“You did?” I whispered.
“We were on an island, like Hawaii or someplace tropical. Don’t worry, you were in the shade and had plenty of sunscreen. I could taste it on your skin when I licked your neck.”
“You must have eaten something strange.”
He barked a laugh. “Maybe, but your dick tasted so—”
“Simon,” I warned.
“Sorry.” He made a show of adjusting his cock before placing his hand to his ear. “Sounds like they’re going to be a while. Let me take you to breakfast.”
“Actually, I can’t. I need to check on Gran. I’m sorry. I can meet you—”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Simon furrowed his brow. “Why? Do you think she won’t like me?”
I snorted. “No, she’ll like you too much.”
I was right.
Gran loved Simon. I was pretty sure he was equally smitten. Gran insisted on serving coffee on the deck. She lit a cigarette, sipped scotch, and demanded to know everything about him.
“Where’d you grow up? How many siblings do you have? Who’s your best friend? What’s your favorite color?”
“Pasadena, I have two brothers, Ben and George, and two best friends, Kenny and Aiden, and…blue. How about you?” he asked, resting his knee against mine under the patio table.
Oh, boy. He asked for it.
“Well, I was born in Toledo, Ohio, but my family moved to Pasadena when I was ten. My father was a scientist, like Christopher and his mother,” she said fondly. “The university here lured him west with the promise of California sunshine and a house that sat on the edge of an orange grove. Orange trees as far as the eye could see. Oak trees too. Those were my favorite.”
“Good for climbing,” Simon agreed.
“Exactly! I had one sister, Janet, who sadly passed away two years ago. She was older than me and so damn bossy. I couldn’t stand her when we were kids, but she grew on me the way quills grow on a porcupine.”
I snickered. “What does that mean?”
“She was prickly but wonderful and fierce too.” Gran smiled wistfully. I thought she might segue into an old childhood story, but she shook herself from her reverie and narrowed her eyes. “What was I saying?”
“Your favorite color?” Simon prompted.
“Red. The brighter the better. Candy-red apples, candy-red lipstick, candy-red candy,” she said, barking a laugh.
“And who’s your best friend?”
Her smile faded slightly, then returned with a vengeance. “His name is Arthur. He’s a year older than me. We met when his family moved across the street. I was fourteen, he was fifteen. It took a whole year of short skirts and a lot of shameless flirting before I finally got his attention.”
“Gran…”
“I let him see my knickers.”
I groaned. “She doesn’t mean it quite the way it sounds.”
“Sure, I do,” she confirmed, flashing a mischievous smile. “I had a terrible crush. He had a wonderful sense of humor and a casually dazzling way about him. He was so handsome…like you. I can see why Christopher is smitten. You’re a dreamboat.”
Simon grinned. “Why, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Back to me. And Arthur…we married when I was twenty. That’s rather young by today’s standards, but when you know, you know.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s soft-spoken and kind. He’s unassuming—not the type to draw attention to himself. A bit like Christopher…quietly remarkable.”
My cheeks warmed at the compliment. I smiled at Gran, then turned to Simon, prepared to change the topic. But the look of adoration and admiration in his eyes stopped me. I almost checked over my shoulder to see if someone or something else had caught his attention, but it was just us. And his gaze didn’t waver.
Simon reached for my hand under the table and squeezed it. “He is remarkable.”
Gran’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Indeed. Now, who’s ready to get their ass kicked at a game of cards?”
“I’m in,” Simon agreed. “What are we playing?”
“Gin?” I suggested.
I didn’t bother to hide my grin when Simon bragged that he was an expert, and Gran warned him that she didn’t take prisoners. The playful banter between my two favorite people—one old, one new—made me ridiculously happy. I didn’t have the heart to remind Simon that class started in twenty minutes. Being here and staying in the moment seemed far more important.
After a few rounds of gin rummy and one missed class, I insisted we head back to the house for the next one.
“We have twenty minutes.” I tapped my watch as Simon pulled away from the curb. “That should give us enough time to—wait. Where are you going? You’re turning the wrong way.”
“Yeah, I know. We’re skippin’ out.”
I knitted my brow. “I don’t know what that phrase means.”
Simon chuckled. “It means no school today. I’m playing hooky.”
“I can’t let you do that. It’s irresponsible and…bad. Turn right here, please.”
“No can do,” he singsonged. “Relax, Christopher. I don’t need to know how to psychoanalyze my dreams, I need food. You must be hungry too. You didn’t eat any of your grandma’s coffee cake. That was tasty, by the way. She’s cool. Was she really drinking scotch at ten a.m.?”