Almost

by Anne Eliot

  I walk over to Mom and hold out my hand. “Mom, I really need my phone—so I can read Gray's messages. I also could use some advice on how to approach a guy without offering him money to hang out with me. And Dad,” I rush on, before Mom can answer. “Do you think—if I can get Gray to agree—do you think we could still have that barbecue this afternoon?”

  “Whether he agrees or not, honey, the grill will be on at four.”

  “And you promise not to kill anyone?” I ask, raising my brows.

  Dad shoots me a small smile and a nod. “Coach, you up for one of my chili burgers? I believe I owe you an apology and a beer or two…or three.”

  Coach lets out a long breath. “I'm in, but we're only good if you let me buy the beer.”

  My mom and I lock gazes. “The phone, Mom. Please.”

  She sighs and hands it to me. “You have one day of reprieve. But tomorrow, you'll turn this phone into me, and you will inform Gray Porter—friend or foe—boyfriend or not—that you are grounded. Deal?”

  I throw my arms around her neck and hug her tight. “Deal. Thanks, Mom.” I pull away and quirk a brow to my sis. “Kika, I'm going to need a checklist, an outfit, some make-up and a huge squirt of that peach lotion to get me through this. I can't do it without you. Please. I'm sorry I ruined the summer.”

  Kika still looks wounded but then catapults herself into me and we hug. “We still have a few weeks to turn it around. And now that you're grounded we can catch up on the lost time,” she says. “Let's eat, and go Google ‘how to fix your break-up’. I can't wait to meet your boyfriend,” she adds. “No way any guy would turn down a second chance to date you.”

  “Please.” I laugh. “I don't want to wish for too much after all I said to him yesterday. But at the very least, I hope he wants to still be my friend.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Gray

  We're all gathered in Gran's front sitting room watching the clock tick. We usually aren't allowed to sit in this room. I actually avoid it. But today, gathering among dangerous, spindly-legged furniture, breakable glass thingies, and the spotless white couch feels simple compared to what we're about to do.

  I survey the arsenal of people I've assembled to crash Jess's barbecue.

  My first weapons: Corey Nash, overdressed on purpose in his dad's blue blazer and a hilarious button down shirt. Michelle Hopkins is equally decked out in a flowered dress, and low heels lent to her by Gran. The wicker purse is a bit much, but Michelle swears it will work as a decent whacking tool before I'm caught and murdered by Mr. Jordan.

  I'm also dressed like a grandpa going to church on Easter. My button down shirt and blazer are in place, only I've chosen slippery polyester for mine. Hopefully, when Jess's dad gets his hands on me, I'll be able to squirm out of this lame outfit before he can drag me away completely. And I mean to be standing in front of Jess and talking fast when that happens.

  Because that's the goal.

  Corey and I have practiced the, “Hello, sir. I'm Corey Nash,” bit with Michelle standing in for Mr. Jordan over twenty times.

  As we go in, I'm going to huddle up hidden behind Corey and Michelle. When they're in full talk-mode, I'll slip around them and try to gain access into the house and search for Jess. If the “shake and howdy dash” doesn't work, I'll have another excellent weapon in place: one screaming little old lady with a fake cane and a flowered hat.

  I just dare Mr. Jordan to match wits—or cane moves—with my grandmother.

  Gran, now fully recovered from her hospital stay, has agreed to back me. Even if that means she has to fake a stroke on the Jordan's front porch in order to let me have my chance to talk to Jess. She's currently passing around a plate of her lemon cookies and fretting over exactly what she's going to do if Mr. Jordan actually does hit me.

  “I'll smack him right back, Gray. No one hurts my baby boy,” she says.

  God, how I love Gran.

  “It won't come to that. Don't worry.” I toss Gran a confident, lying smile. What if this doesn't work? What if Jess refuses to see me?

  My phone starts buzzing and lights up on the coffee table. “It's from Jess! I can't believe it. She's texting me back.”

  My heart twists when I read her message: Do U h8 me 4 what I said last night?

