What a steaming pile of horseshit.
No wonder Delaney tried to hide away from this kind of crap. For one thing, he hadn’t been fired, but that lie wasn’t even worth being upset about compared to the slanderous innuendos made about Lane jumping from man to man. It just wasn’t true.
He knew that now. A little distance from the situation had helped Grant understand that the honky-tonk huckster had never been an issue. Not because Reggie was such a stand-up guy, but because Grant knew Lane.
The feeling knocked him forward.
He knew Lane.
That idea had clung to him ever since leaving Memphis yesterday, but seeing this article drove the point home. He did know her. Whatever she called herself, he’d seen everything that was real about her. Everything that mattered. It still hurt that she’d lied, and it was humiliating too, but having had some time to think about things, he wondered if maybe he’d been unfair. She wasn’t Miranda, and after hearing Finch and Humphrey talk about her reaction to the paparazzi, he knew fame hadn’t been her goal after all. The magazines had lied.
The truth was, maybe some of the details about her life weren’t as important as he’d originally thought, or as nearly important as how he’d felt. He’d followed his instincts with her, and it had all felt right. It was just too bad he couldn’t decide what his instincts were telling him now.
He looked down at the photos again. There was one of them facing each other, smiling and leaning close. His hand was on her leg. Her hand was curled around the side of his neck, as if she was pulling him close to whisper some naughty secret. He remembered that moment. He couldn’t think of what she’d said just then, but he remembered the feel of her lips as she’d pressed a kiss just below his ear seconds later.
Whump went his heart, as if the thing was trying to get his brain’s attention. This was how she made him feel. Breathless. Dizzy. Overheated. He missed her. More than he’d ever imagined it was possible to miss a woman. More than he’d ever known it was possible to love a woman. He did love her, still, whether her name was Elaine or Delaney or Mary or Sue. He just wasn’t sure if it was real.
He’d wanted to call her a hundred times since she’d ridden away in the taxi after leaving his aunt’s house, but pride was a buzzkill stopping him each time. Then he’d been busy making travel arrangements and getting his mother home. They’d arrived back in Bell Harbor late last night, and Carl, God love him, had welcomed her back with open arms and a sloe gin fizz, so at least that had gone well.
Now Grant was on his way to Tyler’s house to have dinner with him and Evie. He’d only stopped at the grocery store to pick up a bottle of wine, so he couldn’t call Lane now. It wouldn’t be a fast conversation, and he wasn’t even sure what he’d say. Until he had things figured out . . . well, he just couldn’t call her right now.
He pulled up at his brother’s house fifteen minutes later with two bottles of wine and one tabloid magazine—because he needed some advice. Tyler seemed to have a much better handle on this whole relationship thing than he did. Maybe his brother could tell him what the hell to do.
“Just call her, you jackass. If she doesn’t hang up on you, then keep talking.”
That had been his brother’s not-so-helpful advice.
“That’s it?” Grant said as he uncorked the first bottle of wine. “You just got back from your honeymoon and that’s the best, most romantic advice you can offer? What the hell am I supposed to say to her? Hi, total stranger. I’m still really angry that you lied to me about everything, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“No,” Evie said, walking into the kitchen where the brothers were discussing Grant’s current predicament. “Skip the part about being angry. She already knows you’re angry, but definitely tell her you can’t stop thinking about her. Women love hearing that.”
She ran a hand along Tyler’s waist as she walked by. They’d been doing that all night, that seemingly unconscious touching. It was like sharing a meal with static cling.
It was also more than a little awkward discussing this topic in front of his new sister-in-law. They hardly knew each other, but if Evie could shed some light on what he should do, he’d listen. Tyler was proving to be much less useful than he’d hoped.
Grant turned to Evie instead. “So, I tell her I’m thinking about her, and then what?”
“Tell her why.”
“Why . . . what?”
Evie’s smile was patient. “Why you can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Oh, but I’m not . . . I’m not sure why I can’t stop thinking about her.” He felt like someone had asked him to do a very complicated story problem in math class. It was making him sweat.