Chapter 10
“Come in,” Helen called without looking up from her laptop. She shouldn’t be writing at work. She especially shouldn’t be writing love scenes at work. But it was either that or work on the desk schedule again, and since she’d slept through this morning’s writing time (well, she didn’t sleep through it. Thank you, Henry), her font of inspiration was full to bustin’. First against the wall, then with her on top, then from behind, then her on top again because she liked it and Henry did too. Tonight they would have to find other positions. And oral.
Good god, she was a monster.
A sex monster.
A sex-with-Henry monster.
Well, there were worse things in the world. And wasn’t she lucky to have such a good friend?
“I was going to wait for you to explain, but hell would have frozen and thawed, and I don’t have time for that.”
Helen turned around to see Grace hovering in her doorway.
Grace, wanting an explanation.
“Explain what?” Helen said, in her best impression of a person who has no idea what her friend is talking about.
“Uh-huh,” said Grace, clearly not convinced. “The other night Jake and I ran into Henry walking your dogs, which is not crazy. Usually you’re with him, but fine. Then I noticed that his top button was undone, which is unusual. Then I realized that his top button was undone, and he wasn’t wearing his bow tie.”
“So?” Helen asked, knowing she was about to say something untrue. “It was late. Maybe he wanted to let loose.”
Grace snorted. “You and I both know that Henry does not ‘let loose.’ C’mon, Helen. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Helen lied. She begged her cheeks not to flush as she was reminded of just how well Henry “let loose.”
Grace sat on the chair next to Helen’s desk. “A little while ago, Henry told me he thought you were acting weird. He wouldn’t let it go, even when I told him I didn’t think he was right. Lately, he’s stopped insisting on your weirdness. And now he’s acting weird, and now that I look at it, so are you. So you can tell me what’s going on or you can tell me to butt out, but please quit pretending it’s normal that Henry was walking your dogs half-naked.”
“He wasn’t half-naked!”
“No bow tie is half-naked for Henry. As you have pointed out to me in the past.”
Helen sighed. Grace was right. The first time the three of them went running together, Helen half expected Henry to show up in a T-shirt and a bow tie. When he didn’t (just the T-shirt), she spent most of the run teasing him about finally getting a full view of his Adam’s apple.
Her big mouth was getting in the way of this keeping-secrets business. Oh well. In for a penny and all that, she figured.
“Henry’s helping me with a project,” Helen began as quickly as possible. She didn’t want to lose her nerve. She was being honest now. “See, I wrote this romance novel—”
“What!”
“Hold on, just let me finish. I wrote a romance novel and I found an editor who’s interested—”
“What? Helen, that’s great—”
“But she says my love scenes need work, so Henry volunteered to, uh, be my research assistant.”
Grace shook her head as if she was trying to loosen up the part of her brain that was preventing her from understanding what Helen was talking about. “Let me see if I have this right: You’re sleeping with Henry?”
Helen nodded.
“For research,” Grace added.
Technically, that was right. That was kind of the deal she and Henry had struck. It just sounded so bizarre when Grace said it. But it wasn’t bizarre. It was research.
Toe-curling, mind-blowing research.
“There are so many things I want to say to you right now, but I can’t figure out which one to start with.”
Helen nodded.
“It’s probably most polite for me to ask about your book. Which I am very curious about, don’t get me wrong, but the Henry . . .” Grace sighed. “So . . . tell me about the book.”
Helen did, about the MMA fighter and the woman who opens up his hard shell to reveal a soft, gooey, sexy interior.
“And it needs better love scenes, so you got a research partner. You couldn’t just, like, watch videos?”
“I did. It’s not the same.”
“No, it’s not.”
They sat in silence for a minute, lost in thoughts about videos and their much preferable human counterparts.
“Just promise me one thing,” Grace said, breaking the spell. “Right now it sounds like this is purely academic—”
“Purely,” Helen lied.
“Fine. But if, by some strange quirk of the universe, feelings start to happen, you’ll let me share in your happiness.”
“OK.” That seemed a little too easy, Helen thought. She wasn’t having feelings—come on, this was Henry. Henry of the bow ties and the strong hands. And the wicked tongue. And the muscles . . . those weren’t feelings. It was just sex. Great, amazing, best-ever sex from the last person on earth she’d thought was capable of such a thing.
But surprise and wonderment were not feelings.
Not change-the-nature-of-the-relationship feelings, certainly.
“And,” Grace continued, “promise me that you won’t put me in the middle of any bananas that happen if the feelings stop.”
There would never be bananas, Helen thought. He’s just Henry.
“Well, that’s really romantic of you,” Helen said.
“I’m just saying. I’ve never really thought about you and Henry as a couple.”
“Who said anything about a couple?” Not her. Definitely not her.
“It could work, though. I mean, you’re kind of opposites. But, then, Jake and I are really different. And we totally work.”
“Well, Henry and I aren’t working on anything but my book.”
Grace held up her pinky finger. “Just in case,” she said.
Helen completed the pinky swear.
Not that she needed to. There would be no drama. This was, as Grace said, purely academic.