We both fall into a laugh, the grim and somber conversation washed away with a playful round of teasing. Just as a happy sigh sags her body against mine, her eyes catch on my phone as it lights up with an incidental alert.
“What’s this?” she asks, bringing up the screen closer to her. She studies it as her smile softens. “When did you take this?”
I look at her picture, her messy hair toppled over her head with her fist perched under her chin. “Right now,” I answer. “While you were reading.”
She smiles at me, her fingertips swiping away at my jawline like she’s checking to make sure I’m real.
“What?” I ask when all she does is stare at me with shiny eyes.
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Grace
My feet fucking hurt.I was going through my closet last night, and I found a pair of nude platform pumps. I completely forgot how badly I do in heels, and by the time I’d walked the ER floor twice, I was already regretting my decision. As soon as I walk into my condo, I kick them off and stuff them in the back—far back—corner of my closet.
I’m placing a small Band-Aid on my right pinky toe when I hear the front door open. The key I gave Andrew is being put to good use. He let himself in over the weekend when I babysat for Jade, and I needed him to feed Buster. Jade and Trevor’s date night went a little late, into the wee hours of the night, and I was more than happy to spend the extra time with Avery. She babbled while I fed her dinner, and Jade and Trevor stumbled through their door past midnight, holding back their voices to hushed tones to make sure they didn’t wake Avery. They looked happy and carefree after their first child-free outing in months.
“Grace?”
“I’m in my room,” I call from the floor, patting down the Band-Aid to smooth out the creases.
He walks in and finds me, giving me a quizzical look as I examine my handiwork. “What happened?”
“I wore some stupid heels today, and they gave me the worst blisters.”
He settles himself in front of me, taking my feet in his hands. He looks at the covered part of my toes and lifts my foot to get a better look. It tilts my balance backward, and I press the heels of my hands into the carpet.
“Here?” he asks, looking at my mediocre bandage work.
I nod. He leans down and puckers his lips before gently brushing them over my toes. His thumb rolls over the arch of my foot, and the pressure travels to my stomach. My head lolls back, and I sigh as the sensation spreads everywhere.
“Hmm, that feels good.”
I catch him smile as he ducks lower and places another kiss where his thumb was, replacing the rapturous pleasure with soft, tender lips.
“That feel good too?”
I hum again, closing my eyes as he reapplies pressure, focusing on the achy balls of my feet. “I should wear heels more often.”
He chuckles warmly, amused by my tactic to get more future foot massages. “I’d love to stay and do more of this,” he announces, “but I’m afraid I have plans.”
“Oh?” I respond, doing a horrible job hiding my disappointment. He catches on, and he leans forward to kiss me. When he does, my legs part, giving him easier access, and my suddenly sour mood lightens. I inhale a deep whiff of him, taking in the freshly sprayed cologne mixing with the scent of the long day settled in the fibers of his shirt. I fist a handful of his collar and tug him closer, whispering against his lips, “You’re leaving me already?”
“I was actually thinking you could join me.”
I pull away. “Where?”
“A few of my friends are meeting up for drinks at a bar in Oceanside,” he explains.
“What friends?”
“Hey,” he protests, visibly offended. “I have friends.”
I laugh, realizing how that sounded. I run my hand over his jaw, soothing away the unintentional barb. “What I meant was who are they? How are they your friends?”
He laughs too. No harm, no foul. “My college friends. They’re the ones who live closer to Orange County. We’re meeting in the middle.”
