Love the One You're With (23 page)

He let out a little laugh and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “Only you would talk about a girl from twenty years ago at a time like this.”

Her legs wrapped around his waist, tilting up to him. “A time like what?”

“Grace,” he uttered as she wiggled against him.

In response she reached a hand down to where he was hard and ready for her, stroking him twice before leading him to her opening.

“Grace, can we just talk about—”

She thrust her hips up again, only this time the wanton movement took him inside her, just barely, but enough so that they both groaned.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Shit.”

He pulled out long enough to dig a condom out of his jean pockets, ripping the wrapper and rolling it on in one smooth motion. He maneuvered them again, moving between her legs, his hands on her knees as he pushed her legs as wide as they would go given the constraints of the backseat.

She watched him over the rise and fall of her breasts, watched the way his hand slowly slid over her inner thigh until he was cupping her, his thumb moving relentlessly as his two fingers slid easily inside her.

“I love the way you feel,” he said, his eyes never leaving the hand that was working her over. His fingers circled and teased, bringing her to the edge repeatedly without ever letting her go over. When he finally moved above her, their eyes locking for a split second before he thrust all the way inside her in one smooth stroke, Grace wound her legs around his back as his hands cupped her ass.

Instinctively her hands went above her head, bracing against the door as he began to thrust roughly into her, the rhythm savage and needy and deep. His arms came around her, moving up until he cupped her head, holding her protectively even as his body slammed into hers.

Her nails found his back, clawing, knowing that she was leaving marks, and not caring.

“Jake.”

He hissed as she said his name, rolling his hips into her. “Again.”

“Jake.”

His fingers clenched in her hair, once, twice, and then he went over the edge, calling her name on a hoarse cry as he spilled into her. She found her own release seconds after, her cry echoing through the tiny closed space of the car as she clenched around him, her hips moving in smaller and smaller jerks until the shaking finally subsided.

They held each other through the aftershocks, her hands smoothing the scratches on his back as he gently massaged her scalp.

“You've got to stop playing with my hair,” she said after long minutes. “You're making me sleepy, and then I'll fall asleep, and then your mom will know I didn't sleep in the guest bedroom with her sewing machine.”

He brushed a kiss against her temple. “Always the good girl. Always following the rules.”

“Good girl? We just humped in a rental car.”

He pulled back then, grinning down into her face. “Did you just say humped?”

She blushed. “It seemed … fitting.”

But his smile had faded, and he was preoccupied as he drew absent circles with the top of his finger against her shoulder. “That thing you told my mom and sisters in the kitchen …”

She scrunched up her face. “When? What?”

“You said that you weren't here because of the story. You said you liked me.”

Her stomach clenched.
Oh. That
.

Jake slowly moved one of his hands until it encircled her wrist, his thumb resting lightly against her pulse, which she knew was in overdrive.

His gaze collided with hers. “Did you mean it?”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What could she possibly say while lying beneath him in the backseat of a car, naked?

That she hadn't meant it? That she'd lied to his family, and that she planned to write all about this little encounter on the blog?

But she couldn't very well tell him to his face that she did mean it. She'd bet her left ovary that Jake Malone was a pro at giving easy, kind set-downs to overassuming women, and she had no intention of receiving one of those pretty dismissals.

So instead she met his gaze steadily and went for a compromise.

“I like you,” she said, watching his eyes go warm even as they went wary. His thumb skittered across her wrist in a gentle flicking motion.

“But,”
Grace said, adding iron to her voice, “I also like baby tigers and hot fudge and too much wine, and a whole other slew of things that aren't good for me. So you don't have to worry about me chasing you when this is over.”

And it
would
be over.

Soon.

“I like you too,” Jake said, his expression once again easy and relaxed. “And Grace … you're a very close second to Hannah Tanner.”

Then he stifled her outraged shriek with a very,
very
long kiss.

Two weeks later, things were still going almost alarmingly well. Far too well for a non-relationship that was supposed to be ending.

Grace almost wished that their respective bosses had stuck with the straightforward five-dates-in-five-months routine. This whole website business had muddied the waters by forcing Grace and Jake into a more intimate day-to-day interaction.

Forcing, my ass
, 2.0 muttered.

It was true. Grace liked nothing better than seeing his face first thing most mornings, and falling asleep beside him most nights.

She was in serious trouble.

“How do you feel about takeout?” Jake asked.

Grace dropped her purse onto her counter and immediately kicked off the magenta peep-toe stilettos that she was trying to break in but were currently hell on her arches.

“Hate it,” she said, tucking the phone beneath her hear and pouring some water.

There was a beat of silence on the other line. “Really?”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Seriously? No, of course I don't hate takeout. Does anybody actually hate takeout?”

“Health nuts, maybe.”

“This is New York. You can get anything delivered, even organic, vegan, and gluten-free.”

“You know what else can be delivered?” Jake asked. “Chinese.”

“You know, I've heard that,” Grace said, making her way into the bedroom to change into her comfy clothes. “Is that your exciting plan for tonight?”

“Eventually,” Jake said. “Was going to swing by a few of the midtown bars first. See if I can't find any women interested in a little Jake Malone special.”

Grace fingers clenched around the yoga pants she'd just pulled out of her dresser, feeling a bit like she'd just been kicked in the chest.

Had he seriously just informed her that he was going to sleep with another woman
tonight?

And why not?
2.0 asked.
You're not in a relationship. You're colleagues with a shared work objective who now have regular sleepovers, which I distinctly remember frowning upon …

Grace knew 2.0 was right, of course. But the more time Grace spent with Jake—and there'd been a lot of that lately—the more 1.0 kept surging forward.