  Michelle and Corey crowd around the phone.

  Gran is only two seconds behind them. “Gray, what does that gibberish mean?” She's leaning on my shoulder to get a better view.

  “She wants to know if he hates her,” says Michelle.

  “Poor little dear,” says Gran.

  I don't move the phone away while I respond: Have I not made that clear. I don't—won't—can't hate you. I love you. R U ready to talk?

  The phone dings back quickly: No. No more talking.

  My temper flares as my heart rate increases from my frustration.

  We will. I'm on my way. And we R going to talk—this time with MOS DOS.

  NO!! NO!! NO MORE TALKING. IOTP. KO KO!

  I share a glance with Michelle. “What in the hell does that mean?” she asks.

  “No idea,” Corey answers.

  “It means she's relentlessly stubborn,” I fume, shaking my head and pulling away. “I'm going over there. If this goes badly, I'll be back for you guys. I need to see her, now. I can't wait for the BBQ start time.”

  I search for my keys in the basket by the door with one hand while I awkwardly thumb-text: Translate: IOTP and KO? Plze. I don't understand.

  “What about our plan?” Corey asks. “You need us.”

  “Like I said. I'll circle back and get you either way. Please hang tight just in case.”

  Not finding my keys in the basket, I head to the kitchen and scoop them off the counter. Racing through the living room, I toss a half smile at Gran and meet the gaze of a very worried looking Michelle. “Wish me luck?”

  “Luck.”

  As I whip open the door, my phone buzzes and dings again.

  I read her reply as I run out.

  IOTP=I'm on the porch.

  KO=Kissing only.

  Then we can talk.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jess

  The door opens and Gray careens into me with a loud, “Oooof!”

  But he's so huge he's knocked me back. The door slams behind him so quickly it sounds like a gunshot.

  His phone goes flying. “Crap!” he says. I catch a glimmer of his surprised green eyes flicker over me as my iPhone also shoots out of my hand and lands somewhere behind me. I try to track it, but that move puts me even more off balance. I'm about to fall off the porch steps. I fling my arms out, searching for the railing, but the back of my hand connects to Gray's chin with a crack instead.

  He says something again that sounds like, “Ouwffcrapoof.”

  I hold my breath, grasping for anything that might stop my fall. All I see is the concrete landing and wonder how it's going to feel when I hit.

  Gray dives at me and crushes me against his chest, breathing fast. “I've got you. Oh my God. I've got you! What are you doing here?”

  My nose is pressed flat into his shirt. My Kika-arranged hair has fallen in a mass cluster over my face. His arms suddenly tighten around me to the point I can hardly breathe. I cling to him harder than I should, but I can't help it.

  Is the wild thumping in my head from my heart or his heart?

  “Uh…” I say, finally, when after a long moment he still hasn't moved to let me go. “This is not at all how I'd imagined this conversation. And believe me, I'd actually planned for a few scenarios. Practiced them in front of a mirror too,” I add, breathing in his warmth.

  “Ditto. I also wrote a script.”

  “Please.” I laugh and look up. He's smiling down at me through my tangled hair. “Gray. I'm sorry. Can you ever forgive me for what I said?”

  He pulls me closer. “You've got it backwards. If only I could replay the whole thing. Please, accept my apology. Forever. I'll be sorry.”

  “I
do. I do. Okay? That's why I'm here. And I want to apologize right back for not understanding. For not listening.”

  “Well, you're going to listen now.” He takes in a huge breath. “How is it you manage to always smell so good? Is that the peach pie stuff again?”

  “To be exact, it's cobbler. And well…you smell like limes and…happiness to me.” I feel suddenly shy and my voice wavers even more. “I came for one of those—those. Um. You know. Make up kisses? I heard that's what you do when you have a fight with your boyfriend. If, you are….actually…still my boyfriend?” I hold my breath.

  He breathes into the top of my head. “Hell yes. Yes!”

  “Hell yes you'll kiss me? Or hell yes you're my boyfriend?”

