The Redhead Plays Her Hand

nine

Time heartthrob Jack Hamilton and rumored girlfriend Grace Sheridan were partying hard in the Hollywood Hills last night! The couple was photographed leaving the party, with Jack intoxicated to the point of being held up by his girlfriend and another party guest. Sources from inside the party last night tell us, “He was drinking a lot, spending most of his time at the bar with Adam Kasen.”

Jack Hamilton skipped the fender and went right for the bender, getting so drunk last night at a party hosted by his manager, Holly Newman, he had to be helped out to a waiting car! Grace Sheridan, older actress, and Michael O’Connell, writer and creator of Grace’s new show on Venue, held up the Sexy Scientist Guy as they left the party last night. Sources inside the party confirm that while Jack and Grace refuse to confirm their relationship, the two got very chummy there. “She was totally sitting on his lap. They were kissing and ignoring everyone else they were sitting with. She knew there were people watching too, and she made sure everyone saw she was with him.” The actress hid in the backseat as they sped away; Jack appeared to be passed out cold in the front seat.

In the hills of Beverly last night, photographers caught Jack Hamilton sneaking out of a party hosted by his manager, so drunk he was barely able to walk to his car! By his side was rumored girlfriend Grace Sheridan, nine years his senior and star of the upcoming show on Venue, Mabel’s Unstable? The pair struggled to their car, helped by fellow actors Lane Robbins and Adam Kasen, Hollywood bad boy. Kasen, a castmate of Jack’s in the still-in-production soldier flick Soldier Boy, has been spotted out on the town with Jack. The two actors have been seen partying at various nightclubs and bars in Los Angeles lately. Sources close to the unconfirmed couple say that Grace is “furious at Jack for spending so much time out at night.” Grace sat in the backseat of the car last night as the couple sped away from photographers, both trying to hide their faces from cameras. Dr. Richard Pearson, psychiatrist and expert on substance abuse, speculates on Jack’s condition. “He’s displayed the classic signs of someone who is having difficulty dealing with the pressure this industry can place on young stars. He is in real trouble. He’s clearly not handling the fame well.”

I closed my laptop and thought of Jack, still in bed and sound asleep. Sawing logs but still gloriously cute. I made coffee and didn’t think about it. I sliced peaches and nectarines for a fruit salad and didn’t think about it. I perched on the end of my kitchen island, the granite cool underneath me as I hyperventilated, not thinking about it.

Why was it necessary that every time they referred to me, they made sure to comment on the nine-year age difference? I knew it; he knew it; anyone could see it, but really? Every time?

I snot-sobbed, letting everything out in a way I hadn’t for a long time. Everything that had happened lately, everything we were going through would once have ended up in the Drawer, where all bad things went. In the past, when I couldn’t deal with something, I literally didn’t deal with it. Instead, I walled all things unpleasant into a tight little box, which eventually exploded. And landed on everyone around me. This had happened spectacularly at Jack’s Time premiere the previous year.

Now I vowed to deal with things as they happened, in the moment and in the present. This resulted in a lot more tears but a much less confused head. And now I needed to talk to Jack. Armed with a breakfast tray loaded down with treats, I headed into our bedroom. Sprawled across his side with one hand on my pillow, searching out missing boobies more than likely, was the Sexiest Man Alive. Still snoring, he wore the sheets low on his hips, revealing that happy trail that made me more than happy. I set down the tray and curled into his side, pressing kisses across his shoulder and chest as he stirred. Green sleepy eyes opened to mine, and a sweet smile crept across his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” I whispered, dipping down to kiss on that sweet smile. His hands tangled into my hair, and he tried to pull me down to him, coaxing me with promises of what he’d do to me if I let him.

I almost let him. It would be a wonderful way to get lost and avoid what had happened, even if just for the morning. But I had nectarines. And a Brit to take to the woodshed, although in a kinder way than I’d originally thought I’d be taking him.

“No, no, Sweet Nuts, I made breakfast. Come on, let’s eat.”

“Oh, I’ll eat all right.”

“That’s crass, love.”

“Never heard any complaints,” he sassed, licking his lips and beginning to flip me over. I knew I had to take control. Once he was south of my belly button he would own me, and I wouldn’t even be able to spell “woodshed.”

It’s an easy word to spell. Come on, let him do it.

“I have nectarines,” I protested.

“So do I,” he responded immediately, leading my hand south on his body as well. I copped a quick feel—I wasn’t made of steel—then wisely sat up, removing his hands from my body before I could get too distracted. I scooted away from him on the bed, pouring some coffee as he protested.

“Killing me, Grace.” He sighed as he sank back onto his pillow, draping his arm across his eyes and adjusting himself with his other hand.

