“You’re late for class,” I say to Grant. He continues to stare at me; his face is full of pain and doubt.
I hesitantly take Trevor’s outstretched palm, as the final sign that I’m really okay. That I’m where I want to be, and with who I want to be with. This farce hurts me more than any of the other acts I’ve had to keep up the last few months. This is the hardest to fake. I’m the only one of the three of us that knows for sure that it’s not true.
The pain in Grant’s face as he concedes and walks away rips at my heart, shreds it. Grant doesn’t turn around as he walks away from us. He backs away, like it’s against everything in him to leave me standing there. With this person he knows has hurt me. And maybe will again.
I feel myself deflate when Grant is forced to turn a corner and I can no longer see him.
But I can finally drop the act, and Trevor’s hand.
“What?” I ask. I force authority to fill my normally meek voice. But my arms, hugging my own chest in a futile attempt to conceal the fact that I’m shaking, contradicts the sound. The halls are vacant. Just me and Trevor. I’m seriously starting to doubt my decision to send Grant away.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” Trevor says. His voice is shaky and tense and he looks like he might cry. But really, I’ve almost come to expect the theatrics from him.
“Okay.” Is all that I can offer in response.
“Really, Syd. I was disappointed. I’m sorry that I upset you.”
The same boyish face that I longed to forgive a year ago is back. The one who said he loved me and wiped away any doubt I had in us. How did we end up here?
“Forgive me?” He reaches out and tilts my chin up. But I pull back and look at the ground. I can’t meet his eyes. I can’t say what I need to say while I’m looking at him. I’m a coward.
“Look Trevor.” My voice is barely audible. “I think we may need a little—”
“No,” he cuts me off indignantly.
“Trevor—” I start again.
“No, Syd. Don’t even say it. The last thing we need is time. Or space. Or whatever generic bullshit line you’re about to feed me. Don’t do this.”
“Let’s just take the weekend…”
“Syd. I fucking love you. Don’t do this because of him.”
“This isn’t about anyone but you and me.”
A door opens and Quinn walks out, holding a long stick labeled “bathroom pass.” She stops several yards away from us and stares, eyebrows up, glaring at Trevor.
“Syd?” Her concerned eyes dart back and forth between Trevor and me. “Everything okay?”
Trevor isn’t even looking in her direction, much less bothering with the fake smile he had plastered on this morning.
“Everything’s fine, Quinnlette.” I use the name that only her older brother calls her. I know she hates it. I do it subconsciously, but she knows something is up when I do.
“Right,” she says, not buying it. She starts walking toward us.
“No, seriously, I’m just not feeling well. Trevor was about to take me home,” I say. I flash what I hope will be a convincing smile and she stops.
“Okay, well…” She gives me a long, calculating look. “I hope you feel better.”
I nod and she wanders off down the hall.
“Can we please do this later?” I ask Trevor.
He looks at me and his eyes are empty.
“Whatever you say, Sydney.” I silently grieve for the way his stunning blue eyes used to make me feel. If I could just get a fleeting glance of the guy he was before, I might second-guess my decision.
“I just think that it’s best. For now.”
“Well, if that’s what you think. I think you’re going to regret it. But, hey, your call.”
“We’ll talk in a few days?”
Nothing.
“Okay, well, I guess I’m gonna go.”
I turn away from him. I almost expect to be yanked back and told not to walk away from him. I expect to be stopped. I expect the argument to continue. But he doesn’t. It doesn’t.
I leave campus. Knowing one thing for certain.
School and gym are no longer on the agenda.
I spend an hour arguing with Maisy, trying to explain why she cannot have her group of friends over to stay both Friday and Saturday night. She totally ignores the note from our dad and tells me that she can do whatever she wants. She makes a big production of stomping around and slamming doors before coming downstairs to find out what we’re having for dinner.
I’m upstairs trying to organize my room when the pizza arrives.
“Maisy!” I yell. “There’s money by the door, can you get that?”
