Give Me Grace(44)
“Grace?”
“I’m here,” I replied breathlessly from beneath the pillow. “Is this phone sex now? Because I’m not having phone sex with someone I barely know. In fact, I’ve never had phone sex. With anyone. Ever.”
Casey’s voice perked up. “Really?”
I groaned. Why did I just say that?
“We should get to know each other better.”
I pushed the pillow off my face and filled my lungs with air. “Now? I need sleep. And why couldn’t I tell Henry it was you on the phone?”
“So we’re putting the whole phone sex thing on ice?”
“Casey! What’s going on with you and Henry? The other day you seemed like friends. Now I’m not supposed to be talking to you on the phone?”
Casey sighed. “He doesn’t want me seeing you.”
“He might have mentioned that,” I admitted. “But he didn’t say why.”
“You want the long story or the short story?”
“It’s late,” I mumbled, feeling drowsy again now that I was back in bed. “Give me the short story.”
“He thinks I’m going to get you hurt.”
Henry was playing the big brother card? I mulled that over in my head, unsure of how it made me feel. “Why would you get me hurt, Casey?”
“Telling you why is the long story.”
I suddenly decided I wanted the long story. And more of Casey. “We’re having a barbecue here tomorrow night. You should come. You can tell me the long story.”
“Tomorrow night? Thursday night?”
“Yes,” I replied decisively. “Thursday night.”
“Are you sure about this, Casey?” Tim yelled through the bathroom door. Having just showered, I had a towel wrapped around my hips as I shaved in preparation for tonight’s date with Morgan.
“Sure about what?” I called back.
“About tonight.”
I leaned close to the mirror, swiping the razor down the left side of my jaw. “What are you talking about?” I asked, pulling back and rinsing the blade in the sink. “It’s just a date, Tim. I’m not asking her to marry me.”
“What about Grace?” he asked as I leaned in again.
I paused, the razor hovering near my chin. Yeah, idiot. What about Grace?
Grace had surprised me with her invitation. I almost blew off my date with Morgan and said yes. Somewhere in the middle of our phone conversation, my heart had tripped over and hadn’t recovered its normal beat since. I liked it. I liked her. So much that I wanted more nights on the phone like last night. Listening to her laugh in that husky voice made my cock ache in the best possible way.
Walking over to the bathroom door, I opened it and looked at Tim. He ran his eyes over me and blinked. After clearing his throat, his gaze fixated on my chest.
“Tim?” I barked to get his attention.
His gaze moved to my jaw and he huskily said, “You … ah … missed a spot.”
I stalked back to the basin. Picking up the small towel resting nearby, I scrubbed it over my face. I turned back to Tim as I tossed the towel in the general direction of the sink. “What do you mean ‘what about Grace?’ What do you know?”
Tim suddenly looked everywhere but at me.
I arched a brow, waiting silently. Tim hated silence. It made him twitchy and more willing to talk.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That brow thing.”
With a roll of my eyes, I folded my arms impatiently.
His eyes widened on my biceps. “Don’t do that either.”
“What the fuck, Tim. You’re gonna make me late. Just spit out whatever it is you know so I can get going, okay?”
“I heard you on the phone with Grace last night,” he blurted out.
My eyes narrowed, annoyed that my private conversation hadn’t been so private after all. “You were listening?” Unfolding my arms, I stalked past him and into my room to get dressed.
Tim followed behind. “Not exactly. I mean, I’m staying on your couch. Its general location isn’t far from your bedroom. It’s not that I heard your exact conversation, but I heard your tone. It was low and flirty. And you were talking for well over an hour. You! Jesus, Casey, you’re one hell of a charming bastard, but when faced with a dreaded phone conversation, you turn into a boring mute.”
Tim kept up his verbal diarrhoea as I walked to my dresser. Knowing we were only going to the movies and not somewhere upscale, I yanked a casual black shirt from the drawer and went to tug it on. It was snatched from my hands.
“Not that one,” I was told when he took a breath. Tim folded it carefully and put it back in the drawer. He pulled out my vintage blue and black Sex Pistols shirt. “This one.” He held it out to me. “It’s way sexy.”