Free The Unidentified Redhead (1) by Alice Clayton Page A

Don't get all choked up. I'm home now,” she stated dramatically, taking in my tear stained face.
    “Funny, Holls, funny. Cocktail?” I asked, gesturing towards the fridge.
    “Are you offering or asking me to make one?” She rolled her eyes, already on her way.
    “Asking obviously. Extra dirty please,” I reminded her as she grabbed the vodka and olives.
    “Something smells good…what the hell happened to your hair?” she inquired, stopping in her tracks to take a closer look. I hadn't had time to shower yet and my hair was still in orbit from the beach/poo incident.
    “You don't want to know, but I'll tell you later.” I sighed, thinking about the heaven that was happening right before the shit hit the fan.
    Are you technically a fan? Hi-Yo! Bah Dum Bum.
    “Never mind, I'll let it remain a mystery,” she replied, sitting down across from me at the counter. “So, how is the British invasion going? Has he invaded your hoohah yet?”
    Sweet lord.
    “How long have you been waiting to use that one?” I asked, staring at her.
    “Just since this afternoon, I swear,” she protested. “Things went well, though, I take it?”
    “Yeah, it was good. And no hoohah has been invaded.” I gestured with my knife, pointing it at her.
    “Really? You're losing your touch, missy.”
    “If I may remind you, Slutty Slutterson, I only met him a few days ago. That's hardly enough time to let anyone invade anything,” I scolded her, dropping the pasta in the pot with a big handful of kosher salt. Giada would have been proud.
    “And if I may remind you of a certain night in New York City, New Year's Eve, I believe it was…” she scolded back.
    “No, you may not remind me. That was a long time ago,” I shushed her.
    “Really, Grace, in a bathroom at the Marriott Marquis…for shame.” She shook her finger at me.
    “Enough! You wanna go? You wanna go?” I warned. “Graduation? Nicholas Rabinowitz…and his girlfriend?”
    That shut her up fast.
    “Truce?” she huffed, eying me warily.
    “Truce,” I agreed, offering her my olive.
    “Olive juice,” she said.
    “Olive juice, too, ya little fruitcake,” I admitted, adding oil to the pan and lightly browning some garlic.
    “Hmm, so no invasion yet. But how did the afternoon go?” she asked, stealing a tomato out of the bowl.
    “Hey, you'll spoil your dinner! And today was…wow,” I said, closing my eyes briefly.
    “That good, huh? Where did you go?” she asked, taking the opportunity while my eyes were closed to grab another tomato.
    “We drove Sunset all the way to the beach and then had lunch at Gladstone's. I saw that, by the way,” I chided, calling her out on her tomato thievery.
    “And then what happened?” she asked, leaning forward on her stool.
    “Then we walked on the beach and we talked and laughed and laid on the sand, .” I rushed through the last part, holding my breath to see which admission would get the loudest scream.
    I was surprised when I heard, “He kissed you! Fuck me, Grace, you just made out on a freaking beach with Super Sexy Scientist Guy!” She launched herself across the cook top and hugged me, coming dangerously close to lighting herself on fire.
    “Hey, hey, watch yourself! Be careful, please. I want to go dancing tonight, not to the burn unit!” I shouted, untangling her arms from around my neck and scooting her safely back across to her side of the counter. She watched me closely as she sipped her drink.
    “He's not Joshua. He's Jack. And he's damn fine,” I added, pressing my lips together trying not to scream myself. “And we didn't technically make out. We kissed.”
    “Tongue?”
    “No tongue…not yet.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. She continued to watch me in amazement. I could tell she was beside herself that her best friend was getting some play. Holly and I still talked as if we were teenagers.
    “The thing is, though, I don't get it. I mean, I'm like, nine years older than he is,” I