I’m half under my bed trying to fish out stray shoes and other odds and ends. No response, naturally. Another knock at the door.
“Ugh,” I groan. I shove myself out from under the bed. My knee-length pajama pants and white tank top are now covered in a thick layer of dust from under my bed. I glance into Maisy’s room as I run down the hall. She’s on the phone, of course.
I yank the front door open, and then, take a quick step back. Not pizza.
Grant.
He’s leaning patiently against the doorframe, dressed casually in dark gray lounge pants and a plain v-neck t-shirt. God, he manages to look effortless and gorgeous all at the same time.
“Hey,” I say, clearly taken aback by his presence.
“Hi. Sorry to show up without calling.” He seems nervous. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that it’s kind of endearing.
I laugh to camouflage my surprise. “I just thought you were the pizza.”
“If it helps, I did bring food.” He holds up a large white paper bag. “Jules has been cooking like crazy. With mom coming in tomorrow, you know. Anyway, with you and your sister here alone, I figured you could use something to eat. But, if you have food coming…”
“Please, there’s never enough food with that kid around. That was really sweet of you.”
We stand there awkwardly for a moment. Before I stop being so damn inept and invite him in. He sets the bag on the kitchen counter and opens his mouth to say something, just as there’s another knock on the door.
“Hold that thought, I’ll just be a second.” I hold my finger up and race out of the room. I cannot believe that he’s here. My heart is hammering loudly in my chest. In my ears. All through me. I pay for the pizza and pause momentarily outside of the kitchen to calm myself.
“Okay, sorry about that,” I say. I set the box on the stove. I should call Maisy down and tell her that the food is here. I should … but first, I should thank Grant, right? Manners are more important.
“So, thanks for the food. That was really thoughtful.”
“You’re welcome. Honestly, it was my excuse to come by. You left school early, and I was worried,” He speaks slowly, trying to gauge my reaction before finishing. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I just … needed to know if you were all right.” His hands are shoved deep in his pockets. It’s an atypical stance for him – he usually radiates confidence.
“I’m fine,” I say. I inspect my nails. That’s a safe thing to do. Safer than looking him in the eyes, anyway.
“Look, I know it’s not my place, Syd. I know that you love him … I know that you want him.” His words are pained. “And I understand if you want me to leave. But I just had to see for myself that you weren’t hurt.”
I lean against the cool countertop, unsure how to respond. I’m not sure that I love Trevor anymore. I don’t think I want him. And here’s Grant, standing in front of me, wanting to know if I’m hurt, when he so obviously is because of me.
“I don’t have a clue what I want.”
He nods. “That’s understandable. I know you’re going through a lot, Syd. I don’t mean to be unfair, or pile anymore crap on you.” He takes a few slow steps to close the space in between us.
“You’re not,” I lie. He is. Every movement he takes away from me aches. But every
step he takes toward me confuses me. My heart rate picks up again as he inches closer. He reaches for my hand and lightly strokes it with his fingertips.
“I just want you to be safe. And okay. And I can see that you aren’t.”
“I told you, I’m fine.” I can’t concentrate on anything right now. Not with him this close to me.
“What the heck?” Maisy’s voice cuts through the intensity as she stomps into the kitchen. I should have heard her coming. I jerk my hand away from Grant’s and spin toward Maisy.
“Hey, pizza’s here!” I say. My voice cracks with all of the nerves and other emotion spinning around in me.
“Obviously. Who’s this?” she asks. She nods in Grant’s direction.
“This is my friend, Grant. From school,” I say. Grant smiles politely at her, but she only scoffs in response.
“Friend. Right,” she mumbles under her breath. She pops open the pizza boxes and pokes at the pies like they’re completely foreign. “So, what’s in the bags?”
Grant doesn’t miss a beat and starts unpacking the food he brought over.
“We’ve got chicken kabobs, baked ziti, and chocolate mousse,” he says. Now he’s speaking Maisy’s language.
