Grace blinks, I feel like the hugest asshole in the world. She doesn’t have a family and here I am being completely insensitive.

I backtrack as fast as I can. “No! I mean—yes, we’re close. That came out wrong. I love them, and I’m grateful to have them—”

“It’s okay,” she says, smiling. “I know what you meant.”

I blow out a relieved breath. “Sorry. I’m an idiot.”

She looks down and thoughtfully picks at the comforter. “I guess one of the girls told you about my parents, huh?”

Oh s**t. Could I f**k this up any more perfectly?

I try to be as diplomatic as I can while still being honest. “Only because I kinda forced the subject. And they wouldn’t say much. They love you, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen closer friends than you three.”

She nods. “Yeah.” Her voice grows softer. “I would never have made it this far without them.”

There are so many questions I want to ask her, so many things I want to say, but the timing is f****d. Anything I say would probably only make things worse, so I end up nodding mutely.

She saves us from the awkward silence when she says, “I made a bunch of calls. Some of my friends in the building. My insurance company. A colleague at work who covers for me when I’m out of the office. I’ll have to reschedule all my clients for the next few weeks, I doubt I’ll be helpful to anyone right now. Then I made the mistake of turning on the television to watch the news.”

The waver in her voice stirs that protective instinct in me again. I touch her arm.

She looks up at me with big eyes. She whispers, “Would it be okay if . . . could I maybe ask for a hug?”

Without thinking I say, “You could ask for anything you want and I’d give it to you.”

We stare at each other for a beat, electricity sparking between us, and then she smiles. “In that case, I’d like to request a tropical island—”

“An island! Geez, go big or go home, Slick!”

“Just one of the little ones! In the South Pacific maybe? C’mon, you’re rich!”

Grinning, I take her by the arm, gently pull her next to me, lie back, and tuck her under my arm so we’re lying side by side. She rests her cheek on my shoulder, slides one bare foot under my calf, and bends her other leg so it’s resting over my thigh. She spreads her hand flat on my chest, and sighs in contentment.

It feels incredible. We’re a perfect fit. Even our breathing seems to fit, synchronizing so our chests rise and fall in the same slow rhythm.

Now if only my d**k would behave, everything would be just peachy.

Grace clears her throat. “Um. Should I move?”

“No. Ignore it. The thing has a one-track mind.”

We’re quiet for a minute, just breathing. Then, with a smile in her voice, she says, “Are you doing that on purpose?”

“Doing what?”

“That . . . twitching.”

I cover my red face with my hand. “You’re supposed to be ignoring it.”

Her body shakes with suppressed laughter. “How could I ignore, it, Brody, it has its own heartbeat!”

“Ugh. Sorry. It’s not normally so obnoxious.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m not kidding. Being around you gives me perma-wood. I feel like a teenager again.”

“Or a dirty old man.”

“Who you calling old, woman? I’m not the one on this bed who’s on the dark side of thirty.” She chuckles. “Oh, that’s right. I’m robbing the cradle.”

“Excuse me—twenty-nine is hardly in a cradle. God, between you and my mother . . .”

She replies in a baby voice, “Does widdle Bwody need his ba-ba?”