  “Both. God…Jess…both.” He hugs me tighter.

  I try to pull free, wanting desperately to see his face, and I realize my hair has become so tangled into the buttons of his shirt that I can't move my head more than two inches away from his chest.

  Of course I can't.

  “I'm stuck…my hair is caught on your buttons,” I say into his shirt. “Are you wearing a suit?”

  He pulls back. “Wow. It is stuck. And—I'm wearing a blazer…yeah.”

  “Ouch. Easy…” I grumble as I feel hairs pulling out.

  “It's bad. Hold still.” I can hear the laughter in his voice. His fingers move into my hair. I'm actually glad he can't see my face because I'm still processing the fact that Gray Porter's said he's my boyfriend! Which means I'm Gray Porter's girlfriend!

  His fingers move to the button near my nose. “I kind of like you stuck to me like this.”

  I quip back, “Good. Then get used to my moves. I have hundreds of ways to keep you tethered. I take the words ‘old ball and chain’ very seriously because from here on it gets ugly.”

  He breaks the last strands of my hair free and, for the first time, I'm able to look at his beautiful green eyes. He smiles down at me and caresses my face. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

  I reach up to loop my index finger gently through the curl on his forehead that's always out of place and move it up high with the others. I let my hand fall softly against his cheek, feeling the roughness of his morning beard against my palm, while my thumb explores the divot in his chin and my eyes travel to the strong curve of his lips. “I need you to kiss me. Right now. Please.” I know I sound desperate, but I don't even care. All I want is some assurance that this moment—that we are real.

  My heart races when he leans in. Faster and faster. Our gazes tangle and I read his expression. It matches what I'm feeling: longing, mixed with happiness.

  My heart soars and I lean toward him too.

  “Not yet,” he pleads with a long, shaky breath and places his hands on my shoulders. “You got to kiss first yesterday, and it caused only chaos and confusion. I can't have you melting my mind with those lips and then expecting me to have any sort of coherent conversation. You're going to have to stop looking at me like that until I say what needs to be said.”

  “Are you serious? I'm not going to beg you twice…” I blush and look away.

  Gray laughs. “Buck up. I'm still under contract and according to that document I'm not allowed to kiss you at all.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope flashing the contents to me. It's full of hundred dollar bills and a copy of our contract! “No more checks for you to destroy. Take this cash. It's yours, and then tear up the contract.”

  I make no move to touch the envelope. “I don't want that money. You—you need that for college. You are not changing any goals just because me.”

  “It's important. I want the contract ended. Taking your half of the money from the internship is the only way to make it fair in my mind.”

  “Yeah, but you earned it fairly. You don't even really know what this—what we are. And we sure don't know how things will work out. So…maybe I like the contract as is. We could re-write it? Add that we're dating on a trial basis, and then you could continue getting paid. Because we are both going to finish working the internship, right?”

  He raises his brows. “I'm calling your bluffs from now on. We both know exactly what is between us, and how it will work out. We don't need a paper to bind us together. You love me, Jess Jordan, and I've been head over heels in love with you since freshman year. Let's at least come clean about that. Our contract is over, and you have to take back this money.”

  A lump has lodged into the back of my throat. My heart has swarmed with two billion butterflies. I pull out the contract and look at our names scrawled on the bottom of it.

  “Waiting.” He sounds annoyed.

  “Okay. But this is really hard for me to say,” I snap. “I'm afraid.”

  “Don't be. I want to hear that you agree.” His eyes burn into mine.

  “The contract is over,” I say in a rush, feeling my face go hot all over again. “But…it seems sad to tear it up. I want to save this. It's so cute. Now…how about that kiss?”

  He shakes his head and shoots me a warning glower. “Don't try to distract me. Finish saying what I need to hear.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I love you. Okay. I love you, and I get it. That you love me back. Happy?”

  He grins so wide the sunlight seems to sparkle off every inch of him. “Almost. I can't move one more inch,” he says, holding up the envelope. “Not off this porch, not on with my life, and I will not kiss you ever again if this money is between us. Take it back.”

