dislodge my pillow,
revealing the deflated helicopter balloon underneath.
Christian reaches for it and gazes up at me, puzzled.
“That’s my balloon,” I say, feeling proprietary as I
“That’s my balloon,” I say, feeling proprietary as I
reach for my robe and wrap it round myself. Oh jeez . . .
why did he ha一ve to find that?
“In your bed?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I flush. “It’s been keeping me company.”
“Lucky Charlie Tango,” he says, in surprise.
Yes, I’m sentimental, Grey, because I love you.
“My balloon,” I say again and turn on my heel and
head out to the kitchen, lea一ving him grinning from ear to
ear.
Christian and I sit on Kate’s persian rug, eating stir-fry
chicken and noodles from white china bowls with
chopsticks and sipping chilled white Pinot Grigio. Christian
leans against the couch, his long legs stretched out in front
of him. He’s wearing his jeans and his shirt with his justfucked
hair, and that’s all. The Buena Vista Social Club
croons softly in the background from Christian’s iPod.
“This is good,” he says appreciatively as he digs into
his food.
I sit cross-legged beside him, eating greedily, beyond
hungry, and admire his naked feet.
“I usually do all the cooking. Kate isn’t a great cook.”
“Did you your mother teach you?”
“Not really,” I scoff. “By the time I was interested in
learning, my mom was living with Husband Number Three
in Mansfield, Texas. And Ray, well, he would’ve lived on
toast and takeout if it wasn’t for me.”
Christian gazes down at me. “You didn’t stay in Texas
with your mom?”
“No. Steve, her husband and I, we didn’t get along.
And I missed Ray. Her marriage to Steve didn’t last long.
She came to her senses, I think. She never talks about
him,” I add quietly. I think that’s a dark part of her life,
which we’ve never discussed.
“So you came back to Washington to live with your
stepfather.”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like you looked after him,” he says softly.
“Sounds like you looked after him,” he says softly.
“I suppose.” I shrug.
“You’re used to taking
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