One Hot Secret by Sarah J. Brooks
Chapter 6
Jack
I drop the topic of her painting, but I’m still stunned. I can’t believe that Grace can’t see how gifted she is. I’ll leave it alone for now, but it’s definitely not the end of this. I’ll have to get Greg to look at them and see what he thinks. I’m a bit of a collector, and I like to think that I’ve developed a discerning eye for unique pieces over the years. It won’t be the first time that I’ve called Greg’s attention to a new talent and he loved the work. I can’t stop thinking about the one she did of me and in the space of only a few hours.
I shuddered when I looked at it. I had a vulnerable look about me that reminded me of the moment I woke up in hospital after the accident. I’d been hooked up to tubes and wires, with machines beeping behind me. I had no idea where I was or what had happened.
“Thank you so much,” Grace says, patting her belly. “The food was delicious, and now I know I’ll never eat again.”
I laugh. “If only that were true.”
She cocks her head to one side and contemplates me. I feel myself drowning in her sea-green eyes.
“So, Jack Acker, what did you do before you came to the firehouse?” she asks.
My heart skips a beat, but I’ve more or less prepared for this question. I don’t want to lie to her. Something special is happening between us, and I want to see more of Grace, even after the three weeks are over.
“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” Yeah, that’s my plan. Joke and bluff through it.
Grace rolls her eyes and pushes her chair back. “Okay, mystery man. If you’re not going to tell me, can you at least help me clean up?”
I jump to my feet, grateful that disaster has been temporarily averted. “I’d love to.”
She shoots me an amused look as we carry the dirty dishes to the sink. Her kitchen doesn’t have a dishwasher, but it has a double sink. We stand side by side. She washes while I rinse. I can’t remember the last time I washed dishes or even cooked; I’m ashamed to admit. I’ve been acting since I was six years old, first in commercials and then in TV shows. By the time I moved out of my parents’ house, I was already a successful actor, and I had all the trappings that came with it.
We make chit chat, and soon we’re done. Grace faces me, and I pull her into my arms. “You make washing dishes fun.” She laughs and wraps her hands around my neck.
“So do you.” She realizes that she’s still in her overalls and wriggles in my arms, but I hold on tight.
“I should change.”
“You are a natural beauty.”
She grows still.
“But we can get rid of the smock,” I tell her while pushing it off her shoulders. “It’s spoiling my view.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” Grace says with a smile that gets my blood boiling hot. She wriggles out of the coat.
Her breasts sway, and I realize that she’s not wearing a bra. My dick springs to attention. I cup her breasts over her T-shirt, and she parts her mouth the slightest bit. I angle my mouth over hers and kiss her lightly at first. She tastes so good. Like clean fresh air and a whiff of summer flowers. I flick my thumbs over her taut nipples that press against the fabric of her T-shirt. She threads her fingers through my hair as I break the kiss and lift her T-shirt.
“You have beautiful breasts, Grace. I could stare at them all day.” I lower my head and take a nipple into my mouth.
Her laughter turns into a moan as I suck and tease it with my tongue. I alternate between each nipple, loving the way Grace presses my head down for more.
A shrill sound breaks through our moans.
“Oh, shit,” Grace says, pulling away. “It’s my phone. I have to answer.”
I’m reluctant to let her go. “Do you always answer your phone? Let it go to voice mail.”
“That’s my mother’s ringtone.”
I groan and follow her to the bedroom, my tented pants preceding the rest of me. I feel like an idiot walking around her house with a hard-on. She grabs her phone from the side table and sits on the bed. I join her and sit next to her.
“Hi, Mom,” she says and then continues after a beat, “It’s noisy; I can barely hear you. Where are you?”
I’d thought it would be a quick call. Conversations with parents are never short, and I get up and head to the door to give her some privacy. Her next sentence stops me short.
“What are you doing in the ER?” Grace says, her voice loud. “Okay, I’m coming.”
I turn around. “Is everything okay?”
She runs her hands through her hair in jerky movements. Her eyes look damp. “It’s my dad. He’s in the ER. Mom says he fell in the bathroom. She says it was a light fall. I have to go to Newtown.”
On the first day we met, she told me that Newtown was an hour and a half away. “I’ll drive you,” I say.
“No, you don’t have to. I’m sure you have stuff to do today. It’s your day off,” Grace says.
I remember the script waiting for me. “I have nothing slated for today.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll just change, and we can go,” she says, her voice shaky.
“Hey, it’s going to be fine. I’ll be in the living room.”
It’s out of character for Grace to be so frightened, almost shell-shocked. I compare this Grace to the one who fights fires, and I can’t reconcile the two. She said that her father was in the ER from a light fall. Unless I’m mistaken, people don’t generally die from light falls unless there’s something else that she’s not saying.
In less than three minutes, Grace is ready to leave.
“Can we use your car?” she asks.
“I don’t have it yet.” It sounds as lame as it is, but what choice do I have? I’d rather sound weird than have to explain how I can afford to own a Lamborghini or a Porsche.
She looks at me quizzically. “It’s still not back from the repair shop?”
“Not yet,” I tell her feeling like a complete asshole. I contemplate telling her who I am for all of two seconds.
Bad idea. First, she has enough to deal with right now with her father at the ER, and second, I’m not supposed to tell anyone, not even the woman I’m sleeping with, that I’m researching for a role.
