Page 64 of My Grape Crush
Dani follows up with her version of posturing. “Powerful as an avalanche.”
I feel a surge of pure connection, so intense it wobbles my kneecaps. In a single, unbroken gesture, I pull Dani close and rock us back and forth. The same current that hummed between us in her kitchen kicks in. Bolder and more powerful.
“You should be writing their ad copy, Miss Pink Pearl.”
“One day,” she says. “I’ll have my own agency.”
“Is that your dream?”
She hesitates a moment. Then, “One of them.”
“Based solely on your crisis management skills, I’d bet a small fortune on your success. You slayed during the model fiasco. You shit-kicked those fangirls outta here, and never once lost your cool. You were polite. You were bloodydetermined.”
She laughs a little, like my assessment of her was the upshot she needs. “Thanks for the props. But I’m not Wonder Woman.”
“Says who? You proved clutch in the tough times. And look at how creative you are. People like you move mountains, given the chance.” I capture her chin with my thumb and forefinger and lever those beautiful strange irises back to mine. For some unknown reason, the tagline ofAre they real, or are they Maybelline?fills my head. “What would it take to open your own agency?”
“Money. And moxie.” She looks away for a beat and then back to me. “Mostly the latter. The belief in myself.”
“You do not lack gumption,” I say. “Not from what I’ve seen.”
She’s the type to embrace fear, unafraid to make a decision, a head full of ideas. This can only mean a jerk like Brett probably shredded her self-confidence—to the point where she’s second-guessing herself. Suddenly, an idea pops into my head.
Thehow-tothat eluded me.
“Maybe I can help you.”
Her forehead crinkles with confusion. “What do you mean?”
Did not expect us to land here. Funny how it all crystalizes into this actual thing. But before I can explain what I’m thinking, my phone vibrates in the beach bag.
“Hold on,” I tell her. “I need to turn that damn thing off.”
Instead of blindly shutting it down, I skim the message first.
MT: Hi Rhys. Any news??? Love you. Mom.
Tension climbs my spine, both shoulders square, and my eyes dart briefly to Dani. We’re both quiet, but the air doesn’t feel empty.
“If you need to text or talk, go right ahead,” she says. “I can hang out in the bedroom.”
A shallow breath escapes my lips, and I keep my voice steady. “It’s cool. Nothing pressing.”
Nothing, unless you count the guilt weighing down on me. I owe Mom. I know that much. My disappearing act messed her up, and she’s been begging for a visit since I got back, texting me every day. Dad weaponized his authority by denying Mom the chance to visit me in Greece, proof positive that he and I are more alike than I realized. Two goats, stubborn as hell. The fact that we have anything in common is a miracle, though that has no bearing on the real issue: this is still my mess to fix.
But it's like needing a root canal, and you procrastinate scheduling it for months.
Then you wonder why your teeth rot and fall out.
I shut the phone off, swallow past the knot in my throat, and tell Dani I’m not hungry either—not for food. She studies me, sensing there’s something, but recognizing now is not the time to lean in. And while I like to spend my Friday nights marinating in family drama as much as the next guy, my thoughts have drifted to her tanned legs poking through the artfully frayed denim and how they would feel wrapped around my face.
She smiles. I smile back. Vibing without words.
Needless to say, I tug her across the villa into my bedroom.
No limp dicks here.
Not anymore.