I forced my eyes back to the breakfast and away from the accidental erotica that was playing out on the other side of the bed. I brought over the tray, sitting cross-legged opposite him, keeping the tray between us. I knew him. If I were next to him, the tray would go flying.

He sat up, running his hands through his hair as though he still had it and grimacing as he did so. Tongue thick, he gestured for the bottle of water I had brought. I handed it to him. He drained it. I sugared his coffee and passed it to him. He accepted it gratefully. His eyes were bright green this morning, made even more striking by the redness and circles underneath. He looked young and old at the same time, and as I ate my fruit, I contemplated how to proceed.

“You’re pissed again,” he offered, making my decision for me.

“I’m pissed again,” I admitted, nibbling on a muffin.

He was sticking to coffee, turning his nose up at any food, actually paling a little when I offered him some bacon. He was hungover. Good. He needed to feel this.

“Grace, I didn’t know there were photographers out there. How could I have known that?”

“Oh, I’m not pissed about that. I’m pissed about the fact that you were so drunk off your ass that now that’s the story on every gossip site this morning: your inability to deal with your fame in any other way than drinking.”

“Oh, now I’m an alcoholic?”

“I didn’t say that, but the press isn’t that far off from it.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m not an alcoholic.”

“No shit. What you are is partying way too much and making an ass of yourself. And how shocking, Adam Kasen is there every time this happens.”

“You think he’s behind this?”

“I don’t really care who’s behind this. I don’t care who made sure the press knew exactly where we were last night. I don’t care who’s quoted as a source in every article online right now. What I care about is you and how you’re handling yourself in public.”

“Oh, great. Now I’ve got another woman telling me what to do. Between you and Holly managing every single aspect of my career, I’ve about had it,” he snapped, stepping out of the bed and onto the floor, remembering afterward that he was naked.

He stood there, his anger dissipating in the cool air, along with anything else that might have been worked up.

“I’m not wearing any pants.”

“I can see that.”

“Where are my pants?”

“In the bathroom on the floor, where you left them last night after you threw up.”

“I threw up?”

“You don’t remember that?”

“No. I remember being out back with you, and then . . . bollocks, that’s the last thing I remember.” He sighed, hands on his hips as he surveyed the room.

“I’m still naked,” he said after a moment.

“I’m aware of this,” I replied, trying to keep my stern face on. He knew me better, however.

“If I apologize naked, will that hold any more weight than a clothed apology?”

“I don’t want you to apologize, Jack. I just want you to think next time, think about what you’re doing.”

“So then a naked apology would be wasted?” He bumped his hips back and forth a bit as I struggled not to laugh.

“I’d rather the apology be wasted than my boyfriend.”

“That was pretty good, Crazy.”

“Still not kidding.”

“Still not wearing pants,” he said, now turning himself toward the bathroom. “Did you say they were this way?” He pointed in a rather unconventional way.

He had recovered quickly. I was going to lose control of this conversation very soon. I could tell where this was headed. I crawled across the bed to him, sitting on my knees in front of him, bringing him close and hugging him. Pressing my face into his tummy, I kissed him quickly then turned my face up to his, which I found gazing down at me. He pushed a curl behind my ear, then brought his hand to my mouth, where I kissed his knuckles.

“I know I’ve been saying this a lot lately, but it’s not sinking in. Just be careful, okay?”

“I will, Grace. I will. Now, about sinking in?” He pressed his body against me in a way that could not be misinterpreted.

“Would you quit being so charming? I’m still pissed at you,” I warned as he pushed me back against the bed and had me out of my yoga pants in two seconds flat.

“I know,” he answered, pressing into my body exquisitely.

Turns out I was able to orbit the earth a few times and still be pissed off.

“Put him on the phone.”

“Holly, I told you. He’s in the shower.”

“Get him out.”

“No. But I promise he’ll call you as soon as he’s done.”

“Bring the phone into the bathroom. You can tell him everything I’m saying.”

“Do you have this kind of access to everyone you represent or just the ones fucking your best friend?”

“Cute, asshead. Real cute.”

She chuckled, and I could tell she was backing down a bit. I breathed out. This being in between the two of them was beginning to wear a bit thin. I curled my legs underneath me, settling into the comfy sofa with another cup of coffee. After making sure I wasn’t too pissed to come—repeatedly because he’s thorough like that—Jack had disappeared into the shower to clear his head, and I finished breakfast. It was a rare day lately that we were both at home with nowhere to go and nowhere we needed to be, so I was planning on circling the wagons a bit and spending a quiet day with my boy.

“I assume you’ve already seen the pictures?” Holly asked.

“I have. Did you notice no deer-in-headlights this time?”

