Games of the Heart (Crimson Romance) Read Online Free

waiting.
    “As I was hiding, I realized I was a wretched waste of humanity, actually. You don’t need to blink — I saw that — I didn’t do anything you’d find disgraceful for a man of my age. Now I think I’ve worked out a solution, of sorts.”
    “Men your age still do a lot,” I interrupted because I didn’t want to putter down the pathway of anything remotely connected with Gramps’ young chick, but a gal’s got to be tough. “I still don’t get it.” For the tenth time I washed out the coffee pot that didn’t need another rinse.
    Gramps stifled a yawn. “Hey, stop grumbling. You’re not boring me, but I’m fading fast.”
    “Cut to the chase, Gramps.”
    “It’s dancing.”
    “You’re going to become a professional dancer, you who refused to dance at my wedding because you have feet of clay or something like that? Positive thinking is groovy, but dancing isn’t something you jump into, especially competition dance like those shows on TV. Um, how will this help you?”
    “Honey, how can someone with your over-educated brain be so lacking in common sense? I’m old and disgusting, but I’ve got an ace up my sleeve, and you’re going to help me. We’re going dancing.”
    “You’ve seen me dance, Gramps, and it’s almost as disgusting as my playing the rock music you and Slam Dunk perform. Besides, I inherited your left feet.”
    “How often, Janey, do you miss this point?”
    “It’s two in the morning. How’s that for a reason? If you want to go out dancing tonight, you’ve got the wrong granddaughter, even if I am your only granddaughter. Besides you’ve got more explaining to do, especially the part about the little lady who has been making you happy. Wait. Where are you going?”
    “Let’s settle this tomorrow. This is a wagering town, and my best bet is that the guest room is straight down the hall, and knowing you, Jane, there will be fresh sheets on the bed, a bathrobe in the closet, and plenty of toiletries in the bathroom, still in flowered wrappers. If you want to talk more, you’re about to have the bathroom door closed in your pretty little face. The rest can wait until tomorrow, and you can come down a bit off your high preachin’ horse.” He turned and muttered in a loud voice, “Have you always been this bossy? I’d forgotten.”
    I was sputtering as he limped out of sight. I really and truly wanted a strong cup of coffee, but at two A.M. , that’s madness, although I’ve been nuts before. What I did was to take deep cleansings breaths of the coffee beans, flicked off the light and headed to bed.
    I crawled between the sheets, pulled them to my neck and tried to focus on happy thoughts. Where was my happy place? The sandman and I wrestled. Like clockwork, I checked the clock at regular intervals from two to six, when the alarm turned on the radio to those ghastly chipper voices of early morning talk show hosts, announcing another hot, but dry “reallllly fabulous day in Vegas, baby.” I slapped the thing to the floor. It bounced, and the sound hurt my head. In my quest to get to my happy place, I’d neglected to shut my blinds before those four hours of tossing and turning not to be thought of as sleep, and now the sizzle had begun to heat the room. It was going to be a scorcher, for sure.
    Then from the living room, I heard elevator music. I don’t even have an elevator. It was from West Side Story . The normal Gramps, before he became a rootin’-tootin’ cowboy, would have listened to the Rolling Stones, rap, or hip-hop. This was bad, I thought, as I pulled myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Now some preachers get on their knees, and trust me, I’ve got the calluses to prove I do this, but right then God and I needed to look at each other. “I know you never give us more than we can handle, but Lord, I am just not that good. If you want my help, give me a clue.” I shrugged into my robe, dove under the bed for my scuffs and headed to the living