by Whitney G.
CHARLOTTE: THEN
Seven years ago
Pittsburgh
THREE THINGS SET HIGHLAND Coffee apart from all the other coffee shops on campus. For one, they allowed customers to have unlimited mochas on their slower days. Two, they made all their famous sweets from scratch. And three, they had a second level that they opened on rainy days like today so we could take advantage of the view.
I arrived right when they opened their doors this morning, right after I saw the gray clouds outside my window. Armed with a comfortable hoodie and two of my favorite books, I was hoping to make the most of my only class-free day.
“Here you are, Charlotte.” The owner placed a fresh caramel latte on my table. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Wait a minute,” I said.
“Yes?”
“This is like the second week in a row that you haven’t asked me to pay for my coffee. Why?”
"I would tell you, but I swore to keep it a secret." She smiled.
“Well, can I guess and then you wink if my prediction is correct? It’s Grayson, isn’t it?”
“You can let me know when you need a refill.” She laughed and walked away from me.
I pulled out my phone and tapped on the calculator, staring at the last number I saved. If the café was going by the number of lattes I’d ordered since Grayson started “secretly” covering them for me, his total so far was one hundred and twenty-five dollars. I forced myself to calculate the amount Saturday night when my cheap-ass date was complaining about me wanting something from the concession stand at the movies.
It was bad enough that he made me pay my way because he "wasn't expecting to buy two tickets,” but he suggested that we walk to the supermarket and risk missing the first twenty minutes of the film. The reason? So he could save two dollars on the candy and get “way better drinks.”
I wasn’t even surprised when he asked for gas money at the end of the night. I was stunned that he had the audacity to ask me on a second date, though.
At this point, I was retiring my foolish college romance dreams and sticking to Nadira’s previous prescription of guy friends only. Every guy I dated disappointed me more than the last, and the one guy who was trying the hardest was completely out of the question.
No matter how many hours me and Nadira stayed up late to weigh the pros and cons of me becoming closer to Grayson—even as a friend, I couldn’t get past the media scrutiny and on-campus attention he received. If he was at a party, everyone knew he was there. If he changed his Facebook status, it instantly garnered thousands of likes. And the second it “looked” like he was with a girl—even if it was an alleged “post-game fuck” or consensual one night stand, the slut-shaming rumor mill received fresh wind. I was far too private for that, and although he was landing the starring role in all my latest fantasies, I was hoping he would eventually stop pursuing me.
“Are you talking to yourself?” The deep sound of his voice startled me, making me turn around.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “It’s not Tuesday.”
“Best friends should be able to see each other whenever they want.”
“Nadira is my best friend. You’re someone I tolerate.”
He laughed and took a seat, motioning for the barista.
“Good afternoon, Grayson.” She blushed as she walked over. “What can I get you?”
“A regular coffee and a box of glazed donuts. Me and my best friend are going to be here for a while.”
She muttered “Lucky bitch” under her breath before rushing off to get his requests.
“I’m in the middle of reading a very important book,” I said. “You’re interrupting.”
He lifted the book from my hands and flipped it over. “You’ve read Harry Potter already. Eight times, if I remember right."
“Everyone knows the ninth re-read of Harry Potter is the most important one.”
“I’m sure.” He smiled and waited until the barista finished setting down his donuts and coffee. “How was your date this weekend?”
"It was amazing." I picked up a donut. "It was the most romantic date I've ever been on in my life. He was a true gentleman all the way and I'll never forget it."
“Hmmm.” He sipped his coffee “Where exactly did he take you?”
“To the movies.”
“That’s romantic?”
"That's just the start. He also took me for a long walk on the waterfront and treated me to a five-star dinner in Station Square. We talked so long that the owner had to put us out at the end.”
“Which restaurant at Station Square?”
“Buca di Beppo.”
"Oh?" A smirk formed on his lips. "Is that so?"
"Yes."
“Well, that would’ve been impossible since our team moved our party there at the last minute, and we had the dining room from nine until three. So, unless your romantic date picked up your food to go or you went somewhere else, you’re lying to make me even more jealous than I already am.”
“You’re jealous?”
“That’s not the point,” he said. “Tell me the truth.”
“Okay, fine.” I let out a breath. “He made me buy my own ticket and concessions, and at the end, he asked for gas money. He also asked me on a second date.”
“Did you say no?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” I lied. “Maybe he was nervous and the second time will be better.”
“I highly doubt it. Do you have plans for this weekend?”
“I’m not sure. Nadira mentioned something since there’s no game this weekend. What about you? Surely you have a date or two lined up.”
“I don’t typically do those,” he said, “but if I did, I can guarantee you that I would know better than to take someone like you to the movies and dinner if I wanted to make an impression.”
I blushed and sipped my coffee.
“I’ll probably analyze the footage from my last game,” he said, changing the subject. “I want to improve on the three hundred seventy-five yards and twenty-two completions I threw.”
