by Ann Garner
Delaney reaches over, grabbing my hand, where I’ve been chewing on my thumbnail, pulling it away from my mouth. “You don’t need to fix anything, Grace. You took a chance with Grant and it didn’t work out.”
“And now everyone around us is uncomfortable and walking on eggshells.”
“That’s our problem, not yours.” She smiles. “Personally, I think Grant is an idiot for breaking up with you.”
“Thanks.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “You’re gorgeous, fun, and only slightly annoying, so I’d say you were a great catch, and he isn’t going to do any better. Of course now that he’s a moron because he broke up with you, I’m going to tell you that you can do ten times better.”
Laughing I tell her, “See, you are good at this friend stuff.”
Chapter Four
I’ve never been so excited to go to class in my life. Sadly it shows as I’m dressed in my cutest skinny jeans with my brown leather knee-high boots pulled up over them, and a dark blue button down shirt with huge white polka dots all over it, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows. Delaney had smirked at me when she’d seen me in the kitchen stuffing a Pop-Tart into my mouth, but she didn’t say anything.
I’m actually going to be early to class, which has probably only happened like twice in my entire life. I’ve just never had it in me to stress over school. I do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done and not a moment before. And I have a serious dislike of deadlines and group projects.
Just as I’m about to enter the Daniel Leadership Building, where my class is held, I hear him call my name. Where it used to send shivers of excitement up my spine when he said my name, hearing Grant call me now makes my entire body lock up.
We haven’t spoken, not really, since the night we broke up. We’d obviously seen each other. Our lives are too intertwined, even without us being together, for us to be able to avoid each other totally. But that didn’t mean that I had to socialize with him.
“Grace, come on, give me just a minute.” He calls when I don’t answer him.
I spin around. “Why?” He’s holding a Starbucks up in his hand. “Is that a pumpkin spice latte?” I arch both my brows. “Are you bribing me to talk to you, Grant?”
“It could be for me.”
I snort, “You don’t drink coffee. Hand it over.” Because I’m too weak to turn away from it. No matter how mad I am at him. I take a huge sniff, inhaling the beautiful scent that means fall is just around the corner. “What do you want?”
“I can’t just want to talk to you? See how you’re doing?”
I eye him warily, shocked to see that he doesn’t see any problem with what he’s doing. That he really thinks it’s okay for him to try and strike up a conversation out of the blue. I tilt up the Starbucks cup, taking a long drink. “Holy shit, that’s hot.” I feel the fiery burn of the coffee scorch its way down my throat. What am I supposed to tell him? Sure, Grant, let’s talk about the weather and whatever the fuck else you can think of? We’re just supposed to slide right back into that like he wasn’t banging somebody else just days after breaking my heart?
Taking a deep breath, I swallow all the bitchiness I want to blast him with. No need to give everyone something else to talk about. I’m actually pretty proud of myself when I calmly say, “I appreciate the latte, Grant, I do, but I’m actually on my way to class so I don’t have a whole lot of time for chit chat.”
His face drops and a look of hurt passes over his eyes. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Ehh.” I make a loud buzzer sound. “Try again. You haven’t been interested in how I’m doing for four months.”
“That’s not true, Grace. It’s not like I just shut my feelings for you off.”
I choke on the latte again, but not because it’s hot. Does he really want to go down this road? He’s given me enough ammunition over the last few months to call him an asshole in every imaginable way. Crossing my arms over my chest, I can’t help but ask, “What were you feeling for me while you were kissing Naomi Clark the other night?” Raising one hand up to stop him from spouting whatever bullshit answer I know is about to come out of his mouth, I shake my head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know what you were thinking. I really need to go, Grant.”
I turn around, taking a few steps before spying the gorgeous Jacob Ross standing just a few yards away. Those intense eyes are locked on Grant and me with a speculative look. Huh. And he wasn’t the only one watching us with interest. Great, exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid. Now I feel like a circus sideshow exhibit.
I never heard Grant move, but obviously he does because he is suddenly standing directly behind me, so close I can feel his breath when he quietly says, “Someone saw you coming out of one of the frat houses last weekend.”
That brings me up short. Is that jealously in his tone? “So?” I ask, turning my head over my shoulder to look at him. “So what?”
“So what?” He sounds exasperated. “Grace, it was the morning after one of their parties.”
Narrowing my eyes I spin around to face him again. “What are you implying, Grant?”
“It’s not what I’m implying, Grace. It’s what everyone on campus is saying.”
Of course they are. This place thrives on gossip. “Please enlighten me, because obviously I didn’t get the memo.”
“The only girls that come out of those houses the day after are girlfriends and one night stands.”
“What the hell are you saying?” I hiss. He doesn’t answer me right away. He’s looking at something over my shoulder, and I’m acutely aware of the fact that Jacob was standing there just moments before, but I don’t want to think about him still standing there watching this. I smack Grant’s chest, drawing his attention back to me. “Hey, asshole, I'm asking you a question. Are you– ”
He interrupts, “What were you doing with Jacob Ross?”
