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She didn’t turn to look at him, but he knew she was smiling.
Proud didn’t begin to describe this woman. She would rather swallow toxic waste than ask him to take her with him to Wayward. And there was no way in hell he was leaving her alone, not after what the Shepherds had done to her.
“Okay,” she said, as if not a big deal. “So that there’s no misunderstanding about what we…did… Don’t assume I’m ready to, you know, start a vision board for our wedding day or make a list of favorite baby names.”
“Of course not,” Grant replied. “Although I do like the name Liam.”
She ignored him. “I mean, it was just sex. Right?”
“Normal bodily function,” he added.
“Right. I look at you with a rather large, but within the realm of normal-looking, appendage, and my body rationalizes that despite evolution, it’s time to procreate. However,” she said, tapping her forehead. “I’m smart enough to get an IUD to counteract the consequences of such basic urges.”
“Because that’s how evolved you are?”
“Exactly,” she said, as if believing the crap that just came out of her mouth.
“I appreciate you being so forthcoming about this. It’s a relief.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, just because you have great tits, it’s not like they’re outside of the realm of normal.” He did the finger quote thing for emphasis. “I know better than to succumb to those—what did you call them? Oh, yeah—basic urges, and rationalize that although I’d like nothing more than to come all over them, it doesn’t mean I want to have babies with you.”
“Of course not.” She hesitated, and then asked, “Wait, what is it exactly that we’re saying?”
“That we’re insanely attracted to one another and see an inkling of a future, but we’re not ready to admit it. Even to ourselves. Too soon.”
She gave him a curt nod. “Just so you know, I hate the name Liam.”
He kissed her on the head. “It’ll grow on you. Get packed. We leave ASAP.”
* * *
The sun boredown on him, turning the wig he wore into a sanity-devouring hair shirt from the days of yore, the foundation he’d applied earlier in the day streaking down his face and stinging his eyes.
How did women do this shit day in and day out? Apply layers of product on their bodies only for the elements to play havoc with them?
Although, in hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have skipped some of the application steps Tati had written down on the card inside the duffel. In too much of a hurry to dash out of his hotel room and see Birdie, forgetting to spritz something Tati called “setting spray” on his face.
Bad call.
Sweeping the net through the water, as if he knew the first thing concerning the basics of pool maintenance, he side-eyed Errol sitting at breakfast, once again alone. Praying he didn’t approach him as he did the day before, only to find the pool boy’s pronounced eye bags were beginning to melt.
Or worse yet, for the guy named Raul, supposedly his boss, to show up, exposing him as the fraud he was and having him arrested for trespassing.
Grant had told him to get in and get out. But here he was the next day, his fingers pressing on the one eye bag with a gaping hole at the bottom, giving him the look of a zombie extra on a movie set rather than a pool maintenance employee.
He was a town official, for God’s sake. Voted in by the people of a small Georgia town, who believed in his judgment and tempered persona.
To his relief, a cloud took pity on him, covering the relentless sun just as the doors along the backside of the house opened.
There she was, wearing low heels embellished with sequins, some sort of cover-up with silky bat-wing sleeves, and a bathing suit that looked more like a onesie a toddler would wear.
She hesitated upon spotting him, obviously surprised, happy and yet perturbed at the same time.
Birdie glanced toward the lanai where Errol was breaking his fast and then hung her head, cautiously moving to the opposite side of the pool, as far away from Lucas as possible.
Before she could arrange her towel on the lounge chair, Errol had made his way toward her.
