Page 13 of Wicked Desire (Sapphic Billionaire Club #2)

Nicole

“ S o Nutter Butters are your secret comfort food, huh?” I asked over dinner that night.

“One of them.”

“What are the others?” I asked curiously.

“Oh no, you have to tell me yours first.”

Grace had ordered a variety of dishes for dinner: gnocchi , spaghetti with meatballs, spinach lasagna, salad, and soft breadsticks that were still warm from the oven. It was all delicious.

“Red vines,” I confessed. “Ben & Jerry’s Chubby Hubby ice cream. And I really love those snowballs, you know the kind you get at the convenience store with the coconut flakes on the outside?”

“Oh my God, I haven’t had those since I was a kid,” she laughed. “I remember liking them though.”

“Well, what are your other secret food vices?”

“Cool Ranch Doritos,” she answered. “Oreos. Ooh, and Chunky Chips Ahoy.”

“You’re a fan of cookies, huh?” I teased.

“I guess so.”

I looked around as I ate a forkful of gnocchi.

“Your house is nothing like I expected,” I confessed. “I pictured you in something modern, done in shades of black and white. But this is comfortable. It reminds me of my grandma’s house, but not as tacky.”

“Oh thanks,” she said.

She seemed a little embarrassed for the second time tonight.

“I always had this fantasy of having a log cabin in the woods somewhere with comfortable country furnishings,” she said. “And I guess I could buy one, but when would I ever have time to get out there? So I decided to make my condo my little sanctuary.”

She gave me a considering look. “You know, you’re the only person who’s ever been here besides Ariel, Maeve, Theo, and my parents.”

“What about your other friends?” I asked.

“I don’t tend to have a lot of friends,” she said. “I work too much to cultivate any meaningful relationships.”

“What about the people you date? Or hook-ups?” I pressed.

She shrugged. “I always go to their place, or we get a hotel. It makes it easier when I inevitably need to leave for work.”

I shook my head. “You really are a workaholic, aren’t you?”

“That’s what my therapist tells me.”

I was surprised that she admitted to being in therapy so casually. My parents were very judgmental about therapy, saying that they thought it was too indulgent for people to pay someone so they could talk about themselves. It made me curious.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” I started. “You can say no.”

“Sure, but how about we grab the cookies and do it on the couch?”

“Sounds good.”

We stacked the plates in the dishwasher and headed into the living area with cookies and bottles of water. Once we were on the couch, Grace turned to give me her full attention.

“What’s your question?”

“I don’t want to ask you why you’re in therapy,” I started. “But I wonder how it is. Like, what do you get out of it?”

Grace looked thoughtful.

“I started therapy back in college,” she said.

“I started having panic attacks, kind of out of the blue, and the campus doctor suggested I talk to someone. I guess what I like about therapy is that it gives me a sounding board, someone I can talk through my problems with and they’re totally neutral, you know? ”

I nodded.

“And also she’ll call me on stuff, like if I’m in some kind of loop or not being honest with myself. I guess for me therapy is like having a coach.”

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” I noted.

“Yeah, I don’t have some big serious diagnosis or tons of trauma to work through, but I am prone to anxiety and talk therapy and the tools she gives me to help work well for me.”

For the first time in my life I wondered if therapy would be helpful for me. Maybe a professional could help me figure out why I was too chickenshit to separate from my parents’ control.

I jumped as something soft moved against my leg.

“Oh!”

Grace smiled and leaned down to pick up a portly black cat with white feet. Sitting him up on her lap like the cat was a human, she waved one of its paws at me.

“This is Mr. Mittens,” she told me.

Before I could respond her tone changed into that sweet high pitched voice people used with babies. “Mr. Mittens, this is my friend Nicole.”

I reached a hand towards the cat and he hissed at me.

“It takes him a while to warm up to people,” Grace explained.

When I just stared at her she said, “What?”

“You don’t strike me as someone who’d have a cat,” I finally said. “Especially not someone named Mr. Mittens.”

She waved a paw at me. “He’s wearing mittens, what else was I supposed to name him?”

We both burst out laughing, startling the cat who jumped off Grace’s lap and stalked away.

“How about a movie?” Grace suggested. “Something mindless?”

“Sounds good.”

We scrolled through until we found a movie we both liked, then Grace lowered the lights and we hunkered down on the couch. After a bit we moved a little closer, then a little closer still, until Grace put her arm over my shoulder and I snuggled into her side, resting my hand on her thigh.

“This is nice,” I said softly.

I felt the movement of her nodding. “Yeah, a nice break after this week. I swear to God I know it’s only nine o’clock, but I could go to bed right now.”

I sat up. “Oh, I’m sorry, I should go.”

Grace grabbed my hand. “Or you could stay.”

My eyes searched hers. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah but I think I’m going to need to actually sleep. I’m not sure I have the energy for anything else.”

I laughed. “Oh good, because if you needed me to do anything more than just lay there, I was going to be out.”

We turned off the television and headed to the bedroom, walking hand in hand, while I tried not to think about how comfortably domestic this entire night had been.

My last thought before I fell asleep was that I wished we could do this every night.

I woke up to find Grace laying on my arm, one leg flung over mine, one hand cupping my breast. Her face was soft and relaxed in sleep, and if I didn’t need to use the facilities I would have enjoyed watching her for as long as I could. Unfortunately, my bladder wasn’t on board.

Gently I slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom across the hall.

There was an en-suite, but for some reason I felt weird using it while Grace was sleeping.

Once I’d finished taking care of my needs and brushing my teeth with the toothbrush I kept in my purse, I headed into the kitchen in search of coffee.

I was rooting around in a cabinet when Grace walked in, her curly blonde hair a riotous mass of messy curls.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, leaning against the counter with a huge yawn.

“Coffee,” I said, closing the cabinet. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“It’s no problem, this is later than I usually sleep.”

She stretched, linking her hands overhead, and the hem of her shirt lifted, revealing the taut skin of her belly. I forgot all about coffee.

Oblivious to my lascivious thoughts, Grace walked around me to the fancy coffee machine, pressed a button, then grabbed a cup and put it underneath right before hot coffee started coming out.

As soon as it finished, she handed me the cup, then slid a second cup into the machine and re-started it.

“There’s cream and sugar around here somewhere if you want it.”

I shook my head. “Black is good.”

While her coffee brewed, Grace moved around the kitchen, filling Mr. Mittens’ food bowl and replacing his water.

“He only likes fresh water,” she confided. “I have to change the bowl at least twice a day or he gets cranky.”

As if he’d heard his name, Mr. Mittens lumbered in, heading towards his bowl. He sniffed his food, then meowed loudly.

“It’s not time for your fish yet, Mr. Mittens, you know the rules.”

The cat gave her a look of disgust and left the room, making us both laugh.

“He’s such a character,” she said fondly.

I took a sip of my coffee, unsure how to react to this cat lady side of Grace.

“This coffee is delicious.”

I wasn’t sure where Grace got her beans from, but it was the smoothest and most flavorful coffee I’d had in my life.

Grace sent me a wicked smile.

“I can think of something much more delicious.” Her eyes slowly traveling down my body. “How about we drink coffee in bed and then I’ll eat you for breakfast?”

“I love that idea.”