“Primrose,” I said with an extended hand.
He took it. “How is she?”
My thoughts retracted for a moment. Here I was introducing myself, and he was already digging for information concerning Poppy.
“She’s fine, but you should know that since you took her somewhere last night,” I said, not willing to give him any more than that.
Finley smirked, then turned that smirk loose on Grayson who was still moving around the kitchen. “As if she’d let me do that. So are you two a—”
“We haven’t really—” I said.
At the same time, Grayson cut me off with a, “Yes.”
Smooth, Prim.
Finley made no attempt to hide his growing grin. “Hmm. Well, I just popped by because I smelled something delicious. I guess I’ll see myself out.”
Once Finley was gone, I peered past Grayson’s shoulder to the large clock on the wall. It was seven minutes past seven.
“Shit!” I scrambled to my feet. “I need to get home and change.” I jetted past him to the bathroom where my dress and heels from the night before were, only they weren’t where I’d left them.
“I hung up your dress so it wouldn’t get ruined,” I heard Grayson call from the other side of the wall. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway with a hanger in one hand and my shoes in the other.
“Thank you,” I said, taking them from him. Within seconds, I was out of his clothes and into the dress Poppy had insisted I wear. I wasn’t sure what it was about the morning sun, but regret seemed to always rise with it.
Grayson was sitting at his kitchen counter when I finished.
I handed him his clothes. He handed me the burrito, which was now wrapped in foil.
“Thank you for last night, Grayson.”
The kiss followed me around like a mischievous imp, plucking at my heels.
He was still sipping on his coffee with an aloofness I didn’t understand. “Don’t mention it.”
“I… uh… I really need to go if I’m going to make it to work on time.”
“Of course.”
I stilled. Closed my eyes, trying to quell the buzzing thoughts in my head. One thing poked through. He’d been just as into that kiss as I’d been. I knew that. Calling on a braveness I didn’t feel, I made my way over to him and kissed him before I could change my mind. Pressed my hands to either sides of his face. Smiled when I felt the subtle sigh from both our shoulders as we relaxed against each other.
“See you later?” I said when I pulled back, dizzy and sated.
“Definitely.”
I made it to work with five minutes to spare.
Poppy faced my cubicle with her head cupped in her hands, her manicured eyebrows raised in anticipation.
“So…” she said the moment she saw me. “How did it go with lover boy?”
I set my purse on my desk and sat. Took a gulp from the coffee Grayson had sent me with to give myself time to formulate what I’d tell her. It was my first kiss. Our first kiss. And then our second. And kissing him opened an entirely new world of possibilities. We took the dangerous trek from friendship into something more complicated.
Not to mention he basically admitted we were a thing to Finley… a name I most definitely did not want to bring up in Poppy’s presence.
“Come on,” she said, stomping her hands and feet in mock tantrum. “Tell me! I’m dying over here.” She dragged the notes of the last word out, wringing her hands around her neck as if she were actually dying.
I let out a tired laugh. “I think I’m never letting you take me to a bar again.”
She smacked me, batting her eyelashes my way.
“Well…” I chose every word carefully. “After we left, I brought up the girl in the tabloid. Turns out she’s Harrison’s daughter, who Grayson has known for forever.”
“Wait… Harrison has a daughter?”
My shoulders lifted with the same confusion. “I guess so. Grayson said he’s known her for forever. She was helping him with something Harrison needed. It was all misconstrued.”
Mischief tugged at the corners of her lips. “You know what this means, right?”
“That next time, we shouldn’t jump the gun? And I should most definitely never drink again,” I added with a weak attempt at a frown.
“Hangover?”
“The worst.”
“Well, on the bright side, this just means whatever you’re doing is working. Did you see how jealous he was last night? Not to mention he knocked a guy out to protect you, and then insisted on taking you home. He was practically sweating primal, caveman instincts. Me Tarzan. You Jane,” she said in a male voice.
“All things I’d be happy to forget.” I rubbed my eyes, which burned like two pits of lava, stomach rolling in rocky waves. Maybe he was right. Maybe breakfast would help. Tugging on my purse, I pulled out the burrito he wrapped for me.
“Shut the front door.” Poppy snatched it from my hands, pulled the foil back, and I swear her jaw hit the floor. “He made you his prized hangover remedy? Prim, this is… You know, the only person he has ever made this for is Finley—his best fucking friend. Damn, girl. What the hell have you done to him?”
“Nothing.” I snatched it from her. Took a huge bite to hide my growing smile at the thought I was the first to gain his special treatment.
“This is ground-breaking, Prim.” A thoughtful pause. “Maybe I can learn a few things from your piece once it’s written.”
My face blanched at the mention. The piece. I was supposed to have notes typed up for Quinn to review by the end of the week. A piece I’d barely given any attention to.
“Speaking of… do you have anything started yet?”
I took another bite before muttering, “Sort of.” It was a bold-faced lie. Every time I tried to write, I found myself staring at a blank screen. How did I sum up what Grayson and I were? How did I put into words how we just worked? I didn’t want to tear apart what we started and turn it into a science project. Didn’t want to take something that felt organic and natural and make it into something coded and listed with specific steps. Couldn’t fathom taking the private things he told me and putting them out there like every other journalist out to make a name for themselves.
