Grey: Everlasting (Spectrum Series Book 6)

by Allison White

  I pick my phone up. “Sorry you guys had to see that.”

  “All I saw was double chin,” Julia admits.

  “She has amazing tits, great cleavage.” Jaimie shoves her eye into the camera. “Bam, go ask her what bra she’s wearing.”

  “Rachel Locke’s!” Claire admits, squeezing her boobs with a smile. “And thanks! Her push-up bras do wonders,” she slurs, eyes half-closed.

  Ag rests her chin on my shoulder and smiles at everyone. “Hey people in Liv’s phone.” She waves so drunkenly, even I laugh at her.

  In ten minutes, I am all caught up with everyone. Julia’s cast finally came off last week. Jaimie is doing an apprenticeship for one of her very well-known teachers. Matthew became the manager of the program. And Lily is just “living her best life with her amazing boyfriend.” She also revealed they screwed twenty minutes before she accepted the FaceTime call. “Groooossss,” I said, and they all laughed at me.

  I’m beaming with happiness that I’ve caught up with my bestest friends, whom I miss very, very much. I want to scoop them all up like ice cream and plop them here in New York. We could rent a huge loft and be friends together. We could braid our hair and play Just Dance all the time. Doesn’t that sound so amazing?

  I burp and nearly stumble over my feet as I enter my penthouse.

  “Again, for the millionth time, your place is fucking dope,” Ag says in awe as she looks up at the high ceiling beams and black leather couches.

  “Not my place.” I look over my shoulder, holding onto the stair railing. “My mom’s.”

  My mother’s place was the only one I thought of staying at when I left Pennsylvania. As I was driving and crying like a pathetic sap, I realized I had nowhere to stay. No plan. No idea I still had what I’d been offered. I was lost and heartbroken and a lot of other things. So I called and asked her if I could stay here. She never uses this place anyway.

  I won’t stay here forever, though. The place is too posh and big and too…not me. I just have to save up a little more before I change to a smaller place that fits me. Until then, I’ll indulge in the magnificent piano and beautiful kitchen. Both give me memory attacks constantly.

  I see us sitting at the piano, me leaning on his shoulder as I play him song after song until I fall asleep to the soft, steady rhythm of his tattooed heart. I see him kissing me heatedly before taking me possessively against the counter. I feel him in me, and I feel the electricity and the hope for more and him. All him. Always him. Always Grey.

  I make a grunting sound and lean my head against some hung-up dresses inside of my walk-in closet.

  “Everything okay in there?” Ag asks.

  I lean back so they’re in view, lounging on my king bed. “Yup,” I lie. I clear my throat and tell myself not to think about him. I’ve been doing a great job of it for two whole months. Well, a month a half. The other two weeks was absolute hell. I’m actually kinda shocked I made it through that time. Everything I saw reminded me of him, of us. I thought I’d explode into never-ending tears.

  “What do you guys think?” I step out of the closet, do a little pose, puckered lips and jutted hips. I’m wearing a short black sparkly dress I picked out a long time ago. Jaimie actually picked it out for me. Actually, it was originally for her, but it was way too short for Julia’s liking, so she in turn shoved it in my chest with an annoyed eye-roll. Three hours after we left the mall, she called to inform me she and Julia had angry sex.

  I shiver now, just thinking about it.

  “Next,” the picky girls say simultaneously.

  Ugh.

  They’re annoying when they connect like that.

  Sticking my tongue out at them, I go back in the closet. I rummage through dresses after dresses. The liquor dares me to be daring. So I pull out a dress, slip off the one I have on now, and slide into the new one. The short sinner-red dress instantly hugs my hips, and already I like it. Like myself.

  “How about now?” I step out again, lean on the wall with a smirk.

  Their jaws drop, and they nod frantically. “Fuck yeah,” they say collectively. This time, I giggle and like their syncing to each other.

  ***

  An hour and a half later, I’m at the bar ordering another Sex on the Beach when a pale guy with dark brown hair and light eyes tries to hit on me.

  “’Sup, lady in red?” he slurs heavily, nodding at me.