“Three hundred ninety-five.”
“What?”
“You threw for three hundred ninety-five yards.” I set down my cup. “And you had twenty-three completions.”
“I thought you weren’t that big on football.” He looked impressed.
“I’m not big on school spirit. I love football, though. Always have.”
“Hmmm.” He smiled. “Good to know.”
“Can I go back to reading my book now?”
“No.” He moved it to his side of the table. Then he pulled a folder from his backpack. “I need your help with my feminist Shakespeare papers first.”
“Those aren’t due until next month,” I said, pulling out his syllabus. “Not only that, but those should be some of the easiest papers for you to write.”
"If that were the case, I wouldn't be here asking you about it."
“Just make up whatever you think a female is thinking when she’s having an orgasm and ‘dying a thousand little deaths’ since that’s Shakespeare’s true interpretation and you’ll be fine.”
“Better yet,” he said, clicking his pen. “Why don’t you tell me that and we’ll call this a night?”
“I’m not the right person to ask.”
“Why not? Just think about the last time you had sex and tell me what was going through your mind when you came.” He sipped his coffee. “No judgment here.”
I sighed. “I wouldn’t know.”
"Is it because you tend to black out mentally during sex?" He clicked his pen again. "It might be easier for me to convey that idea instead."
“It’s because I’ve never had sex.”
He spat out his coffee and his eyes went wide. Then he just stared at me.
For a long time.
“Are you done, Grayson?”
“My apologies,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Not everyone has spent t
heir entire college career sleeping with everything that moves.”
“I haven’t had sex at all this semester.”
“I’m sure that’s a personal record for you.”
“We’re not talking about me. You’re a virgin?” He still looked surprised. “Were you ever going to tell me this?”
“I’m not sure when it would’ve been necessary for me to bring it up, so, no. I was never going to tell you that.”
“Interesting.” He shut his notebook. “Good for you.”
“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”
“I’m not.” He looked genuine.
“Hey, guys.” The owner stepped next to our table and set down two fresh lattes. “I’m going to have to close a little early today. My four o’clock barista didn’t show and I need to pick up my daughter from the babysitter. I’ll make this up to you on another rainy day, I promise.”
“No problem,” we said in unison. “Thank you.”
I tossed my things into my bag and headed down the steps, with Grayson close behind.
Stepping outside, I let up my umbrella and looked up at him. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course. Where’s your car?”
“I walked here today.” I shrugged. “My dorm is only a few blocks away.”
“Let me drive you.” He pulled car keys out of his pocket and the black SUV in front of us flashed its lights.
I didn’t get a chance to think about it. Grayson pressed his hand against the small of my back and walked me over to the passenger side. He opened the door and waited for me to buckle my seatbelt before moving to his side.
“Which dorm do you stay in?” He looked over at me as he cranked the engine.
“Lothrop Hall.”
“That’s more than a few blocks away.” He steered his car onto Forbes Avenue and turned on the windshield wipers. For the entire ride, neither of us spoke, and the rain pelting against his hood was the only sound between us.
When he pulled up to my dorm, he put the car in park and faced me. “Are you really going to give a second chance to someone who made you pay for everything on a first date?”
“Maybe.” I knew I didn’t sound convincing. “Not everyone in college gets tons of scholarship money and gifts of cars and coffee like you. I can’t afford that much either, you know.”
"I work every summer for my money," he said. "And when my father died, he left me his pension and this car we're sitting in. Those things were willed to me; they're not gifts."
“I didn’t mean it like that.” My voice trailed off. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Don’t be.” He turned off the car. “Answer my question about the date.”
“Grayson, I promise it’s not personal.”
“It’s beyond personal.” He leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, setting every single nerve in my body on fire.
“No.” I sighed. “No, I wouldn’t really go on a second date with someone like that.”
“And you’ll never go on a date with someone like me either?”
“We’ve talked about this.”
“We haven’t,” he said, locking his eyes on mine. “We haven’t talked about anything because you still refuse to give me your phone number. You also have yet to accept my friend request on Facebook.”
“I barely use Facebook.”
“That’s not the point.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “But just so you know, I’m not the quitting type. So, if you think I’m going to stop pursuing you, you’re sadly mistaken, and you’re about to learn a few things about my stamina.”
I blushed. “I’m sure your stamina is quite impressive, but—”
He pressed his lips against mine, cutting my sentence short. I sucked in a breath as he ran his fingers through my hair, as he bit my bottom lip before sliding his tongue against mine to control the tempo of the kiss.
“Wait.” I pulled back, temporarily caught off guard. “Are you really that upset about me not giving you my phone number?”
“No, I’m not upset at all. I’m fucking livid about it.” He pulled me close again, and I gave in and kissed him back. I shut my eyes as he softly bit my bottom lip—instantly making me wet. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he continually ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me like I’d never been kissed in my life.
