He then strides out his bedroom door and leaves me speechless.
Not because he went to get a shower or let me know I could have my own.
But because he did this all stark naked.
And Grayson Waters standing before you stark naked, his pristine body glistening from his very energetic and splendid lovemaking, would leave any girl speechless. The fact that he wants to spend the rest of the night with me in his arms was doing things to my heart I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
If you know you’ve been in love with someone for most of your life, but it’s an unrequited love, a love that you don’t get to say out loud, then you’re suddenly faced with the possibility that this someone might come to love you back, what do you do? Do I remain frozen in case I’m actually dreaming, and if I move I might accidently pinch myself and wake up? Do I stay in these sheets? Sheets that still smelled like the both of us, sheets that reminded me I was lucky enough to be getting to live out my fantasies. Do I shower and risk the chance of not getting to see him walk back into this room? Possibly missing a chance to see if he looks at me, in all my glistening glory, the same way I look at him.
In wonderment.
I decide that I want to see his reaction. I want to know if there is even a glimpse of my feelings in his eyes. I suddenly have the bright idea to move my body to appear like a temptress, posing as if in the painting La Maja Desnuda, which I once found when researching art for a Spanish class and thought was incredibly erotic. Because if I’m going to work out how he feels, I figure it would be easier if Gray were paused in appreciation. Unfortunately, when I went to raise my arms and move my hands seductively behind my head, I got to smell what three rounds of passionate lovemaking does to a body.
Totally not sexy or erotic.
I jump up, dash into the bathroom and swiftly turn on the taps in the shower.
I thought maybe if I was fast enough I could use the bathroom and all its amenities before returning to the bed, positioning myself enticingly and closely observing Gray’s reaction to my attempt at being sexy.
After quickly rinsing my hair, splashing water and soap over my body, I get out of the shower and dry off faster than I have ever done in my entire life. I was usually a fifteen-minute showerer; I tended to get transfixed standing under the downpour of water and, okay, sometimes the song I was singing needed an encore—but not today.
When I step back into the room, I’m relieved to see that it’s still empty.
I slip back into the sheets, adjust them to artfully conceal and highlight the curves of my body and ‘causally’ move my arms above my head.
Okay, I was being super bizarre. If I told Millie I did this tomorrow morning I knew she would laugh until she had liquid coming out of her nose. But this was Grayson and the first time he would ever see me naked without the intensity of sexual activities clouding his vision.
Unfortunately, I really could have saved myself the trouble. He walked in naked, drying his hair with his towel. An action that meant his towel blocked any vision of me as the painted temptress.
Yep, I’m ridiculous. Millie was going to love this story.
He continued his fast hair-drying technique, until he was sitting on the right side of the bed and I had rolled over to my side—because really, I couldn’t have remained in that pose without it appearing staged for longer than a second. I was a little disappointed I didn’t get to see him entranced by my natural beauty. However, my little observant ten-year-old self once noticed that he had a preference for the right side of his bed, and now getting a chance to experience lying beside him on the other side was making little parts of me squeal with joy.
Then suddenly, he was throwing his towel on the floor, lying on his side and using his left arm to reach underneath my body and drag me toward him.
Pulling my body snuggly against his.
I feel myself melt into him.
The joyful squealing turns into a light hum of contentment that combined with Gray’s arms wrapped around me and my back pressed against his warm chest, soothes me to sleep.
PARKER
I was slowly sipping on my apple juice in Gray’s kitchen, completely distracted with my future plans to Google if we had broken some sort of first-time record. Surely after sleeping together for the first time, no one then spent the next forty-eight hours in each other’s company. However, that is exactly what Gray and I have done.
Besides the short moments where we’ve showered, since Andy dropped me off here on Friday afternoon, I had yet to leave Grayson’s side.
With my Chewbacca underwear hidden in my handbag, I was rocking commando as if I did it all the time and was a complete badass.
“Babe, you like cucumber?” Grayson asks, holding one up from the fridge. “Looks like I could probably only make cucumber sandwiches with the ingredients left in our fridge. Andy and his fucking health food kick dooms everyone in this house.”
Looking at the thick green cucumber in solid, callused hands had me no longer distracted by Internet search possibilities. Instead, I was wondering how long it would take Gray to eat, recharge and chase me up his wooden stairs.
Geesh, it was like an addiction. After forty-eight hours, I still felt the urge to lick his sculpted biceps and maybe even take a few bites of his caramel-tasting skin.
Hopefully it wears off, because otherwise I’ll need to start my own club on campus.
I would call it Grayson Waters Addicts Anonymous. I wouldn’t even care, or be surprised, if half the school population turned up. I would, of course, be president, what with my long withstanding dedication to the cause. Just as I start to think of possible designs that could go on the tokens handed out for hours of sobriety—days seems too unrealistic at this point—Gray lifted a large kitchen knife and began chopping the cucumber. All thoughts ceased. I instead wisely spent my time captivated by a gorgeous man standing in a kitchen half-dressed, apron snug around his narrow hips, hacking at a cucumber for me.
Holy shit, nothing has ever been hotter.