  “Her girlfriend’s boner for her,” Claire slurs right back, coming up behind me and kissing my cheek as she slaps my butt.

  He recoils back, hopping off his bar stool. “Fucking lesbians,” he snaps before retreating into the large mass of dancing bodies.

  “Hey! Screw you, buddy! Two of my best friends are lesbians! Fuck youuuuu,” I draw out the word angrily in the direction he disappeared into, but he’s already gone, and my screaming can’t possibly be heard over the electronic song playing.

  “Your drink, babe. We already scared him off.” Claire smiles as she pushes my ready drink to me.

  I put the hot-pink straw in my mouth, chew. “He said something really offensive. I want to shove my high heel up his booty hole,” I mumble around the straw. Bite the chewy straw. Suck on the sweet liquor. Then bite some more.

  She laughs so long and deeply, she’s obviously more than a little drunk. “Dance with us. You have your drink. Now I need my hot girlfriend’s ass grinding on me.” She tugs on my hand and, laughing like a schoolgirl at her naughty words, I let her drag me onto the dance floor.

  I gulp down my drink quickly and throw the plastic cup in the air. A girl screeches a loud, “What the fuck?” and Claire and I laugh and duck our heads, even though it’s impossible for me to be spotted as the culprit. As usual, the club is packed from wall to wall with lots of people. The whole of New York, it seems like. Why does everyone like this? It’s super-duper hot, I have to pee really bad, and everyone is literally pushing against each other.

  But I guess I am having a nice time. My friend group and I do a few more shots. We make a group, seeing which of the guys can drink a whole line without throwing up. Then we’re back in the middle of the dance floor. I’m swaying my hips, my hands on Ag’s shoulder, Claire behind me. I feel extremely hot and sweaty, but I’m having fun, so it doesn’t really matter to me.

  Two hours later, I’m entering my penthouse. I am so freaking tired and sluggish. The hangover that will surely greet me tomorrow morning will not be lenient. I can already feel it winding its way around my brain, my heavy limbs. To wash away the weird taste in my mouth, I drink two whole glasses of orange juice. I have to go grocery shopping soon…ugh. Maybe in the next century or two.

  I kick off my shoes as I pad over to the stairs. I am going to sleep until I can’t sleep anymore. Forget about sleeping when I’m dead. Death is going to be jealous of how long I can sleep without actually being dead…did that make sense? Eh. Who cares?

  I am about to go up the many stairs—curse you, architect—when there’s a knock on the front door. “Ughhhhh!” I groan loudly, throwing my head back in major annoyance. Who could this possibly be right now?

  Contemplating grabbing a knife from the kitchen, no matter if it’s a serial killer or not, I stomp over to the door. I groan and stomp my feet like an insane drunk child-person as I clutch the knob, beginning to open the door.

  “What do you want…?” I stop talking when the door swings open.

  I gasp, and my heart stutters in shock and confusion.

  Grey is on his knee, holding out an engagement ring in a black box. “Marry me?”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Why?” I question.

  He opens his mouth, then closes it. “Huh?” He didn’t expect that answer. But was he really expecting me to just say yes? I mean, if he’d asked me this months ago, I would have, but not now. Not after I’d thought and thought and came to the conclusion that now is not the right time. Plus, I haven’t seen him in forever and his motives seem…fishy.

  “I said why?” I reiter
ate with a little bite to my tone, making sure he hears every vowel this time. I cross my arms and lean against the door. His black eyes that I’ve dreamed about for two whole months squint, his teeth grazing his lower lip.

  “Um, because I love you?” he says, sounding extremely confused.

  “Did you think I’d say yes so we can get back together?” I ask. He flinches and looks down to hide his hurt frown. Shit. “I didn’t mean it like that. You—you know what I mean.” We aren’t broken up, just on break while I figure things out. Until I am more comfortable in myself and what I want.

  He looks up at me again with the saddest eyes but happiest smile. “I was hoping you’d realize you don’t need two fucking…” He pauses and clears his throat when I raise a questioning brow. I’m drunk and not in the mood for one of his anger bursts at the moment. “Two months to figure out what you want. A week, sure. But two months?”