And considering that 1.0 was a monogamous believer in happily-ever-after, Grace needed to keep 1.0 far, far away from Jake.

“Grace?”

“Huh?”

“You know I was joking, right?”

She froze in mid-yoga-pants wiggle. “You were?”

He gave a soft laugh. “Jesus, Grace. What do you think of me?”

“I think you're a dedicated bachelor who's never been in a real relationship and has no interest in trying.”

“I see. Then what is it that we're doing here?”

Her heart began to pound. “We're posing as a couple for the sake of the story?”

Grace 2.0 nodded in agreement.

“And the sex?” Jake asked.

“Is excellent.”

“It is. So is the rest of it.”

Grace dropped her blouse in the dry-cleaning pile. “What are you trying to say here, Jake?”

He made a little sound of exasperation. “This phone call is not going as planned.”

“You had a plan?”

“Yes,” he grumbled. “I was trying to ask you over for Chinese food.”

“You want to have dinner together? At your place?” Grace 1.0 tittered. They'd always hung out at her place, and this definitely marked the first time he suggested she come over. It felt important somehow.

“It was supposed to be simple and casual,” he muttered.

“Just like we're supposed to be?” she asked with a smile.

“Yeah, and look how well that's going.”

“You know, there was a better way to start this conversation if that was what you were after. Maybe you could've skipped the reference to other women?”

“I was being suave.”

“No, you were being vague. Next time, try ‘Hey, Grace, want to come over and order Chinese?' ”

“That has no game.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed. “Grace.”

“Yeah?”

“Come over.”

She smiled at the impatience in his voice. “I just changed my clothes.”

“So?”

“So … I look … sloppy.”

“Good.”

“You're not the type of guy that women wear their comfy clothes around.”

Silence. “Well, maybe I want to be.”

Go
, 2.0 whispered quietly.

Grace froze.
Whaaaat
?

Surely 2.0 wasn't turning on her. She needed 2.0 to keep her distance. Needed 2.0 to remind her why she absolutely, positively could not have feelings for Jake.

“The food will be here in thirty,” he said. “I'm texting you my address. If you're not here before the food, everyone on the website will know all about that jaguar noise you make when you come.”

He clicked off before she had a comeback, and she stared in dismay at her cell phone.

She pulled the neckline of her T-shirt out to take a quick look at her bra. Ugly. The panties were even worse.

But they were comfy. And there was no guarantee he'd see them anyway, since Chinese food was hardly synonymous with foreplay. Maybe he just wanted a dining companion.

Both 1.0 and 2.0 snickered at that one.

Okay, fine. If she was going to do this
au naturel
thing, she was
really
doing it. No touching up of makeup, no changing of clothes …

She pulled on her oldest tennis shoes.
Let's see what Jake Malone thinks of
this
Grace. Maybe he'd regret not picking up bar bunnies after all
.

Or maybe not
, someone whispered. Was it 1.0 or 2.0? She didn't even know anymore.

She glanced at her watch. Twenty-four minutes until the food arrived. Could she make it to midtown by then?

Maybe. Hopefully.

She grabbed her purse, mentally gearing herself up to fight for a taxi if necessary. She didn't really think Jake would describe her sexual noises on the website if she was late, but one never knew with that guy.

Grace opened the door with a smile on her face only to have the smile crack into a million pieces at the person on the other side.

“Hey Gracie.”

“Hi, Greg,” she croaked out.

He gave her the old familiar smile, but he looked … sad.

“Can I come in?”

No
. Right? Was that the right answer? She desperately tried to call upon 2.0, but 2.0 was nowhere to be found.

It was just 1.0. The one who'd once wanted to walk down the aisle and have babies with this man.

Grace stepped aside. “Sure. Come in.”

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Grace asked as she mechanically pulled a bottle of chardonnay from the fridge and poured them each a glass.

He accepted it, his fingers casually brushing hers like old times. And just like old times, she barely noticed.

“Got your address from your mom.”

“My mother is furious with you,” Grace said, frowning.

He dipped his head. “As she should be. But I told her my reason for coming, and she relented.”

“Great!” Grace said with a fake chipper smile. “Now you can tell
me
why you're here.”

“I like the new place,” he said, ignoring her question and roaming around her living room. “It suits you.”

“Yeah, I've really found that the lack of other women's panties agrees with me.”

She waited for the
you're-being-childish look
that she was so used to. Or maybe even an exasperated
Graaace
, as though she were the one with the problem.

Instead, she saw him swallow, his head dropping so that his chin almost rested on his chest for several seconds before he nodded once.

Grace's curiosity was piqued. No self-defense? No justification?

“How's work?”

Grace almost smiled. How many times had they absently asked each other that question over the years? It was such a long-term-couple kind of thing to ask, usually with the expectation that the other person will respond with
fine
, because rarely was the workday any different than the previous day, or the one before that …

“Fine,” she replied.

“I heard they've got you doing some dating blog type of thing. A little different from your usual stuff.”

Grace rolled her shoulders. “Yeah, well … the long-term relationship stuff has sort of lost its luster for me.”

Again, there was no defense. No pompous lecture. And
again
with that lost-boy look.

“Why are you here, Greg?” she asked softly.

He turned back toward her then, and the regret on his face made her palms tingle.

She
knew
then why he was here. And she had no idea how she felt about it.

“I believe they call it ‘crawling back,' ” he said with a sheepish smile.

Grace said nothing. She was too busy trying to sort it all out. Every scorned woman probably dreamed of this moment, and Grace was no different. In those first weeks when he'd confessed to the affair and her life had become one big blur of crying and packing her things, she'd done her fair share of fantasizing about the moment when he crawled back.