“Yep, you’re learning. Few more of those and you’ll be a pro.”

I bit my tongue. She called me out on my silence.

“I know you’re not quiet over there because you’re surprised by this, are you?”

“I just didn’t expect it last night is all. How did they know we were there?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Adam?”

“Adam,” she replied.

“You’re sure?”

“Not completely, but it makes the most sense. Although honestly, it could have been anyone. There’s no real rhyme or reason. You two could go parade down Sunset in front of Grauman’s Chinese right now and no one would notice, but you buy one box of condoms at the grocery store, and it’ll be front-page news. Don’t buy your own condoms, by the way. I’ll get someone to get you some when you need them.”

“Oh, please, we haven’t used condoms since we first were together.”

“You’re being careful, though, right? Although Hollywood babies are a great accessory . . .”

I laughed. “Ha! And yes, we’re being careful. Would your rule also apply to purchasing multiple containers of whipped cream at a time?”

“Yeah, don’t do that. Oatmeal is safe, though. No one cares if you’re buying oatmeal.”

“Does Michael like oatmeal?”

“Nah, he’s a Cheerios guy. He— Dammit. Well played.”

“Spill it!” I screamed into the phone, thrilled that she had given up the dirt so easily.

“There’s nothing to spill, actually.”

“Bullshit, spill it.” I giggled, pushing her. It was nice to be the pushy one.

“There’s nothing really to tell. It just, sort of, happened.”

“Exactly what happened?”

“It’s just, it’s good. Really good, okay?” she replied, a smile evident in her voice.

“What about Lane?”

“I adore Lane. He’s a great guy, but that was never going to be anything beyond what it was.”

“Amazing sex?”

“Amazing sex, yes.”

“How’s the sex with Michael?” I asked, knowing full well how good it was from our one-night stand back in college. This wasn’t weird for me, and I hoped it wasn’t going to be weird for them.

“Um, well, the thing is . . .”

“You haven’t fucked him yet?” I shrieked.

Jack padded down the hall from the bedroom, towel around his waist, still dripping. “What are you yelling about?” he asked.

“Tell you later,” I mouthed, and he went back into the bedroom.

“Weren’t you the one who told me you couldn’t believe it when I said Jack and I hadn’t had sex yet?”

“Grace, let me just—”

“Get on that stick I think were the actual words you yelled at me in front of a shocked Starbucks, in fact,” I teased, loving every second of this.

“Oh, suck it, asshead.” I could tell she was still smiling.

“But you like him?” I asked, thinking back on how long we had all been friends. I never would have put those two together, but in my mind, he was always in my past, not hers as much. Yet there was something to be said for being friends as long as they had.

“I really think I do.”

We both sighed.

“If you haven’t slept with him, how do you know he takes Cheerios?”

“He fell asleep here one night a few weeks ago when we were watching a movie. That’s all. I may have slept on the couch next to him.”

“How cute! Anything else happen?”

“Not really. We’ve kissed, but that’s about all.”

Holly never took this long to pounce on anyone. This was different.

“So are you officially an item?” I asked, trying to get more juice. She wasn’t having it.

“Okay, back to business. Just have Jack call me as soon as he’s out of the shower?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I fibbed. I’d let him at least put pants on before he had to face another firing squad.

“And heads-up, I’ve got a call with the producers tomorrow about your paparazzi session last night. I’m sure they’ve got some thoughts.”

“Great.”

“That’s my job. You let me worry about it.”

After we hung up, I sat on the couch for a bit, coffee now cold.

What would the producers want to talk about with Holly?

That your personal life is exploding all over the Internet?

Oh yeah . . .

That day started tense and ended lovely. Jack and I lazed around the house all day, watching TV, drinking coffee, doing laundry, just having a day where we didn’t have to do a thing. It was nice. Toward the end, we talked about going out for dinner but realized that eating somewhere in public was not the kind of thing we were up for, not after last night. We ordered in Chinese, ate it at the dining room table off my new dishes (a splurge after I saw what Holly had negotiated for me), and then decided to take a drive. Bryan had already brought my car back from the parking garage.

It was risky, heading out in a car we knew was easily recognized, but I didn’t want to be trapped in the house, and I could tell Jack was getting antsy. At night, it wouldn’t be as obvious who was in the car, and if we kept the top up during most of the trip, we decided it was worth that very risk.