GRAYSON
I was making sandwiches for Stars and me in the kitchen. I had offered to take her somewhere nice to eat or even the grocery store; I wasn’t above showing off in the kitchen, making something French I couldn’t pronounce and wouldn’t actually ever want to eat myself in order to impress my girl. But she told me she wasn’t ready to leave our moment yet.
Yep, that’s what she said, our moment. She’s such a dork. I was, however, discovering that I liked that the most about her.
When she forgot to hide every thought, stopped pretending like she was some sort of uptight super-model, and I knew she was telling me exactly what she was thinking. I struggled not to wrap my arms around her and devour her mouth. Each time she got super excited in class or said something completely cheesy, I fell a little bit more for the girl who dazzled me.
“Babe, you have class early tomorrow morning?” I ask while slicing cucumber, totally unimpressively. Shit, were these meant to be the same size?
“Yeah. Chem. It’s my earliest and hardest class. I always try not to work Sunday nights so I can get a good night’s sleep and really focus in class. It’s a core class for me to be able to apply for medical school.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“You have Chemistry?”
“No… I’ve got my children’s literature class. It’s one of my core classes.”
“Children’s literature, that’s awesome. I really wanted to ask you about that the other day. So, as an English major, do you need to write a lot?”
“Yeah, I do,” I tell her quickly shifting my gaze between my sandwich preparation and where she’s sitting.
As someone who has kept a secret about writing for years, I figured the best way to tell her was try and make it casual. Try and make it seem like her reaction was not a big fucking deal to me. I had been thinking about asking her why she chose medicine and why she decided to come to Penmore for a while. But I always stopped myself, knowing she would re
turn the same questions and I hadn’t worked out exactly what I wanted to tell her.
A lot of girls I know dating players on the team wouldn’t be too thrilled finding out the guy they were seeing was contemplating a future as a struggling writer. They would think they bought a one-way ticket to crazy town if he wanted to be the next Theodore Geisel or Roald Dahl. Especially if everyone was talking about how he would be the first to go in the draft when his time comes and will easily receive a fifteen-million-dollar signing bonus.
But I knew Parker was different. I knew when she looked at me she wasn’t calculating how many Alexander McQueen purses I would be buying her or the size of the ring I could put on her finger.
She stared at me like I knew I looked at her.
Desperately needing one more touch.
One more kiss.
“I like to draw and write. My mom was always a big Dr. Seuss fan and some of my best childhood memories, outside of Pee Wee football, were reading those stories together and making up our own.”
“That makes so much sense,” she tells me. Which confuses the fuck out of me. I was pretty sure no one looked at me and thought, ‘Yep that 220-pound, 6-foot athletic dude wants to draw little monster characters and rhyme away with time to play.’
“Babe, you look at me and thought yep, that guy wants to write stories for kids?”
“Umm, well, not really. I mean, it just makes sense that your mom passed on her love of literature and books to you. It’s the same with me. My dad is a doctor. I grew up thinking all doctors had magical powers.”
“Ah, yeah. Parents complicating our lives in ways they don’t even realize,” I joke as I pass her the sandwich I made and catch her golden eyes sparkling.
“Yeah. I couldn’t believe that my dad was shocked when I told him I was going to sign up to classes that would allow me to be a doctor.”
“He was surprised? Even though you thought he had powers?” I ask.
“Um. Well, my mom passed away from cancer when I was little. I think he thought, with the amount of time I spent in the hospital, watching her slowly lose her fight in a pasty green chair surrounded by pasty cream walls, that it would be the last place I would ever want to spend most of my life.”
“But you do?”
“Yeah. I actually want to become a pediatrician and specialize in working with kids. I know how scary and frightening the hospital is to them. I also know how impossible it feels to stop grieving. If I can just help one kid through their tears, which is a pretty impossible task when up against cancer, I know I’ll be able to get through years of studying and student loans.”
“Maybe you’ll be able to use one of my books,” I say jokingly.
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” she replies quietly.
PARKER
Two Weeks Later
As the sun slithers across the sheets and traces the outline of our tangled bodies, I wonder if I’ve risked the only person who makes me feel alive by trying to hide who I once was.
Sure, I love spending time with Millie, Nate and Keeley. Yet the way the world seems to move in slow motion when Grayson and I are together—causing me to be so mindful of every breath I take—is incomparable.
I don’t regret watching him. Latching on with my eyes to the person who reminded me of the joys of living. Getting to witness his growth from boy to man. Overcoming my grief by seeing the way he embraces life. But even bathed in sunlight, the shadows lurk in the corner, because I haven’t truly opened up to him. I haven’t exposed myself to him fully.
I was going to tell him. I knew even as he pulls me closer, trying to ward off our need to wake up and start our routines, that before the end of the day I needed to tell him. Thanksgiving and Christmas were fast approaching; my dad and Mimi were all over me to come visit at least once. I couldn’t ignore their phone calls any longer. I couldn’t lie to the people I love anymore.