  “Then why didn’t you come after me?” I ask. I didn’t expect him to; I told him not to. But a stupid part of me, the confusing part that I want to strangle to make up her damned mind, wanted him to come after me. I wanted to throw this door open like I did a few minutes ago. I wanted him to do this exactly, but actually mean it.

  He looks confused and a little pissed off. “Because you ran off into the night after pleading that I let you find yourself or whatever. You had to be alone on this journey, which just seems to be you clubbing till two in the morning.”

  I shift my legs together, heart hammering beneath the hugging material. “I just came from having fun with a few great friends I met at a great school. Tomorrow I have work with a few more good friends. Which is stupid as shit on my part, but you make mistakes when you’re having fun. Well-deserved fun, by the way.”

  “My Liv doesn’t go clubbing. She reads books for fun, not dress up and go out like a—” he begins, face drenched with slight disgust.

  “Finish that sentence and I’m shoving that ring up your ass!” I threaten, gripping the handle. It’s been approximately five minutes and already he’s picked a fight with me.

  He closes his mouth and shoves the ring upward. “Will you marry me or not?” He sounds agitated, like he wants this over already. Asshole. He could at least pretend to want this for real. He may as well have stayed in Pennsylvania.

  I hum contemplatively and tap my chin. “Hmmm…how about…hell no!” I turn the door quickly, hoping to slam it in his big, stupid, beautiful, handsome, pretty—where am I going with this?—face. But his big, stupid boot jams between the door and the door jamb just in time.

  Rolling my eyes at his quick reflexes, I pad into the kitchen. I hear the door close behind him and grip the glass cup in my hand so hard, I nearly shatter it. I pour myself some more orange juice. I lean against the counter, ignoring him moving in my peripheral vision. I try to ignore him, but it’s growing harder with each second that passes.

  He still looks the same. Black clothes, black eyes, black tattoos…has he always been so good looking? It could be the liquor, but I swear he didn’t look like this the last time I saw him. He looks taller somehow, more intense. Maybe it’s his thicker muscles. He looks like he’s been working out more. As if reading my fascinated, dirty mind, he shrugs off his jacket and sets it on the back of a high black stool.

  “Wow,” I mutter in my glass before gulping the rest of my orange juice.

  “Thanks. I’ve been fighting almost every day,” he says with that damned smirk of his. “Pretty hard not to when you can’t stop thinking about a girl who is your every thought,” he adds with a bite of his own. I swallow guiltily, let the little dot of orange juice slip onto my tongue.

  I turn around and slowly wash out the glass. I can’t face him. Not when I feel like crap. I haven’t been the greatest girlfriend…wait, we still are together, right? He didn’t…you know, do anything with another girl, did he? I turn around and squint my eyes at him, trying to read his mind. Maybe my drunkenness gave me abilities and I now have telekinesis.

  But when all I get from him is a stank face, I give up.

  “I’m your girlfriend, right?” I straight up ask.

  He looks at me like I’m the dumbest girl on the planet. “Of course you’re my fucking girlfriend.” He pauses sharply, looks me up and down. “Have you been going around and seeing other guys?” he seethes, narrowing his eyes.

  “Of course not,” I tell him, but he’s still fuming. “I’m still in love with you, dummy,” I assure him with a subtle eye-roll. He’s kind of killing my drunk vibes.

  He looks taken aback for some reason, like that was the first time I’d told him I love him. “You do?” he asks, and I nod. I grip the counter behind me for support as my knees wobble, weak under his intense gaze. Up and down, up and down. “Then why are we apart?” He moves around the counter, anger radiating off him in thick, relentless waves. “Why have we been apart for two months? Why do you barely call, barely answer when I call?”

  I shrug, feeling smaller with each powerful step he takes toward me. “I told you, I had to figure things out,” I say in an unintentional jittery voice. “I had to find myself again. I couldn’t do that if I was with you, accepting your blatant and hurtful rejection.”

  He flinches for a second, then looks intense again. He cages me, bracing both large hands on the counter surrounding me. “Did you have to go to the one place I didn’t like to go?” he asks, hurt clear in his voice. I bite my tongue to keep from voicing my hot and heavy thoughts as he picks up one of many loose locks of my hair, twirls it, tugs a little. A gasp can’t help but escape my trembling lips.