Seriously? Wasn’t anything easy anymore? All I had wanted was one freaking night, and now the entire school thought I was spreading my legs for Jacob Ross? These people need to get a life. And where in the hell does Grant get off on asking me about who I spend my time with? And what’s so wrong with Jacob Ross that he doesn’t think I should be spending that time with him?
I cross my arms over my chest, arching one brow. “Are you serious right now?” I hold up a hand, stopping him when he opens his mouth to respond. I'm not sure I won't kill him if he speaks again. “You opted out, Grant. You told me you wanted us to explore our options. So you don't get a fucking say anymore.”
“You're too good for him.”
I feel my eyes narrow into slits. “You. Opted. Out.” I say again, carefully enunciating each word. “I get to decide who I'm too good for, not you. And I sure as hell don't have to justify those decisions to you.”
Running a hand through his hair, Grant lets out a small sigh. “Grace, I want us to still be friends.”
Closing my eyes, I struggle to maintain my composure. It’s not fair for him to say things like that to me. It’s not fair for him to try and twist this around to make me feel like the bad guy in this situation. I’m not the one who walked away, and how in the hell am I supposed to be friends with someone who broke my heart? Digging my nails into the palms of my hands is the only way I can keep from reaching up to strangle him. In a deceptively calm voice I tell him, “You probably should have thought about that before you basically told me you wanted to screw other people. I don’t want to be your friend. I don't want to be your anything. Not right now.”
“Grace–”
“Shut up, Grant.” I interrupt him, “Just shut up and get out of my face. I have nothing else to say to you.”
“You all right, Grace?” Jacob questions as he comes to join our fun little conversation. I jump slightly at the sound of his voice. I hadn’t seen him move across the courtyard.
“Fine,” I answer brightly, my eyes never leaving Grant’s face. “Grant was just saying goodbye.”
It's easy to see the anger in Grant’s face with the way his jaw is pulled tight, and the thin lines of his lips. He flicks his gaze over to Jacob and then back to me again.
“ I don’t want you to get hurt, Grace.”
Does he not understand that he’s the one hurting me? I throw a hand out against Jacob's chest to stop him from moving forward. How strange that I already know what his reaction is going to be? I give him a quick shake of my head before I answer Grant. “I'm no longer your concern, Grant. That was your decision. Not mine. You need to remember that you chose, and your choice wasn't me.”
He stands there for a few tense moments longer and I’m afraid he’s going to say something else. I’m not sure whether I’ll punch him or cry, and honestly neither is an option I want to explore. Then Jacob lays a hand on my waist, and I’m afraid Grant is going to be the one to start swinging.
“Class is about to start,” Jacob says calmly, using the hand at my waist to pull me away. “Let’s go get our seats.”
I let myself be led away, turning away from Grant and heading toward the steps of the building. Jacob walks beside me, not saying a word. I can still feel the warmth of his hand at my waist, the heat of his forearm where it brushes against my lower back as we walk.
I feel the fight drain right out of me with every step we take and honestly I don’t think I would have been able to put one foot in front of the other without him there to guide me along.
I don’t protest at all when he leads me up the steps into the building, heading down the hall past our classroom and straight out the back entrance of the building. The entire world seems to be passing in incredibly slow motion, moving by me in a hazy cloud of hurt and accusation. I want to turn around, to run back to Grant and tell him that he can’t do this.
He can’t play with my emotions.
He can’t ignore me for months while he moves on, and then come blasting at me the minute it even looks like I might be doing the same.
Another part of me wants to run back to him, throw my arms around him, and tell that if he’s that worried about my reputation then he must still love me, there must still be some part of him that wants me. And I’ll take whatever I can get.
Pathetic isn’t even the word to describe myself.
“Where are you parked?”
I blink, trying to see past the fog currently clouding my brain. “What?”
Jacob’s hand has slid from my waist to my elbow as we walk. “We can’t go back to my place to get my car, Grace, that isn’t going to help the rumors. Tell me where you’re parked.”
“Lot C, behind the library.”
He turns us just slightly, moving steadily across campus, and I let myself be led along like a child. As we approach the commuter parking lot he says, “Give me your keys.” When I hesitate he adds, “You’re in no shape to drive, Grace. Give me your keys.”
“I can drive,” I mutter, but I dig in my bag and pull out the keys, handing them over to him. When we enter the parking lot he pushes the key fob and follows the flash of lights indicating my doors are unlocked.
“This is becoming a habit.”
We stop next to my car, and he studies me quietly for a moment before asking, “What’s that?”
I open the passenger side door before he can do it for me, tilting my head to meet his gaze. “You rescuing me.”
Chuckling he dumps both our book bags into the back seat. “I didn’t rescue you. I rescued Grant.” He clarifies. “You were seconds from punching him.”
“You picked up on that?”
“Grace, your hand was balled into a fist at your side. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”
I pull the door closed and watch him as he walks around the front of the car. This gorgeous guy who keeps rescuing me. He probably thinks I’m looney tunes. Hell, I think I’m looney tunes. As he settles into the driver’s seat next to me I can’t help but point out, “You know it doesn’t matter that we didn’t go back to your place to get your car. They saw us together. They’re going to assume we are together. Especially since I’ve already been labeled as your slut.”
