ten? I’d say nine-point-five.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grace woke up feeling more refreshed and optimistic than she had in a long time. The feeling carried her through the remainder of the weekend and into the week, buoyed by a few dozen flirty texts she and Logan exchanged between inpatient rounds and outpatient clinics, before lectures and after therapy sessions.
She breezed through her ob/gyn appointment, and got a prescription for birth control pills. While waiting at the pharmacy, she bought a box of condoms. Wednesday night, she slipped a couple foil packets in her purse, and the following morning added a few more for good measure.
By Thursday afternoon, she felt jittery and giddy and barely able to sit still. As if she were a teenager, fresh out of braces and training bra, about to go on her first date. It didn’t matter that she had left her adolescence behind more than a decade ago, or that she and Logan had known each other intimately for years.
She had been out of the game too long, and traumatized too thoroughly, to take anything about this getting-to-know-you-again dance for granted. The prospect of sex, even with someone whom she trusted not to hurt her—at least physically—was both frightening and exhilarating. She almost wished they’d get the dinner and movie part over with quickly, or skip it altogether, before she lost her nerve.
In the end, she managed to choke down some food, though if asked ten minutes later what she had eaten, she wouldn’t have been able to recall a single thing. The movie was likewise forgettable, though under different circumstances Grace might have enjoyed the strong female lead who kicked butt and took no prisoners.
Despite the late hour, the heat of the day lingered in the air, rising in waves from the sidewalk as they exited the theater.
Logan nodded toward a line that spilled out from Diddy Riese and stretched halfway down the block. “Interested in some ice cream?”
“No, thanks.” She took a deep breath, stifling the temptation to blurt, Can we just get on with it?
He must have sensed her impatience, because he grinned and caught her hand. “How about some coffee at my place?”
Finally . “Lead the way.”
He lived in one of the high-rises along Wilshire Boulevard, just south of campus. She barely heard his rambling explanation of how he ended up there. Something about a mix-up in faculty housing assignments and a failed tenure case—whose, she didn’t quite follow—that resulted in an empty one-bedroom unit midway through the year.
The walk took fifteen minutes, and by the end Grace was ready to frog-march him through the marble lobby to a bank of elevators that turned out to be the slowest in God’s creation.
Eyes glued to the indicator display, she tried to ignore the tightening sensation in her chest. She could do this. As long as she remembered to breathe, as long as she concentrated on the moment, as long as...
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Logan’s hand brushed her back. The elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open. Too soon. She wasn’t ready.
“We’re here,” Logan said, extending his arm so the doors wouldn’t close prematurely.
She had a vague impression of carpeted hall and cream walls, and then he was sliding his key into the lock, and ushering her inside. It wasn’t until he’d turned on the lights and air conditioning that he seemed to realize something was wrong. She stood rooted to the floor, just inside the door, clutching her shoulder bag as if it were a lifeline.
“Grace?” He retraced his steps. “Are you okay?”
She swallowed. “Yes. Of course.”
“We don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
His eyebrows shot up at her fierce tone. “If you’re sure...”
She forced herself to move. “How about a tour?”
He cleared his throat. “You don’t want coffee first?”
She swept past him, ignoring the attempt at humor.
He trailed after her, flipping on switches as they went.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grace woke up feeling more refreshed and optimistic than she had in a long time. The feeling carried her through the remainder of the weekend and into the week, buoyed by a few dozen flirty texts she and Logan exchanged between inpatient rounds and outpatient clinics, before lectures and after therapy sessions.
She breezed through her ob/gyn appointment, and got a prescription for birth control pills. While waiting at the pharmacy, she bought a box of condoms. Wednesday night, she slipped a couple foil packets in her purse, and the following morning added a few more for good measure.
By Thursday afternoon, she felt jittery and giddy and barely able to sit still. As if she were a teenager, fresh out of braces and training bra, about to go on her first date. It didn’t matter that she had left her adolescence behind more than a decade ago, or that she and Logan had known each other intimately for years.
She had been out of the game too long, and traumatized too thoroughly, to take anything about this getting-to-know-you-again dance for granted. The prospect of sex, even with someone whom she trusted not to hurt her—at least physically—was both frightening and exhilarating. She almost wished they’d get the dinner and movie part over with quickly, or skip it altogether, before she lost her nerve.
In the end, she managed to choke down some food, though if asked ten minutes later what she had eaten, she wouldn’t have been able to recall a single thing. The movie was likewise forgettable, though under different circumstances Grace might have enjoyed the strong female lead who kicked butt and took no prisoners.
Despite the late hour, the heat of the day lingered in the air, rising in waves from the sidewalk as they exited the theater.
Logan nodded toward a line that spilled out from Diddy Riese and stretched halfway down the block. “Interested in some ice cream?”
“No, thanks.” She took a deep breath, stifling the temptation to blurt, Can we just get on with it?
He must have sensed her impatience, because he grinned and caught her hand. “How about some coffee at my place?”
Finally . “Lead the way.”
He lived in one of the high-rises along Wilshire Boulevard, just south of campus. She barely heard his rambling explanation of how he ended up there. Something about a mix-up in faculty housing assignments and a failed tenure case—whose, she didn’t quite follow—that resulted in an empty one-bedroom unit midway through the year.
The walk took fifteen minutes, and by the end Grace was ready to frog-march him through the marble lobby to a bank of elevators that turned out to be the slowest in God’s creation.
Eyes glued to the indicator display, she tried to ignore the tightening sensation in her chest. She could do this. As long as she remembered to breathe, as long as she concentrated on the moment, as long as...
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Logan’s hand brushed her back. The elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open. Too soon. She wasn’t ready.
“We’re here,” Logan said, extending his arm so the doors wouldn’t close prematurely.
She had a vague impression of carpeted hall and cream walls, and then he was sliding his key into the lock, and ushering her inside. It wasn’t until he’d turned on the lights and air conditioning that he seemed to realize something was wrong. She stood rooted to the floor, just inside the door, clutching her shoulder bag as if it were a lifeline.
“Grace?” He retraced his steps. “Are you okay?”
She swallowed. “Yes. Of course.”
“We don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
His eyebrows shot up at her fierce tone. “If you’re sure...”
She forced herself to move. “How about a tour?”
He cleared his throat. “You don’t want coffee first?”
She swept past him, ignoring the attempt at humor.
He trailed after her, flipping on switches as they went.
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