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“Yeah, I’m sure.” Grant wraps his arm around me. “I know how to keep our girl warm.”
“Not as warm as all four of us.” Nolan stands and steals a kiss. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I kiss his cheek and tell him I love him, then do the same for Sawyer and Lake. Grant helps me into my coat and ushers me out to a waiting SUV. His thumb brushes back and forth over my knuckles as we catch up on what’s happening with his work here and mine back in Costa Rica.
Part of me wants to broach the topic of medical school with him. Out of the four of them, he’s the most direct and wouldn’t hesitate to hit me with the hard truths. I want honesty, but I also really want to become a doctor.
I look out the window as the city lights pass by us, each moment dragging me down an internal spiral of anxiety. The voice in my head that tells me I can’t do anything right is screaming.
You’re not smart enough.
You’re not good enough.
You’re weak and pathetic.
Those thoughts are the echo chamber left in my mind from my ex-husband. I escaped him nearly a year ago, and I’m haunted by the thoughts he sculpted. His horrific masterpiece of mental and emotional abuse lingers, even with the intense therapy I’ve done.
I gently tap my collarbone, a technique my therapist taught me to ground myself when anxiety swells. I angle my body toward the window, hoping that Grant won’t notice. But, of course, he does. He’s so finely tuned to me, my body, and my emotions.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he sets his hand on my thigh.
The heat from his large palm seeps deeply into my exposed skin, instantly calming me. I take an unsteady breath before answering him. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Anything.” He looks at me openly and with so much affection that I actually feel his love like a warm blanket.
He’s going to laugh at you for being so ridiculous to think you could actually get into medical school.
The thought pours over me like cold water, and I lose all my nerve. “Will you go Christmas shopping with me this week?”
His eyes narrow as his gaze rakes all over my face. I can see the internal debate he’s having on whether to call me on my bullshit or not. He gives my thigh a gentle squeeze before he answers.
“Of course.” After a brief pause, he adds, “And as soon as you’re ready to ask me your actual question, I’m here, too.”
“Thank you,” I say as I squeeze his hand, tears burning as I fight down my emotions.
Luckily the club comes into view, and he helps me out of the car and up the stairs, the pearls sending little pulses of pleasure though me with each step. The bouncers open the door for us, and he motions me inside, past the line already snaking around the block.
“Are they all here for the burlesque show?” I ask as I follow him into the club.
“No, we have events in all three levels.”
This building is oddly constructed, with two full levels below ground and a few levels of office space above. The main floor is a burlesque club, the floor below a BDSM dungeon with exclusive membership requirements, and the level below that holds a fighting ring.
Grant looks around the room before finding Griff and Claire at a table in the corner. They stand to greet us with hugs and handshakes, and then we slide into the crescent shaped booth opposite them. Claire rolls her eyes as the guys immediately launch into talking business.
“Here they go,” she says good naturedly.
“Always straight to business even though they work together half the time.”
Grant sets his hand on my thigh, lightly stroking the sensitive skin just up past the hem of my skirt. He leans over and puts his lips close to my ear.
“It’s not all business,” he says as he moves his hand higher, running his fingers over the pearls. “Although I am pretty serious about making you come. You’re leaving behind a puddle tonight.”
Claire’s been watching our exchange with curious eyes. The warmer my face grows, the bigger her smile gets. Grant leans back over to keep talking with Griff, and she leans closer teasing me about blushing.
We all chat about the news in our lives as we wait for the show to begin. Grant leaves his hand on my thigh the entire time. Occasionally he teases me with a light stroke along or beside the pearls. Every touch heightens my arousal.
By the time the lights go down, I’m already throbbing and wet. I try to cross my legs, but he squeezes and holds my leg in place. Every time my mind wanders to the murky waters where I drown myself with self-doubt, he pulls me out with a touch of his finger or pressing his leg against mine.