Wincing he says, “Okay, let’s not say it quite like that. It doesn’t matter what they think or what they say, Grace. It’s what you know that counts.”
“Ha! Not to my brothers.”
Throwing the car in reverse, he palms the back of my seat with one hand while he pulls out of the parking spot. I’m not sure where he’s going. I don’t care enough to ask. As long as it’s far away from Grant.
“You’re brothers sound like real princes.”
“They’re great.” I sigh. “Just ridiculously overprotective. Grant is Holden’s best friend. It’s all very complicated at the moment.”
Watching the scenery going by I’m pretty sure he’s heading to the Grease Spoon, and I’m reminded of the conversation we had during my drive of almost shame the previous weekend. My go-to in situations like this is ice cream, but blueberry pancakes don’t sound too bad.
“What’s so complicated about it? He broke up with you, right? For no real reason?” It sounds so logical when he says it like that, but I know there is so much more to it that he doesn’t understand and I can’t explain.
“Oh, he had reasons.” Incredibly stupid, horrible reasons.
Jacob glances over at me quickly before turning back to the road. “Doesn’t matter. Holden is your brother. You win in situations like this.”
I think of the lone picture on his dresser. “You have a sister?”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. I almost don’t notice, but the way they pull on the wheel causes a weird squeaking sound to slip through the car, and his knuckles whiten with the strain. The silence that stretches between us is telling. And when he finally says, “I did,” I feel tears spring to my eyes at the deep rooted pain I hear in his voice. I wish I could take the question back. I wish I could ask him the dozen or so other questions that are now forming in my head. Instead I give him just a few more seconds before I say, “Blueberry pancakes?”
“Stuffed French toast,” He counters, his voice marginally lighter than it was just a second ago.
“Well, I can’t promise to be thrilling company.”
“I’ll suffer through.” He pulls into the mostly empty parking lot, parking close to the door. After turning off the ignition he looks over at me. “Somebody else is going to come along and do something more exciting, and they’ll stop talking about you.”
“So basically I need to start hoping somebody else’s life sucks worse than mine?”
With a chuckle he says, “Exactly.”
The inside of the diner is just as empty as the parking lot, and the overweight waitress looks bored as she shows us to a booth in the back. She drops two menus down on the table, rolls through her spiel on the daily specials which unfortunately doesn’t include pancakes or French toast, and then walks away with our drink orders.
“Here’s my problem, Jacob.” I grab the salt shaker, passing it from one hand to the other in a show of nervous energy that I typically don’t display. “They aren’t just talking about Grant dumping me anymore. They’re talking about me sleeping with you. And I guarantee you by the time we leave this diner that little scene from this morning is going to have morphed into an all-out brawl between you and Grant.”
Leaning back he throws his arms wide, letting them rest along the back of the booth. “It really bothers you what people think of you, doesn’t it?”
“I’m weak, what can I say.”
It obviously doesn’t bother him. Not that I had studied him in depth last year, because hello I had Grant then, but I’d seen Jacob around campus, read articles in the school newspaper, seen clips on ESPN and local news channels. He hadn’t looked fazed at all. Not by the questions, the taunts, the pissed off fans. Not any of it.
It was like suddenly he’d never played football in his life.
I’m not sure whether I should be impressed by his ability to shut part of himself off
like that or not. I can see where it would come in handy. I’d love to check out for a few more weeks until all this blows over, but I like feeling, even if it’s pain. At least it means I’m living, even when I’m screwing it up.
“What were his reasons?”
Shaking my head I bring my eyes back to his. “What?”
“His reasons. You said he had them. What were they?”
I slide the salt shaker back across the table next to the pepper, and drop my hands down in my lap so he can’t see them twisting together. I can feel the heat from his frost colored eyes as he waits patiently for me to answer his question.
“I wasn’t enough.” I finally mumble without looking at him.
I barely have the words out of my mouth before he softly responds. “Bullshit.”
My eyes shoot up to his again at that. “He told me he wanted to explore other options. That can only mean the option he had right in front of him wasn’t good enough.”
“Then he’s more of a dumbass than I thought.” He says right before the waitress returns with our drinks. I quickly take a long drink from my Diet Coke, studying him as she stands there to take our orders. He orders me the blueberry pancakes without asking. He’s shaking his head when she walks away. “You don’t believe me. Why? You’re a gorgeous girl, Grace.”
“I doubt you’re so shallow that you’d date a girl just because you find her pretty.”
That dimple flashes again with his smile and I grab up the salt shaker once more to keep from reaching out and touching the small indent of skin.
His voice is soft, sending goose bumps dancing over my skin when he says, “Oh, I can be shallow like everybody else.” He grins wickedly. “And I said gorgeous. Not pretty.”
Shit, that’s a good line. I might just melt into a puddle of goo at his feet.
“Regardless, he broke up with me and now I’m a freaking mess.”