Jack drove our favorite drive, Topanga Canyon all the way to PCH, pulling over at a little canyon store for hot chocolates and to drop the top. With the tunes on, the night breeze in my hair, and Jack’s hand on my knee, I could finally relax in my favorite city in the world. As we turned right onto the coastal highway, the ocean scented the air. The moon hung low in the sky, and while the stars twinkled over the water, my star relaxed as well. He squeezed my knee as the music switched to an old favorite, “Into the Mystic.” I smiled to myself as I thought of the first time we’d taken a drive like this, this song and this man next to me making for a very sweet memory. I chuckled, letting my hand drift out of the car and into the night, rolling it along imaginary hills and valleys. I sang softly along with Van Morrison, Jack’s voice joining in on the chorus. My left hand dropped down to his on my knee, and I nestled my fingers in his.

In this moment, in this car, on this stretch of highway, we were a couple in love. We were not an older woman and a younger man, Jack wasn’t the Sexiest Man Alive, but he was the sexiest man in my world. I wasn’t an up-and-coming actress who’d been asked about the size of her boyfriend’s dick the night before by a total stranger, I was a girl in a convertible in my pajamas, holding hands with the man I was in love with.

And for the record, it was perfectly sized.

Word.

“What are you smiling at over there, Crazy?”

“How can you see me smiling? It’s almost pitch-black out here!” I laughed, this part of PCH was all curves and cliffs.

“I can tell when you’re smiling. I don’t need to see it to know it’s there. What are you thinking about?”

“You. Us. The first time we went for a drive. I was totally falling for you by then.”

“I was falling for you the moment you pushed your boobies in my face, even with the sparkle.” He laughed, untangling his hand from mine as he turned off into a scenic overlook.

“Parking? How Beach Blanket Bingo!” I laughed as he turned off the engine.

Now I could hear the surf, not too far below us. Van Morrison, waves, and my Sweet Nuts. We sank back into our seats, faces turned up to the Milky Way. We talked and laughed, held hands and sighed into the night. We really were so far removed from anything Hollywood, only the barest hint of light from Santa Monica Pier was noticeable in the distance as the highway curved back in on itself.

I leaned in and stole a kiss. Soft, gentle, lips and mouths caressing and pressing each other in quiet affection.

Another car pulled into the overlook, headlights breaking our bubble and reminding us where we were and what we were doing. Another couple had the same idea we did. Checking them out, we backed away, leaving them to their passionate necking.

“Home, or drive on?”

“Take me home, Jack,” I answered, stealing just one more kiss.

He held my arms above my head, teasing my body with his tongue. I arched up underneath him, writhing to bring me closer to his mouth, to him. Naked, under the man I loved more than anything else in the world, I whispered to him, telling him how much I adored him, how much I needed him.

“Soon, Crazy, soon,” he chided, letting his mouth envelope my right nipple as my hands strained to touch him.

My skin was on fire. His good weight pressed down on me as I longed to wrap myself around him, in every way possible. As his teeth nipped, his lips spoke to my skin, told me I was beautiful, I was sexy, I was his. I could feel him, heavy and wanting between my twisting legs. I tried to bring him inside, inside me, where I needed to reach him the most.

He released my hands but slid down my body, head nestled between my legs, prodding me open with his hands, nudging me with his nose, laughing into my warmth, and biting down hard on my Hamilton Brand, making it stronger, indelibly marking me once more. He licked and sucked patiently, persistently at me, and I came hard on his tongue, sent above and beyond by his sweet smile once more. The scruff on his head roughed more than pleasantly at the inside of my thighs, making me so sensitive to his every touch. His strong hands held me still, pushing my hips down into the mattress, meeting my thrusts with gentle but intense pressure, covering my sex with his face and his mouth, nibbling and humming through me, causing a chain of orgasms that made me call out his name over and over again.

Crashing up my body to join me again, his mouth now assaulted my own, my taste and his tongue joining with mine. He flipped me quickly, positioning me to straddle his hips as I rose above him.

“Brilliant,” he chanted in the moonlight, watching me as I sank down onto him, taking him deep inside me, nothing between us, nothing else existing in the world except for the exquisite feel of him. His hands spanned my waist, thumbs dipping down to circle just above where we were joined, applying pressure as we spun out of control together. I rode him hard, like he loved me to, squeezing him inside and out, touching my own breasts the way I knew he wanted to, bouncing and letting my head tip back, my hair tickling his thighs as I felt him growing impossibly harder inside me.

“Grace. Jesus, Grace.” He groaned, guttural and explosive below me as I came all around him, his hips thrusting up into me, driving us together over and over again, primal and gentle all at the same time. He came hard, and loud, prayerlike obscenities spilling from his mouth. His head tilted back against the pillow, brow furrowed and jaw clenched, in the way I loved him most.

I collapsed onto his chest, both of us breathing heavily, sweat slick and warm between us. I lay on top, his arms wrapped around my back, drawing images on my body that I couldn’t see but knew were there.

“I wish I could stay here forever, just like this, inside,” he whispered in my ear.

He went back to the desert the following morning.