I also like being Jack. Temporarily. There’s nothing to complain about in my life. It’s afforded me the privilege of going to places I’d never have visited, otherwise; meet people I would never have met and accomplish so much professionally and personally. The charity I support jumps to mind. It's for at-risk and disadvantaged youth and knowing that I’ve made a difference makes the lack of privacy, the scrutiny, and other bullshit that comes with fame worth it.
Still, I’m enjoying this interlude from my regular life. It’s nice to be a regular joe, getting to know a woman and letting her know me. That’s another thing that makes me hesitate to let Grace in on my secret. I don’t want to see her change her attitude toward me when she finds out who I am.
“Fine.” She grabs her car keys and hands them to me. She’s too distracted right now to give much thought to my lack of a car.
Downstairs, I unlock her car and open the door for her. Minutes later, we are on the highway, headed to Newtown. I throw worried glances at her. She hasn’t said a word since we left her apartment.
“Talk to me,” I tell her.
She sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m not great company right now. My parents are everything to me.”
“I understand.” I actually don’t.
“I’m adopted,” she says softly. “I started living with my parents when I was ten years old, and they gave me the stability that I desperately needed.”
“Oh.” I’m rarely at a loss for words.
“Yeah, my biological parents were irresponsible, and they should not have been allowed to raise a child.” Her voice is cold. Chilly. “But my adopted parents showed me another way of life, and it wiped out all the earlier memories of growing up with my biological parents.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t need to have a psychology degree to understand why she panicked and why she’s super close to her adoptive parents. They rescued her from a life of misery. I wish I could ask her about her biological parents, but that would be prying into her life too much. It’s such a private matter. I think of my own family. I haven’t spoken to my parents in almost five years when I finally had enough.
“It’s fine. I healed, but I credit my life to my adoptive parents. I cannot bear the thought of losing either of them,” she says, her voice cracking.
“Hey, your father fell, right? Most likely, he broke something. I’m sure it’s nothing more serious than that.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. It sounds better coming from you,” she says and manages a smile.
I distract her with amusing tales of different places I’ve visited over the years. I tell her about the first time I rode on a camel and I ended up hanging upside down when the camel stood up before I’d settled into the saddle. The only thing I don’t tell her is that it was for a movie.
She laughs. “You’ve traveled a lot, haven’t you?”
“I have.”
“Was that in the desert?” she asks.
“Yes, in the Sahara Desert in Morocco. Have you traveled a lot yourself?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “It’s on my long-term plans but so far, no. Work gets in the way.”
“Maybe one day we can travel together,” I tell her, and the fantasy grows in my mind. It would be nice to revisit all the places I’ve been with Grace. She’s not just good in the sack but out of it as well. Her company is amazing, and we keep a steady stream of conversation. Before I know it, the one and a half hours zip by, and we are pulling off the highway.
“We’re nearly there,” she says and gives me directions to the hospital.
I find my way to a parking lot near the ER entrance. We get out of the car and hurry across the parking lot to the entrance.
“Mom,” Grace says and hurries to an older woman with graying hair, sitting in the last row of the waiting area.
She sees Grace and stands up. On closer inspection, I see more than a passing resemblance between Grace and her adopted mom. They are both tall and elegant, and her features are similar to Grace’s. They are the same height too and have the exact same body shape. It’s puzzling. They are not biologically related, from what Grace explained to me. I stand to the side as the two women hug. They hold each other for a long time.
“Dad’s fine,” she says. “It’s a broken leg. They’re setting it now.”
“Oh, that’s good news,” Grace says, relief in her voice. She beckons me to step closer. “Mom, this is my friend and colleague, Jack Acker.”
I cringe at the name. Her handshake is surprisingly firm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I’m sorry about your husband.”
“Oh, we’re just glad he’ll be fine. Grumpy for the next few weeks but okay otherwise,” she says with a smile that is a hundred percent Grace.
There’s no way they are not related. Such a coincidence is not possible. I offer to get some coffee and leave them talking.
I’m pretty familiar with the trauma bay, and I have immense respect for the doctors and nurses who work here. I once did as I’m doing now at the firehouse. I was researching the role of an ER doctor, and I shadowed a real ER doctor for two weeks. By the end of it, I was emotionally spent and wiped out from everything I had witnessed. At the end of it, though, I came out with an appreciation of the immense stress they face at work.
I take my time making my way to the hospital café on the second floor, grab three coffees from the machine, and head back to the ER. I hand Grace and her mother their coffees and sit down.
“It’s very kind of you to drive Grace all this way,” Mrs. Hughes says. “Thank you so much. It would have been an awfully long drive for her.”
“Don’t mention it, Mrs. Hughes,” I say.
“Please call me Nora,” she says.
We make chit-chat and finish coffee just in time for a man I assume is Nora’s dad is wheeled out of one of the inner examination rooms. He bears no resemblance to Grace, as I expected, which doesn’t explain why Grace is a younger version of her mother. I hate mysteries, and this one is grating at me. Worst of all, it’s not the kind of thing I would be comfortable asking Grace. We’re not close enough for such personal questions.
Grace introduces us, but I can tell he’s still in pain and understandably not in the mood to meet anyone. A hospital orderly wheels him to the car while another follows with a pair of crutches.
Getting him into the car is a process that leaves Grace’s dad angry and frustrated.
“I feel sorry for my parents,” Grace tells me in the car as we follow them home. “Dad is going to be a horrible patient.”
“Yeah, he’s probably angry and frustrated that he has to depend on other people. He’ll get used to it,” I tell her.