  “I…I had the NYU spot, the internship—it’d be stupid of me to not come here, to reap the opportunities—” I explain for what seems like the umpteenth time. Whenever we do talk, he brings this up, and I always say the same thing.

  “I don’t give a fuck about any of that!” He drops his seductive prowl. “I just wanted you. I still want you. And you being in another fucking state is getting in the way of having you.”

  “I am not something to have.” I drop my hot-and-heavy feelings and push him away. He stumbles back into the opposite marble granite counter. “I came here so I could actually feel like myself again. To feel like more than Grey’s girlfriend, to have my past self actually proud of me.”

  “Your past self was pathetic. You were nothing without me, just sitting in your house and playing fucking Uno with your replacement mom,” he sneers. Regret flashes across his eyes, but it’s too late. He’s already said what he said, and he can’t take his words back. “Liv, I didn’t—”

  “No, you did mean it,” I say in a low, pissed-off voice. “You have always been so cruel. I thought that side of you was gone; it always was around me. But I guess it’s coming back in full force, huh?” I turn away from him.

  He grabs my wrist, pulls me to his chest. “Why are you always running away from me?” He sounds genuinely confused. “I thought we were past it. Past you doubting me, doubting us. Why don’t you just stop pushing things in our way? Why can’t you just love me? Why am I not enough?” His voice breaks.

  I open my mouth, but no words come out. I’ve hurt him, but I want to do this for me. I put everything I dreamed of on pause for him. Why can’t I do this for me? Why can’t I be selfish for once, not conform to what he wants me to?

  “You are enough, Grey. More than enough. Too much sometimes…” I cup his face, letting him attempt his black magic on me using his eyes. “But I have to do this for myself.”

  “So will you come back with me?” he asks, voice hopeful and low.

  I hold my breath, look into his eyes. Shake my head. “No. I’m sorry. But we can try long-distance.”

  He rolls his eyes, breaks from my hands. “Fuck that.” Turning around and leaning against the counter, he growls, “I thought if I proposed, you would come back with me. Tonight. I will not do long-distance. I want you back home, by my side, with me. Not here in New-York-fucking-City.”

  My heart plummets, and I do a littl
e sad shoulder droop. “Oh. Yeah, you can leave now.” I bypass him and his hands that are always reaching out for me.

  “Liv, I didn’t—” he starts in a bored tone, following after me as I walk over to the steps.

  “Liv, I didn’t mean it,” I finish for him, going up a few steps. “Liv, I expect you to say yes to a proposal I didn’t even mean. Liv, I want you to come back with me and be there while I live out my dream career of punching men in the face. Liv, I want you to give up children and marriage and everything you’ve ever wanted. Liv, I didn’t mean it. Liv, Liv, Liv. You say my name so much, but it’s never truly about me!” I scream and pant for breath by the time I’ve finished ranting.

  He stares up at me, and I stare right back. Thunder claps outside, but I don’t even budge. Don’t blink. I just let my tears pour and stare into his indecipherable eyes. I used to be able to read them so perfectly, but now…now I don’t even want to read his mind. I already know he has it made up. He wants me to drop the perfect little life I’ve made here for him. Wants me to drop everything for him, and it hurts that he’s so damn selfish.

  Finally, he looks away from me. Steps back. My heart silently cries in my chest.

  “That’s what I thought,” I murmur. I run up the rest of the stairs, no longer drunk. I am fully sober, enough to feel my heart shatter into a trillion pieces with each step I take. I run straight to my room, lock the door behind me, and slide down the wooden door. I cry into my knees for what feels like an eternity and one day.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I wake up to hip-hop music and the sun glaring in my face. A migraine pushes its way in front of my head, grinding and pounding. I rub my temples in a useless attempt to work it away, but it only grows, so I stop. I sit up against the bed’s headboard, push my face in my hands. I stay that way for a few minutes before my phone buzzes on the nightstand next to me. I push decline on the call; whoever is calling me can wait. I’m having difficulty waking up as it is.