His laughter rang out down the beach.
Chapter Eight
Repeated rinses in the Gladstone's bathroom and a roll of paper towels later, I emerged ready to face whatever was coming, and I knew there would be no mercy shown. Jack was waiting for me and his face lit up when he saw me.
"Nice do, Sheridan," he joked. I had attempted to dry it with the hand blower, resulting in sticky strands radiating outwards from my mortified face.
"Keep your fucking mouth shut or I will kick you next time I am wearing pointy shoes," I warned, noticing how the wait staff was struggling not to laugh. Obviously, Jack had clued them in to what had happened with the seagull. I knew, then, that he would never let this go.
I started walking towards the parking lot, when I heard one of the waiters say, "Miss? You forgot your doggy-bag!"
Don't forget your leftover coconut shrimp. You'll want that tonight at about midnight.
Never one to pass on food, I turned back around and went to grab it. I noticed that it was wrapped not in the traditional aluminum swan shape, but in the shape of a mother-loving seagull.
Blasted.
The entire staff started laughing aloud while Jack laughed harder. I sweetly smiled and took my shrimp, then informed him where he could stick his seagull. He shook his head and walked with me out to the car, starting toward the driver's side, when I stopped him.
"Oh, no, fucko. Driving privileges are revoked. Keys, please." I motioned with my hand as he withdrew them from his pocket.
"Oh, come on, Sheridan. That was hilarious! You'll tell that story for the rest of your life. That was pure comedy. You can't write shit like that!" he pleaded with me, handing me my keys and sinking into the passenger seat. "I can't believe you're pouting. You know bloody well if this happened to someone else, you would be in hysterics on the floor," he continued.
"Listen, Johnny Bite Down." I turned to him. "While I admit it would be slightly funny if it was someone else, it wasn't. It was me. And until I have showered or removed my head from my body, or both, let's not discuss it," I snapped, peeling out of the parking lot and heading back towards Sunset. We were both quiet for a moment, and then I added, "Well, maybe it is more than slightly funny. But now I am gross and defiled. I feel violated."
"Oh hell, if it's defilement and violation you want I can think of a few things…wait, what did you call me? Johnny Bite Down?" he cried, turning to look at me.
"Please, like you don't know how hot it makes you look! You with your biting down on your lower lip and your accent and your curly hair…you look like you're gonna throw me up against the wall and make me scream your name!" I shouted, all the adrenaline from the day pumping through me and flying out of my mouth.
Too much, too much! Man Down, Man Down!
I looked at him. He sat there stunned at my outburst. I fumbled with the stereo, trying to plug my iPod back in, while I chanced another look at him. He looked confused now, but was smiling.
"That might have been the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me," he stated.
"Well, I say hot things when I have poo-hair," I acknowledged with a smile, trying to diffuse the situation. I was still struggling with my iPod.
"Can I help you with that?" he asked, trying to help.
"I can't get this into the little hole," I answered.
"That's what she said," we both said, at the same time. We were stopped at a stoplight, and we stared at each other.
"You might be the most perfect girl I have ever met," he chortled, looking at me in amazement.
"Perfection will cost you pretty boy," I said brightly, as I sped back into the city. He selected a song and we danced in our seats the rest of the way home.
***
When we got back to Holly's place, I turned into the garage and Jack directed me towards his car. It was an old MG that looked like it was held together with a string.
"Aren't you glad we took your car today?" he inquired, nodding his head toward his car.
"Well, I suppose. Although, other than the seagull poo, this was a great day. Whose car we took wouldn't have changed that," I replied, as I allowed myself a small moment of honesty. He leaned up in his seat, turning his entire body towards me.
"It was a great day. I'm so glad we did this…no jokes. It was great," he allowed as well. The structured walls of our banter were coming down and the deafening roar of pheromones was beginning to seep through. You can't fight chemistry.
"So, you had a date with your gay, if I heard Holly correctly?" he asked.
I shook my head for a moment, trying to remember. "Oh, my gay! Yes, we're going out dancing with Nick. You remember Nick from the other night right? He's head of your West Hollywood fan base. You know you're hot when you cross over into that crowd," I teased.
"Yes, that's what I hear." He laughed. We were quiet for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words. I was thinking of that kiss and whether I had the right to ask for another one. I needed another hit of Hamilton. I didn't want him to go and he didn't seem to want to either. However, I knew I needed to get home and get ready for tonight.
"Call me tomorrow?" I asked tentatively. His fingers came up to brush my cheek. I leaned into his hand without knowing I would do it until I did.
"You can count on that, Grace," he answered, letting his fingers sweep softly over my lips. I kissed his fingertips lightly and then smiled.
"OK, now get out of my car, snatch," I joked as I watched his face fall.
"You will be the death of me, Sheridan. I can already tell," he sighed, unfolding his long legs to get out of the car.
"Yes, but it will be a good death. I'll be gentle. You won't even know I'm coming."
He turned back and grinned. "That's what she said."
Perfection.
"Oh, and Grace?" he continued, walking towards his car. He stopped when he reached it and leaned back against the door. "I will definitely know when you're coming. And so will you," he said, biting down on that lower lip.
Fucking Perfection.
I found my chin somewhere in my lap and attempted to drive home. I ran two stop signs and almost hit a Pomeranian.
***
When I arrived back at Holly's house, it was almost six and I wanted to make us some dinner before going out for our ass-shakery. She had a fantastic kitchen, with a professional range and Sub-Zero fridge. I indulged my inner chef whenever possible.
She wasn't home yet, so I put two glasses in the freezer to chill for cocktails. I paced between the pantry and the fridge, taking out everything I needed. Opening a can of San Marzano tomatoes, I drained them into a colander and then put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Then, I rinsed off some fresh spinach and dumped it into the salad spinner to dry while I sliced and grilled some good Italian bread, rubbing it with garlic for crostini.
When Holly walked in, I was frantically chopping onions on the cutting board with tears streaming down my face.
"Grace, it's fine. Don't get all choked up. I'm home now," she stated dramatically, taking in my tear stained face.
"Funny, Holls, funny. Cocktail?" I asked, gesturing towards the fridge.
"Are you offering or asking me to make one?" She rolled her eyes, already on her way.
"Asking obviously. Extra dirty please," I reminded her as she grabbed the vodka and olives.
"Something smells good…what the hell happened to your hair?" she inquired, stopping in her tracks to take a closer look. I hadn't had time to shower yet and my hair was still in orbit from the beach/poo incident.