Page 69 of Dirty Grovel

“Was there… something else?”

He clears his throat. “Actually, I did want to discuss a few things with you. But it can wait until tomorrow.”

“No.” I gesture behind him, towards the colorful wicker chairs on the patio. “We’ve got time now. Let’s discuss it. I have a few things I want to talk to you about, too.”

He looks intrigued. “Is that right?”

“I would have brought it up sooner, but you seem to have been avoiding me these last two days.” The wicker chair creaks under his weight. “I was starting to think that I might have to put my pirate costume on again just to get your attention.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna stop you. Being a pirate wench definitely suited you.”

“‘Wench’?!”

“I got news for you, princess,” he teases. “Plain ol’ pirates don’t show that much cleavage.”

I’m turning a bright shade of pink. I can only hope that the moonlight can camouflage me. Judging from the smirk on Oleg’s face, though, it’s not.

“It was the only costume they had left.”

“A likely story.”

I roll my eyes. “And okay, yes, I figured it would be easier to get you to do what I wanted if I were showing a bit more skin.”

He laughs. “I thought there was a whiff of manipulation about that costume.”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“I’m not complaining. If you feel the need to manipulate me again in the future, might I suggest a nice, sexy nurse’s uniform? Or a French maid. I’m partial to either.”

“Role-playing, huh? Is that the way to get to you?”

“One of many. But I’m not about to give away the rest.”

I eye him cautiously, wondering if I dare bring this up now. “I have a new role-playing game I thought we could try.”

He arches an eyebrow, his hands tensing against the chair. “And what roles will we be playing?”

“Something radical,” I tell him. “Friends.”

He leans back in his chair, the stiffness gone from his shoulders. “Friends, huh? That is extreme.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And I think—given the circumstances—it’s in this baby’s best interests that we get along. I know it’ll be hard, but?—”

“Why would it be hard?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Well, I thought it might be… a strange concept for you.”

He tilts his head and his eyes disappear behind a veil of shadow. I have no idea what he’s thinking, and even less of an idea how he’s feeling.

“Being friends with you wouldn’t be a hardship for me,” he says quietly. I search for the punchline in his tone, but it appears to be all sincerity. “You make it easy.”

“I… I do?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve never seen someone who so many people take to so quickly.” He waves to the bungalow behind him. “Including my best friend and his entire family. Not to mention my housekeeper and her son.”

“You’re leaving out a few key players,” I point out. “Your mother, for one. And your uncle. They aren’t exactly singing my praises from the mountaintop.”

“My uncle is an asshole. And my mother is a bitch.”

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