We finish off the treats, and everyone scatters off to their day jobs. I follow Blair into her office. After shutting the door behind me, I lean up against it and spit out, "I kissed him."
Blair spins so fast that her hair levitates straight out to the side, spinning as if it were a circular saw blade whacking through the secret I just spilled.
"What?"
"I kissed him. He didn't kiss me back, which was mortifying, and then he gently shut me down." I walk over to the chairs in front of her desk and slip into them, pulling my knees up to my chest. We're talking full fetal position.
"I'm sorry. I thought I just heard you say you made out with Grant."
"Not exactly, but I wish." I bite my bottom lip as I look up at her with guilt all over my face.
"Start from the beginning."
I fill her in on how I offered to make dinner to celebrate the good news about Honey Pine. After Hazel went to bed, we stayed up talking. The wine must have hijacked my brain, causing me to ask him to dance, and with him that close to me, I apparently lost all control. I bring my thumb up to my mouth to nibble on a straggling cuticle and wait for her to say something. Anything.
"Holy shit."
"I can't stay there."
"Does your brother know?"
"What? No! And you can't tell him. I'm swearing you to secrecy. This is a client–agent privileged conversation."
"I'm not sure it works like that."
"Blair!"
"I won't tell him. Sorry. I'm just processing all of this. There's a part of me that wants to jump up and scream, 'I knew it!' But then my agent side is thinking about the movie."
She looks up at me with sympathetic eyes. This is the part where reality enters and the actions of two people could destroy the livelihoods of many—not counting our own.
"I know."
"Have you talked about this? How did it end?"
"He said we can’t and said goodnight. He was a perfect gentleman and totally professional."
"That's good, but if I know Grant, he'll likely want to confront it head on, discuss it, and define what it all means or doesn't mean."
"Great. I can't wait to get back to his place."
"He's a good guy, Soph. You know that. He won't make you feel awkward or ashamed or anything. He's a professional, and I would assume he will be complementary and reassuring. He'll want to continue to make this project successful."
"I know you're right." What I can't seem to push down is this feeling of despair, that he'll tell me I'm great but we should just remain friendly co-workers. And that has me feeling like I can't get enough air into my lungs.
At what point did I start to like this guy—like, for real like this guy? When did he become more than just a "hot dad" crush?
sixteen
. . .
Grant
I'm metwith shrill squeals followed by laughter as I enter the house, and I wonder who Hazel has over this late. I missed dinner, hoping to avoid any awkward conversation with Sophia. I need to talk to her, but I'm not ready to say what I should say. I'm not ready to be professional and lock us into the co-working zone—and that right there is more fucked up than I'll allow myself to think about. Right now, I'm going to go find the source of all the commotion I hear and enjoy every second of dad time.
"Hey, what's all this noise—" I nearly give myself whiplash from the abrupt halt I make as I round the corner into the living room. Sophia is down on all fours, crawling under a bridge of sofa cushions, as Hazel stands on a chair across the room, waving a sword at my sister, who is tied up with a jump rope.
The place is a mess, but all I can see is that small, round peach of Sophia's ass bent over at the perfect angle that if I were to drop to my knees, I could grab her hips and slide intoher so clean and quickly that it wouldn't take long before we'd have our own mess to contend with.