Several minutes later, he slowly pulled away from me and kept his eyes on mine. “Just so you know,” he said, his voice hoarse, “yes, I’m jealous as fuck about your date. But I can guarantee that your next one, whoever he is, will never kiss you like that.”
I didn’t get a chance to respond. He got out of the car and walked over to my side, opening the door for me. He held an umbrella over my head as I stepped out and walked me to the entrance.
I tried to find something—anything, to say, but I couldn’t think of a single word.
“I’ll see you Tuesday.” He held the door for me and watched me until I stepped into the elevator.
GRAYSON: THEN
Seven years ago
Pittsburgh
KISSING CHARLOTTE JUST made this shit worse.
I was sitting in my living room, days later—unable to fully focus on the game tapes because all I could think about was her. My mind was alternating between the memory of kissing her in my car and processing the fact that she was a virgin.
The latter was normally an automatic deal breaker for me, and if she were anyone else, I would've stopped pursuing her at once, but for some reason, I was even more intrigued. Still, I wasn’t used to being rejected time after time, and I wasn’t used to caring about being rejected. I was accustomed to women saying “yes” to me within seconds, and I’d never had to work this hard just to get someone’s phone number.
“Does this text message say what I think it does, or am I still dreaming?” Kyle stumbled into our living room and plopped onto the couch. “In my dream, I had an inflatable hot tub in my bedroom, so I’m not sure if I’m completely awake yet.”
“You really do have an inflatable hot tub in your room, Kyle.” I glanced down our hallway and noticed a blonde tiptoeing out of his room.
Why is she climbing out of the window?
“Okay, so I am awake.” He laughed and held his phone in front of his face. “But your text message has to be a joke then, right?”
“Forget I ever sent it.”
“How can I convince a girl to give me her phone number?” He read my words aloud and laughed even louder. “I could’ve sworn you were the one who said we weren’t in high school anymore.”
“Go back to sleep, Kyle.”
"Trust me. I will." He was still laughing. "To answer your question, though. You say, Hey. I'm Grayson fucking Connors, and I want your phone number. That works ninety-nine percent of the time."
“I’ve already tried that on this girl.”
“Then try it on another one.” He shrugged. “There are way too many girls here to get attached to one your senior year, especially right before you head into the league. But hey, if you are trying to get attached to someone, keep that line of thinking far away from me because I’m too busy trying to break a personal record this year.”
“How’s that going so far?”
“I’m about five behind from where I was at this point last year.” He pulled out his phone and tapped his screen. “But according to my calculations, if I attend a few additional showings of The Vagina Monologues, there’s a high chance I could surpass last year’s mark by this weekend. Would you like to see my spreadsheet?”
“You have a spreadsheet?” I gave him a blank stare.
“Of course I do. I need a way to make sure my numbers are always on track. It’s the mark of a good Economics major.”
“For the umpteenth time, you are a Communications major. You've taken one economics class, and you got a C."
“A C plus.” He laughed and put his phone away. “Anyway, whoever this mystery girl is you’ve been hanging out with these days, bette
r be hot as hell. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re not around as much lately. I just hope it’s not Charlotte Taylor.” He burst into laughter again. “That would be the most—I mean, can you imagine dealing with Miss ‘I want to make cookies and coffee so we can talk all night?’ Outside of your tutoring sessions? Oh, God, that would be—" He stopped laughing once he saw the look on my face. "Oh, come on! You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I didn’t say anything.
“She’s the one who won’t give you her phone number?” His jaw dropped. “In that case, she’s even worse than my friend Mike said. I mean, at the rate you’re going, she probably won’t let you kiss her until she’s eighty. Hell, now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a goddamn virgin.”
I still didn’t say anything.
“Like, this doesn’t make any sense at all for someone like you. Out of all the girls on this campus that would drop their panties for you in a heartbeat, all the girls who are willing to come home with you after every party ..." He stood up and paced the floor with a panicked look on his face as if he was contemplating something complex. "You're chasing someone who won't give you her phone number, Grayson.”
“Maybe we should talk about this when you’re completely awake and sane.”
“I’m more than awake right now.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’m going to sleep for five days straight because that’s how long it’s going to take me to process my best friend turning into a pussy.”
“Fuck you, Kyle.”
“Stop chasing Charlotte, and I’ll find girls who’ll happily do that for you.”
“You’re making this a bigger deal than it really is.”
“I’m not, but hold that thought,” he said. “Someone’s knocking at the door. Spoiler alert: It’s a girl I invited over. Double spoiler alert: She’s one of three girls that’ll be over here this weekend alone because I’m not a pussy like you.”
I turned off the TV and braced myself for an evening of his ridiculous logic, but when he returned to the room, he cleared his throat.
“I was wrong,” he said. “The person at the door is for you.”
