“Three Long Island ice teas?” Grant asks skeptically.
“I think… maybe four.” They were tasty.
Grant stands with me in the middle of the walkway as people pass by us. The night started out shaky, but meeting his grandparents and hearing their stories helped me relax for the rest of the night. Maureen is a wealth of knowledge on the local gossip.
My head tilts toward Grant and I catch his eyes. The way he looks at me — his blue eyes, the color caught in the light from the full moon in the sky. His adorable and sexy as fuck little smirk that slides up on one side of his face. Grant Moore III is hot, and he’s standing beside me as my date tonight. A date where I ate a ten-thousand-dollar plate of food. Let’s not forget that part.
All the feelings I pushed to the side bolt to the surface and I stand straight and plaster a kiss right on his lips. I pull Grant closer by the sides of his jacket and slide my hands underneath, running open palms around his sides and back until he’s so close the wind doesn’t fit between us. I push my tongue between his lips, but Grant stops.
“Okay, let’s get you in the limo.”
“And seriously. I’m not drunk, Grant.” And I mean the words. I’m quite in control of my faculties. It isn’t the alcohol that has me high on life it’s … Life. It’s being here with Grant. For possibly the first time in my adult life I’m truly happy.
Who knew it would take an outrageously priced fundraising dinner to make me admit I have a case of feelings for Grant. With work it’s possible I can fit into his outrageous life. And maybe, just maybe, he’s laid back enough to fit into mine.
“Are you sure? Because you seem a little extra happy.”
“I’m sure. Tonight was great. So great. Thank you.” I lean up and give him another kiss, but this one much quicker and on the check. “Who knew I’d have fun?”
“Here’s a warning. It’s always fun when I’m around.” Grant laughs at his own joke.
If I’m finally admitting I want to do this, I need to do it all the way. Experience the sick PDA couple moments I used to make fun of people for. Now that I’m on this side I see the appeal.
“So your place or mine?” he asks as our black limo pulls up to the curb.
Well, I don’t know it’s our limo. They all look exactly the same to me, but Grant walks up to the back door waiting for it to be opened, so I guess it’s safe.
“Yours,” I call out to him before I get in. “You don’t have roommates.”
