Page 51 of Beautiful Mess

The message barely has time to show as delivered before my phone buzzes in my hand, one message right after another coming in.

Georgia: Holy shit, Grace! *fire emoji* My sister is a fucking BABE!

Gemma: Definitely NOT crazy. You look HOTTTT.

Charley: I’m wet. *water emoji* You looking for a third?

Charley: Kidding…mostly. But seriously, I’m with Georgia and Gemma, you look fucking sexy, Grace. Conway’s going to lose his mind…and his pants.

I can’t help the grin that slides onto my face as I read their messages, and as I glance at my reflection again, chewing on my bottom lip, I force myself to see me the way they do. Instead of examining myself under a judgmental lens, picking out all the areas I would typically wish were different—like, how if I had Gemma’s boobs, the top might look sexier, or if I had Georgia’s hips, the bottoms might fill out better, or if I was taller, like Charley, my legs and my torso wouldn’t look so stocky—I take myself in appreciatively and kindly.

And they’re right… Idolook hot. Too bad knowing that doesn’t make me any less nervous.

But fuck it, I’m doing it anyway.

Me: Thanks, girls. You’re the best. I’m leaving my house now!

There’s nothing better in life than a solid, supportive girl gang. Having a circle of women who root for you, always, is invaluable and one of my greatest blessings.

After I tug on and button up the trench coat, I swipe my purse off my dresser and stuff my phone inside before heading out the door like a woman on a mission. I’ve never done anything like this before—never even dreamed of doing it—but apparently, I woke up this morning with a frisky hair up my ass. The closer I get to Conway’s street, the more twisty my stomach becomes. The last time we saw each other after my nail appointment a couple of days ago was ridiculously hot and such a rush, but we didn’t get to talk about anything.

Which, okay, was probably a good thing because my head was such a jumbled mess, I wouldn’t have even known what to say. Ergo dropping to my knees and blowing him. I’ve had time to think about it now, and I still don’t really know what it is I’m feeling, but I think at least talking about it would be helpful. We’re both mature adults; there’s no reason I need to tiptoe around this just because it makes me anxious and sweaty. Maybe if I can figure out where his head’s at, I’ll be able to decipher my own confusing thoughts about the situation… And also, get laid, hence the lingerie, trench coat combo.

Choosing not to overthink it, I climb out as soon as I park my car in his driveway, and with my shoulders back, chin held high, and the sound of my heels clicking against the concrete, I carry myself to the front door and knock.

Don’t overthink it, Grace. You’re hot. You got this.

The door swings open, and a rush of flutters swarms my belly. Except when my gaze lands on the man standing before me, my heart thuds against my ribs and my stomach drops because the person greeting me isnotConway.

“Grace?” His tone is light, and there’s a slight wrinkle to his brow as the corner of his mouth tips up in a way that once made me feel tingly inside.

Taking a step back, my face scrunches up before I have a chance to stop it. “Cole?” I cross my arms over my chest, thankful I didn’t decide to unbutton my coat before the door opened. “What are you doing here?”

Chuckling, my high school sweetheart turned ex-boyfriend says, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Shit. What do I say? How do I explain casually dropping by his fuckingdad’shouse.

Sweat beads across my brow as I stare up at Cole, wide-eyed, my mind completely blanking.

“Who is it, Cole?” Conway’s deep voice sounds from down the hall a moment before he opens the door wider and appears behind his son. Clamping down on his molars, his eyes rake down my body before coming back up to my face, and I don’t miss the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Grace,” he mutters before clearing his throat and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Fuck, he looks hot today.

“Oh, hey,” I mumble awkwardly. “I was, uh… I was just?—”

“Late again,” he clips out.

My heart stalls as my eyebrows dip. “Huh?”

Cole looks between me and his dad, looking as confused as I feel. “Late for what?”

Yeah, late for what?

Conway’s nostrils flare on a harsh exhale, lips pressed into a tight line as his jaw flexes—a look I’ve seen directed at me at least a dozen times since we got paired together—as his gaze cuts over to Cole. “Grace and I are partners on the PTA this year, and we made plans to meet today to discuss our next fundraiser.” Sighing, he checks his watch before meeting my gaze. “You were supposed to be here twenty-five minutes ago, Grace. Would it kill you to be on time for once in your life?”

It takes a second, but eventually it hits me what he’s doing.

Making a show of rolling my eyes, I spit back, “God, you’re so fucking annoying. Would it killyouto relax for once in your life?”

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