I only stopped once to go downstairs and get some coffee, practically running back upstairs to get back to the story. I was now solidly into the series, and very engaged. So engaged, that I was startled by my phone ringing on the bed next to me. It was Jack…sigh.
"Seriously?" I grumbled, trying to hide the delight in my voice.
"Sheridan! Are you up?" He chuckled in a low voice.
"What if I wasn't? Do you know what time it is? Some of us sleep at night," I answered, rolling onto my side.
"Ha ha. You don't sound like you were sleeping. You sound quite alert actually, almost stirred up. What are you up to?" he asked. I could hear rustling in the background.
"Well, you caught me. I am up. And I was reading." I smiled into the phone.
"What are you reading?" he asked.
Shit.
Not wanting to be schooled for reading these stories, my eyes whirled around the room, finally lighting on the other book on my nightstand.
"The History of Salt," I answered, rolling my eyes as soon as I said it.
The History of Salt, Grace?
"The History of Salt, Grace? Wow, that sounds…dreadful. Why the hell are you reading that?" He laughed.
"Hey, it's really good. Did you know that salt was used as currency throughout history? Many major European cities are founded on or near a salt quarry. This is good information to have," I retorted, settling into my pillow. I could hear more rustling in the background.
"What're you doing? What's that sound?" I asked.
"Ever since the other night I have been craving Chex Mix." He laughed.
"Well, save me the Wheat Chex. They're my favorites." I giggled back, swallowing a yawn.
"So, what should we talk about?" he asked through a mouthful of what I assumed were Melba toasts.
"Hey, you initiated this booty call, you tell me. And don't talk with your mouth full, it's rude," I teased.
"Booty call? Is that what you think this is?" he asked, with mock outrage.
"Let me clue you in on something, Hamilton. In America, when a guy calls a girl in the middle of the night, especially when they've just met, it's most certainly a booty call," I said, deadpan.
"I know what a booty call is, Sheridan, and if I understand the term correctly, I'd be expecting to come over and get some, right?" he asked.
"That's the general idea, yes," I answered, rolling over onto my stomach, in which butterflies had now taken up permanent residence.
"Well, then that is rather presumptuous of you. Who's being rude now?" he teased, leaving me feeling foolish.
"Eh, I… um…" I struggled to finish a sentence. I had nothing. There was a long pause.
"Maybe I just called to talk to your booty," he said finally.
"What?" I shrieked.
"Quiet down, you'll wake up Holly," he admonished. "Come on, let me talk to your booty, Sheridan. This'll be a real booty call," he snickered.
"You are so fucked in the head," I jeered, having trouble keeping my laughter contained to my room.
We talked for a few more minutes, most of which were taken up with him pleading to talk to my booty, which I steadfastly refused to allow. I began to yawn again towards the end, which he noticed.
"What do you have going on tomorrow?" he asked as I put away my book and turned out the lamp on the nightstand.
"Um, not too much. I have yoga in the morning and then I'm meeting up with Holly for coffee and to work on the pieces I'm doing in her showcase."
Often agents and managers would host showcases for new talent to introduce them to casting directors. Holly held them about twice a year depending on how deep she was in new talent. She had agreed to bring me on as a client again and we were in the process of auditioning scene partners for me to work with.
"Oh, are you in that? She mentioned she had something coming up. What time are you meeting her?" he asked.
"I'm stopping by her offices at eleven-thirty," I answered.
"Well, then I'll let you get some sleep, Sheridan. I enjoyed our booty call. Was it good for you?" He chuckled.
"Oh my yes." I laughed. "I don't think I'll be able to walk in the morning. It's a good thing I have yoga; I can work a few things out."
We said goodnight and hung up and I snuggled down deeper into my covers, thinking about Jack. He was funny, twisted, and dangerously cute. My hands found their way to the bottom of my Polo and slipped underneath. My fingers ghosted across my stomach, upwards until they touched the soft swells of my breasts. I thought about Jack's lower lip and the way he bit down on it.
Why do his lips turn you on so much?
My nipples immediately hardened as I thought of what he would look like, hovering over me and biting down on that very lip. What his hair would feel like as it brushed across my belly as he pressed tiny kisses on his way towards my….
Go to sleep, Grace. This is not helping.
My inner schoolteacher interrupted my daydream just as it was getting good. I placed my hands safely above the covers, clenching my fists to work some of the tension out.
I was going to have to get some. And soon.
Chapter Six
I woke up early and fixed a quick breakfast for Holly and I while she got ready for work. Since my schedule was much freer than hers, I tried to be a good houseguest and I kept her well fed. I mixed up a berry fruit salad and added it to a parfait glass with vanilla yogurt. As she headed down the stairs, I quickly poured her a cup of French press coffee, with just the right amount of milk and two sugars, exactly the way she liked it.
"Bitch, you are spoiling me. I think I finally need to get a housekeeper when you move out," she joked, sitting down at the breakfast bar and sipping her perfect coffee.
"That, or get yourself a house-husband. Then you can get your house cleaned and your lady bits pleased all in one fell swoop," I added, beginning to stretch before my yoga class.
"My lady bits wouldn't know what to do if a man came within two feet," she sighed, looking sadly at her fruit salad. "Have you talked to your contractor lately? Not that I want you to move out. I love having you here," she continued.
"Yes, in fact I'm heading over to the house on Friday to check on the progress. Seems like things are moving along as planned. I'll miss being roomies with you, but I'm anxious to be in my own home again," I replied, thinking fondly of my new house.
I had sold my house back home and was in the process of renovating my new home here. Once I'd made the decision to move back to L.A., I flew out at least once a month to go house hunting with Holly. She was a godsend to me then, doing drive-bys on properties I had seen online so we could make sure, when I was there, we maximized our time and avoided looking at crap.
I had saved my money over the years, not having a lot to spend it on. Added to a sudden windfall in the form of an inheritance from a great aunt I barely knew, I had enough money to brave the L.A. real estate market. I finally found exactly what I was looking for in a smallish, California bungalow off Laurel Canyon. It had great bones and a beautiful old garden that needed a lot of work. I couldn't wait to move in. I had a contractor and a team of professionals working round the clock trying to get it ready for me. Walls had been removed, trees and shrubs cleared, floors refinished; I loved a fixer-upper. I was hoping to be moved in within the next month or so.