I could reason away my omissions during the beginning of our relationship. Tell myself they weren’t lies or that it couldn’t possibly be a real relationship, so I needn’t say anything when he was bound to break up with me any day now. I thought I would only get one date, one memory to savor, and I didn’t want to ruin it with a confession.
And when he made it clear that we were exclusive and he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, I could justify not telling him that we were next-door neighbors because I was insecure and nervous. We had just started dating. It was too soon. Then I blinked and it became too late. If I hadn’t brought it up earlier, how do I bring it up now?
I know after spending the last few weeks together, sharing our dreams and fears for the future, that he would have understood. He would have forgiven me in the beginning for not telling him I was the biggest nerd in high school, where he was the ruler of popularity, and I kept that to myself.
But I spent nearly every other night at his house now.
I occasionally went to his training sessions and watched from the sidelines.
I was still the biggest nerd, insisting we watch David Attenborough documentaries on the nights we wanted to snuggle on the couch. He didn’t seem to care though. In fact, this smile I’ve never before seen crosses his face when I do things that are particularly nerdy.
He tugs me down, pulls the duvet over our heads, hiding us from the approaching day, and whispers, “Two more minutes then I promise we’ll both get up.” However, he doesn’t need to say anything to convince me to prolong our time together. I wasn’t rushing to start the day I knew would be the hardest one I’ve faced in years.
In all the years I had spent daydreaming about sleeping with Grayson Waters, the evenings and mornings I get with Gray were better, beyond my imagination.
They were sweeter, slower and more life altering than I could ever have anticipated.
Which felt amazing.
Until they didn’t.
Because after we lay wrapped in each other’s arms last night, Grayson chuckled and said, “Pretty glad we both decided to study sociology, Stars.” Causing my heart that had been so full with love to crack just a little.
He didn’t know.
Which I realized, on even the best days we spent together, tainted what we had.
So I knew it had to be today.
Today, I would share the skeletons in my closet and pray that he won’t run away.
GRAYSON
I yank off my helmet and tip the contents of my water bottle over my face. Water drops trickle down my neck, cooling my body. I was grateful the afternoon sun had set; even with winter fast approaching, I was happy to no longer be dealing with the heat coursing through my body as well as the sun’s rays.
The guys around me were all doing the same thing, trying to cool down and fight the heat still pumping through their bodies. Coach Hardy had demanded we push ourselves today more than he’s ever done before. None of us complained. We knew what we were working toward. If we got through the next few games, we were heading to the Cotton Bowl and ultimately anticipating a championship game against the Redbirds. They had one of the best defensive units in the country, so we were training harder. Preparing ourselves in the best way we can, with long hours and hard tackles. Between preparing for finals, practice and Parker, I was exhausted.
I was ready to hit the showers and message Parker about dinner plans. That’s when I see him. Over by the stands, both thumbs hooked into the hoops of a pair of worn Levi’s, a plaid shirt covering his broad chest and a white Stetson cowboy hat partially hiding his salt-and-pepper hair.
Unlike what his outfit might outwardly suggest, my father is no fucking cowboy. He grew up in the city. The closest thing to riding a horse he’s ever come to was probably the plastic ones mounted on the miniature merry-go-rounds you occasionally find out front of local grocery stores. Fuck if him dressed as someone he isn’t doesn’t make me stop, though, and remember all the fucking characters I’ve seen him play in the past year. My old man has been an aged rocker, smarmy businessman and a new oil tycoon. And three
months ago, when I saw him last, he was in a John Deere baseball cap, baggy Penmore sweater and pretending to be a proud father. All lies. All for some hidden agenda. Each time he visits, it always starts the same way, with him standing on the fucking sidelines of the football field waiting to pounce. His bullshit never changes.
I didn’t want to deal with this. If I thought I could get away with it, I would walk straight past him and treat him like the stranger he’s pretending to be. Unfortunately, he was making himself known. Congratulating each of the players as they walk past him, wishing them luck in the upcoming game and tapping their shoulders, telling them, “Don’t you boys worry now, my son will take y’all straight to the top. Best college quarterback in the country.”
What a fucking dick.
“Boy, get over here,” he calls out with a damn near perfect Southern drawl. I do have to admit, with every character he embodies, he’s damn convincing. If I didn’t know the sound of his original grating twang, I’d have believed he just rode up to the stadium on the back of a black bronco.
“What do you want?” I ask, cutting right to the chase as I stand in front of him.
“Is that any way for a boy to speak to his father?”
I can’t help but smirk and reply sarcastically, “You seen my father round here, cowboy? Maybe at one of your rodeos, perhaps?”
He just chuckles, ignores the repulsion in my voice and tells me, “Now, boy, I know this hat may be a little strange to you, but the ladies love it. Trust me, if you didn’t have a little girl in tow these days, I’d invite you to join me at one the honky-tonks I went to the other week.” He pauses then grins at me disgustingly before stating, “Hell, you let the girl wear the hat and I swear she thinks she’s being scored and does all the work.”
While he’s still chuckling over some girl trying to save horses, I’m caught on his earlier statement. When the reality of his words sink in, I can’t keep the anger out of my stance or my words.
Stars (Penmore #1) Page 13