When I glanced up, Poppy’s eyes were pinned to the burrito, tongue running over her lips.
Without a word, I handed her the other half.
“Thank you!” Her mouth clamped down on it, a moan squeezing in between her chewing. “God, it’s been so long since I’ve tasted this. Finley would always sneak me one when I’d stay over. Is it fucked up to sleep over at a guy’s place solely because you knew it would end up with his roommate’s famous hangover burrito?”
Laughter ripped past my lips, accompanied by a snort, which then caused my hands to shoot up to brace against the sides of my head. Though the aspirin took the edge off, the pain was still very real.
Her smile was wide, satisfied with my reaction. “I know. I’m shameless.”
“In your shame’s defense, I will attest this here burrito is magical.”
“It is, isn’t it?” she said before taking another bite.
“What’s magical?” Brinley asked as she stopped in front of our cubicles.
“Dick,” Poppy sputtered.
I swear, with her, I was constantly rolling my eyes. “This breakfast burrito,” I corrected.
“Thank you, Prim. At least someone in this office is mature.”
“Being mature is for the birds,” Poppy shot back.
Brinley had stacks of papers clutched in her hands. Her hair was fastened with two pencils, curly strands falling against her freckled face. “Does it have meat in it?” she asked, making a face while ignoring Poppy’s remark.
“Steak.”
The frown she wore dripped with disgust.
“Brinley’s a vegetarian.” Poppy said the word as if it were acid in her mouth. A pinch to her lips and nose followed suit.
Brinley shifted uncom
fortably. “Spare me the jokes, Poppy.”
As if Poppy had only just seen her, she set her burrito down and stood. Got close to her face, inspecting her as if she were a mirror. “Are you… are you wearing makeup?”
Brinley clutched the papers tighter against her chest, her chin lifted in an attempt at defiance. “Maybe.”
Poppy’s hip popped out, a hand resting on it. “Spill.”
“I have a blind date tonight.”
“With who?”
“I don’t know.” The chords of nerves were plucked in her tone. “Hence why they call it blind.”
“Who set you up?” Poppy stalked around her as if it were a real interrogation.
Brinley stayed strong, chin up. Shoulders back. “No one.”
“Bull.”
Brinley’s shoulders caved. “My mother.”
Poppy’s laughter swam around her. “Jesus, Brin. Didn’t you learn from the last guy she set you up with? You do realize your mother’s bracket of men can all dine off the fifty-five and up menu, don’t you?”
“He’s the son of one of her friends.”
“And no doubt an ass.” Poppy let out a sigh. “One of these days, you’ll listen and come out with me. I can so help you find someone worth your time.”
“I told you I don’t party, Poppy.”
“And you apparently don’t learn either.” Reclaiming her chair, she returned her attention to the burrito.
I watched as Brinley’s featured morphed with emotion. Pain and confusion hidden behind a beautiful smile.
“For what it’s worth, good luck,” I said, offering a sympathetic smile.
“Thanks.”
“What is all that?” I pointed to what she held.
“Oh, this?” She glanced down at the papers in her hand. “It’s the poetry submissions for this Sunday’s first ever Poet’s Corner.”
“Did the mystery poet submit again?” Poppy asked. We both knew Brinley was obsessed with whomever contributed the poem that sparked the idea. She’d been relentlessly trying to track down the mysterious person with nothing to show for her efforts.
A grin bloomed like wildflowers in spring across Brinley’s face.
“Let me see!” Poppy reached for the paper Brinley was digging for. “Oh. Still with the broken heart, I see.”
“Read it out,” I said, curious.
Poppy cleared her throat, then held up the paper. “Her heart wilted into a thousand pieces. A lover’s souvenir. And I was—hey!”
Brinley had snatched the paper from her hands. “These poems come from people’s hearts, you know? They pour themselves into these words. I won’t let you and your twisted outlook on love tear into them without any regard.”
With that, she scampered off.
“You shouldn’t do that to her,” I said once Brinley was gone.
“Do what?”
“Goad her like that. She’s sweet, Poppy. Dating is rough. It doesn’t come easily for everyone.”
She snorted. “If you had seen her cry over a guy as many times as I have, then you’d understand.” She turned toward me. “Listen, Prim. I’ve known Brinley for almost four years now. She’s an amazing woman. She just… her luck runs thin in the department of the opposite sex. For years, I’ve been trying to get her to come out with me. To loosen up that permanent sad-girl hunch to her shoulders. But she can’t ever get out from under her mother’s thumb.”
“Who’s her mom?”
“An old hag with even older money. She lives with Brinley. Won’t let the poor girl fart without having to sniff it.”
“Oh, God. That’s a terrible visual.”
“Oh, it gets worse, but that’s talk for another day.” She pointed to Quinn, who was marching toward her office. “Back to work. Email me what you come up with before you send it off to the screaming banshee.”