  I manage an expression that matches the seriousness in his voice even though inside I'm having a mini-scream-for-joy-party. “I'll take the money if you agree to play on Coach Williams' team and shoot for a scholarship.”

  Gray's eyes flash first with what looks like surprise, then anger. Then it changes to what appears to be hope. He nods once. “It's a fair arrangement. Provided he'll have me back.”

  “He will. He told me so.”

  “But you dump me, then I'm quitting again.”

  I take the envelope full of cash and shove it into my pocket. “There. Deal complete. Pucker up, boyfriend.”

  He sighs, and looks deeper into my eyes and I can sense something's still wrong.

  “What?”

  “What I did, freshman year…it's haunted me. Now that you've remembered, can you honestly say that nothing's changed about your feelings toward me? What if you can never forget me—what I did—what I didn't do…”

  “Stop. I don't ever want to forget you being there. Never. You were afraid, just like me. And I shouldn't be mad at you for that. You stepped up. You were my hero that night, and I see that now. You stopped him. Gray…you stopped him from hurting me.” My voice breaks and my eyes well with tears. “I can't imagine who or what I'd be if you hadn't come in that room. You saved everything. And I was wrong to say I hated you for any part of that….”

  He takes me into his arms. “Shh. Jess. Crap! I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm nobody's hero. I don't know how to forgive myself for leaving you like I did that night. For not killing that guy. Believe me, I tried. I started a fight that got me beaten to a pulp. I attacked him and his friends first. I was like a Yorkie going up against a gang of Alligators.”

  Two tears escape down my cheeks.

  “Jess—”

  “No. I have to say this. We were just kids. Fourteen. I've seen the photos of you back then. You were smaller than my sister is now! I—just—thank you. Thank you so much. For fighting for me, for not telling anyone all those years. For taking a chance when I was such a jerk to you at the interview. You're the most honorable person I've ever known. To do something like that for a girl who wasn't even nice. And I wasn't at all nice that day.”

  “You've always been nice. I knew you were fronting. I'm not honorable. Not like you think.” His eyes grow dark and I can see he's holding back his own tears. He shakes his head. “I didn't tell you the truth at the interview. And all summer long, I've been checking you out. I've had thousands of the most dishonorable thoughts about your legs
, your eyes, that damn peach cobbler smell, the curls that gather around your temples and the back of your neck. God, the back of your damn neck drives me insane.”

  “Seriously? Like what else?”

  “Like wishing I could kiss you, or run my hands along your skin. And I've had these feelings every five seconds we've been together. When the whole time you thought I was just ‘doing my job’.”

  A shaky laugh escapes me. “We're even then. I've been staring at your lips, your gorgeous gold-green eyes and your amazing smile too. And I've been loving the way you smell and your low voice since the interview. So there. You can't change my mind. You also just saved me from falling off the porch. Honorable hero, through and through. End of conversation. My parents told me how you offered yourself as a witness—”

  “Crap. I'd forgotten about them. What about your parents? Should I start digging my own grave?”

  “No. They—they're good. I told them everything. My dad almost choked Coach Williams to death in our front hallway, though!”

  “No shit?” Gray pales. “Coach came to your house?”

  “It's okay, they made up. I told them everything about the contract and about you—the real you including your name. They're also backing me on college. If I think I'm strong enough, then I get to make the call, not them. We understand each other so much better because of all this. Don't you see? I was lost, really lost. I couldn't get myself out of what I'd become until you signed my contract and stood by me.”

  “That was all you…finding your own way out. But we can argue about that later, after we make-up.” He pulls me close again.

  “Finally,” I say puckering up my lips like a fish.

  He laughs, and places a hand on my cheek.

  I put my arms around his neck. A trail of goose bumps forms where he runs a finger along the side of my neck. His expression becomes so intense that I feel as though I've melted into a rushing green river. He leans in and I close my eyes, afraid for a moment that I'll forget what to do.