Give Me Grace(42)

“I’ll go first, okay?”

“’Kay.”

“My name’s Casey Daniels,” he began and God, his voice was sexy. If I lay there long enough while listening to that deep, husky timbre, I would have an orgasm. I squished my pillow a little tighter, tempted by the idea of testing that particular theory. “Apparently, I’m addicted to fucking up on a regular basis. It’s been…” there was a pause “…three days and four hours since my last douche move.”

I giggled sleepily.

Douche move was right. The man had spoken to Dalton when I asked him not to and then finished the conversation by breaking my phone. Casey had issues. Big ones if you took his vigilante tendencies into consideration. I’d tried to stay pissed at him, I really did, but anger had taken a backseat to humiliation after Dalton’s cold bitch comment. He’d said that to Casey. I’d wanted to curl into the corner and rock for a while after that. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been time for such an emotional indulgence. The best I could manage was to ignore the man for the rest of the night, hiding the hurt and embarrassment behind a mask of indifference.

Talking to Casey should have brought that humiliation flooding back to the surface, but it wasn’t there. Maybe because he was talking to me like I was a real person, not someone who was there to make money, or do someone a favour, or be used as an accessory to whatever event was on that weekend. Casey had stripped away my emotional composure in no time at all and refused to give it back. I liked that he made me feel. I liked him.

“Slim?” he prompted.

“My name’s Grace Paterson,” I began. “I used to date a douchebag. Apparently, someone told him if he called me again, he would wish he’d never been born. It’s been…” I paused “…just over three days and four hours since he rang me last.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Hey. We’re starting over remember? That means a clean slate. Technically you can’t apologise if we only just met,” I pointed out.

“Do you think we’ll do a better job this time?”

My stomach growled, reminding me what little I ate at dinner had long since burned off. “Of what?” I asked, picking up the phone and holding it to my ear as I slid out of bed.

“Our do-over.”

“That depends,” I replied, padding down the stairs in nothing but a singlet and panties. It must have been only a quarter moon because it was so dark I could barely see.

“On what?” he asked as I used my free hand to trail along the wall, feeling my way as I took each step with caution. Late night tumbles down stairs rarely ended well, and with Casey on the phone, it could only end in embarrassment.

“On the potential for future douche moves and interference by ex-douchebags,” I answered, arriving safely in the kitchen.

A deep chuckle came through the phone. “That’s a lot of big words for someone who’s half asleep.”

“Douche is a big word?” I scoffed as I flicked on the electric kettle. A cup of tea would settle the ache of hunger in my belly. “And I’m awake now, thanks to you,” I told him, turning around to open the fridge and get the milk.

“I heard the fridge,” he told me as I slammed it shut. “Are you having a late-night binge?”

“I wish,” I muttered as I turned and grabbed a teaspoon from the cutlery drawer.

“You should eat if you’re hungry.”

I leaned against the kitchen counter while I waited for the kettle to boil. “The industry I work in doesn’t allow for that kind of luxury, Casey.”

There was a pause. “Then you should quit. No amount of money is worth starving yourself.”

Thinking of what that amount of money had done to pay medical bills, tuition for my brother and sisters, and give them a future, I couldn’t agree. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. “You’re wrong,” I told him around the lump in my throat. “You’re dead wrong, Casey.”

“I’m wrong? Really?” His voice turned hard. “I’m disappointed you put money above all else, Slim. I didn’t realise you were so superficial.”

“You asshole!” Hurt welled in my chest. “What gives you the right to sit in judgement of me? You know nothing about me and my life. You know what? Fuck you. This whole do-over was a mistake.”

“Touchy subject, huh?”

“Arrghhhh!” I tossed the teaspoon at the sink. The resulting clank was loud in the quiet kitchen.

“Shit. Slim.” Casey exhaled sharply. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about you and your life. You want to hear what I do know?”