Page 38 of You First
“The detective is fine,” Gray leveled. “It’s the girl who’s giving me trouble.”
“Giving you trouble? Aren’t you in charge?” Meredith asked, forcing her eyes back to the celery chopping. She had to stop hanging on his every word. It was pathetic.
Gray huffed. “You’d think, but characters have the habit of coming to life and doing their own thing. This one wants to help too much in the big escape. She’s making it hard for my guy to be heroic.”
Meredith couldn’t help it. She laughed.
Gray shook his head. “She’s stealing the scene, and you’re laughing.”
Meredith tamed her giggles. “So what’s wrong with a little help? Your hero doesn’t have to do it all by himself.”
A low rumbling came from Gray’s throat. “That’s what she just told him. He’s got a bullet in his shoulder, and she wants his gun.” Gray shook his head. “It isn’t what I planned.”
Meredith pictured the scene in her mind. “Sounds interesting.”
“Dammit,” he hissed, a smile playing on his lips. “I knew you’d say that.”
“Here,” she said, handing him the bag of carrots. “Wash six of these. It’ll help take your mind off your troubles.”
Gray took the bag and stepped behind her to the sink. “Now that the idea is there, I can’t picture it any other way. My initial plan seems too easy.”
Hearing him talk about writing as something so messy and uncertain was fascinating. It seemed organic and magic at the same time.
“So what’s the worst that could happen if he gives her the gun — from a plot perspective, I mean,” Meredith asked.
Gray joined her by the cutting board with a half-dozen washed carrots, and he shrugged. “Well, by giving her his gun, he’s letting her protect him, not the other way around,” he explained. “It’s pretty much handing over his masculinity.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Meredith said, giving him her bestbullshitface. “Lots of women have guns. A gun is a gun, not a penis.”
As soon as the word was out, Meredith slapped her hand over her mouth. She stared at Gray, bug-eyed, and didn’t have to wait long for his reaction.
Though the corners of his mouth twitched, his brows reached as high on his forehead as they could possibly go, and his eyes smiled full-tilt.
He leaned back against the island and casually crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at her with a mock contemplative expression.
“‘A gun is a gun, not a penis,’” he mused.
Meredith covered her eyes. “Oh my God,” she groaned. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”
“I’m fairly certain you did,” he teased. “And now that you put it that way, I’d have to say, unfortunately, in some cases, you are probably wrong.”
She moved her hands and eyed him. “Now, you’re just being silly.”
“No, think about it. You don’t think there are some men who use weapons as a form of compensation?” he asked, completely serious. “I mean, what about dictators and gang leaders and warlords? I’ll bet some of them — maybe even most of them — are substituting.”
Meredith got over her embarrassment enough to give it some thought. “Okay, I see your point.”
“And I guess, unfortunately, the reverse is sometimes true.” He said this frowning. “Sometimes a penis is a gun.”
It took everything in her power not to react to his words. Because the first thought that came to her mind was Jamie. Fairly or unfairly, she thought of him. It was as though he walked around with a loaded weapon. Meredith certainly feared it. She pushed the notion and the shame it carried aside and saw her opportunity.
“Well, then,” she said, giving him a pointed look. “You definitely want Alex Booth to hand it over. Because he’s surely man enough to share it.”
Gray tilted his chin up, thought this over a moment, and nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”
Meredith smiled, and then she couldn’t help herself. “And, you know, chances are she knows how to use it.”
Gray’s sharp inhale beside her made her cheeks burn, so she busied herself by dropping chopped celery into the Crock-pot.