“Okay.” I glanced toward my computer. A second later, my phone buzzed.
It was Grayson.
I want to see you again. How does tonight sound? I have something special I want to share with you.
Butterflies roared to life as I read and reread his text. It was a dream. Fully and completely. Although I felt the truth in his kiss, my brain still couldn’t wrap itself around it. Me. Primrose. He wanted to see me again. Share something special with me.
I think that can be arranged. What time and where?
It took him mere seconds to write back. My place. How does seven sound?
Seven it is.
Turning my attention to the computer again, I opened a blank document and stared at it as if it were a pit viper. My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, inching away with every second.
You can do this. Just type some words. Any words.
But my fingers wouldn’t move. My thoughts had cemented themselves in my brain, refusing to release through them. Glancing away, I stared at the picture of me and my sisters pinned to my wall.
Be the alternate you. Let her write it.
Yes. Be the alternate Prim. The one who got me to where I was now. The one who would carry me forward. I took a deep breath. Blowing it out, I forced myself to ignore all the reasons why I shouldn’t even think about doing the article and typed in the heading:
How to Turn a Player into a Stayer
by Primrose Amberly
Nostalgia
It was a hot night. The kind when the sky wouldn’t pour. It just roared with frustration, letting only a smattering of silent tears slip through bright flashes of light.
I was walking toward Grayson’s place, hands clutching the strap of my purse. My stomach floated in my belly, carried by the wings of butterflies. All day, my thoughts kept getting away from me, drifting into the clouds where the riddle of his surprise sat like a prized jewel on an altar.
What could it be? I’d never once been surprised by anyone before.
Well, on purpose.
He was standing by his front door when I approached, looking fit for the silver screen in a pair of dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt that showcased his stupidly fit body. A tempting swirl played in his topaz eyes, syrupy and inviting, accompanied by a smolder that cranked my heart to full speed.
He was dreamy. Insanely, unfairly, absurdly dreamy.
“Feeling better?” he asked as he came down the steps and wrapped his arms around me. Heat radiated around him as if he were his own furnace.
What was this sensation? Like I could float off the ground at any moment. Being this close made my brain dizzy. Made my thoughts misfire, sending the wrong signals to my heart. The kind of signals that would get me in trouble.
“I am now.”
He kissed my forehead. “Good.”
Reaching his hand out, I took it, then we started down the street. “So where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Can I have a hint?”
“Hmm…” He rubbed his chin with a playful smile. “It’s in a building.”
“Food?”
“Nope.”
We stopped at a crosswalk, then ran to the other side before a car came.
“Movies?”
His chuckle was as warm as the night air. “You know, I haven’t been to a theater in years.”
“Same, though I’m sure for entirely different reasons.”
His brow lifted in question.
“Instead of spending money to enjoy two hours of my life, I saved it to fund the big move to the city. I pretty much never go out, unless it’s for coffee.”
“That’s a shame?”
“Why?”
“Because the world is missing out on how wonderful you are.”
My cheeks throbbed from grinning so much. “I reserve that wonder only for those who are special to me.”
His hand came up to his chest, a charade of shock on his face. “Are you saying, Primrose Amberly, that you consider me special?”
I made it a point to keep my eyes on his as I said, “The best kind of special.”
It was odd seein
g his cheeks slightly flush as his gaze searched mine.
“Well then, I’m truly honored.”
The flood of nightly traffic carried us forward until we were standing outside of what looked like an abandoned building. Grayson took a step forward while I took a step back. The second he recognized my hesitation, his chuckle spliced through the night air.
“It isn’t what it appears to be.”
“Oh, you mean a butcher factory for the criminally insane? Or maybe Dexter’s kill room?”
“You watched Dexter?”
“Who didn’t?”
I peered past his shoulder. There were a few people standing in the small parking lot under a flickering street lamp. Ominous. “You do realize this is the moment in every horror film where the female lead is yelled at for being an idiot and not seeing the signs?”
“Well,” he said, linking his fingers through mine, “the only thing this female lead is about to experience is nothing short of amazing.”
He aimed his savory grin at me, and my shoulders slumped in surrender. It should be banned to have a smile like his. Like a snake charmer or a magician, willing things his way with those pearly whites.
Following him to the door, I sent out a text to Poppy with my location, warranting another luscious chuckle from him, then chewed on my bottom lip as he knocked and stood back.
A small slot slid open, and two big round eyes appeared.
“Rugrats,” Grayson said. A second later, the door slid open.
“Wait… that’s a real thing? The whole code word?” I said with air quotes.
“We’re getting in, aren’t we?”
He pulled me inside, and I found myself thoroughly floored. We were standing in a small room covered in posters from the nineties. TV shows. Movies. Heartthrobs. Headlines. Overhead, speakers played … Baby One More Time by Britney Spears.
“It’s a pop-up art museum,” Grayson said, one hand tucked into his back pocket while the other smoothed through his raven-black thatch of hair. “Fin told me about it. I figured it’d be something you’d be interested in.”
Virginal Headlines: Love Between The Headlines Page 15