Maisy’s eyes light up and she abandons the cardboard pizza boxes in favor of Grant’s buffet.
“Are you staying for dinner?” I ask. Do I sound as eager as I feel?
“Only if you’d like,” he says with a handsome smirk.
“Yes, please.”
“Friends!” Maisy snorts as she piles food onto her plate.
The three of us arrange our plates on the coffee table and turn on a movie. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time that I ate a meal with Maisy. On purpose. But she and Grant are getting along great. They talk about school and the movies and joke. It’s more happiness than I’ve seen from her in months, and I have Grant to thank for it. I lean back against the sofa and listen and smile. Especially on Maisy’s birthday weekend, it feels like a gift.
When the movie ends, Maisy hurries to clean up her dishes and rushes out of the room to make a call.
“You don’t have to leave, Maze,” I assure her.
“I know. I have to call Darla,” she says.
“It was cool to meet you, Maisy. Happy birthday!” Grant says.
“You too, dude,” Maisy says. “And thanks. Are you going to be coming over again?”
Grant smirks. “You’ll have to ask your sister that.”
They bump fists before she turns and sprints up the staircase.
“Just give me a second.” I excuse myself to follow my sister.
“What’s up, Syd?” Maisy asks. She’s already on her bed, phone in hand.
“I just … I don’t want you to think…” I have no idea what I’m trying to say.
“That you have two boyfriends?” she asks.
I let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh.
“Exactly.” I nod. “Grant and I are just friends.”
“Whatever, Syd. He’s cool. I like him.”
“I do, too,” I confess. Too much.
“So, he’s going to be coming over more?” she asks.
I rub my hand over the quilt on her bed. My grandmother made it for my mom a zillion years ago. What would either one of them think of what’s going on in my life right now?
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I say honestly.
“Oh.” She reaches for her phone again. “Well, your business.” She’s already scrolling through her phone. I guess that’s my cue to leave.
When I get back downstairs, I’m surprised to see Grant’s spot on the couch vacant.
My stomach drops. No way had he left without saying goodbye. I peek into the kitchen and he’s standing near the sink, drying a plate. All of the food is put away, and it looks like he’s drying the last of the dishes.
Unbelievable.
“You really didn’t need to do all of that,” I say.
He turns around and tosses the dish towel onto the counter. He pushes a piece of hair up out of his face and grins.
“You know, you sure tell people what they should and shouldn’t do a whole lot.” He winks. And I’m a goner.
“Well, thanks. I haven’t seen Maisy that talkative in a really long time. She must really like you.”
“Does it run in the family?” he smirks. “I’m kidding, don’t answer that. She’s a great kid.”
I swallow. And then I do a mental countdown to work up my nerve.
5…4…3…2… Talk.
“Do you want to stay for a while?”
Grant nods and follows me back into the living room. There’s some old 70s game show rerun on that I have zero interest in. But there’s no way I could concentrate on anything anyway, so I don’t bother looking for something better. Still, we both sit there. Quiet. Feigning interest in the show, like a couple of middle-schoolers on their first date.
“So, my mom mentioned they’re going to pick up shooting of your show in the next week or so, right? Are you okay with that?”
“Yep,” I say. I pull my hair back and twist it into a knot on the back of my head.
“I mean, I just worry that…” Grant doesn’t finish.
Drama. Trevor. Yeah, I get it.
“You worry a lot,” I say.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” He smiles.
He reaches over and tucks a piece of hair that’s already fallen from the loose knot back behind my ear. And it’s then, when the familiar goosebumps cover me, that I realize how much I’ve come to crave it.
I suck up my nerves and rearrange myself so that I’m sitting cross-legged facing him. Only a few inches separate us now.
Breathe.
“I’m sorry you had to see all of that today. I’m so freaking embarrassed.” I try my hardest not to look away from him. To maintain that constant eye contact that he specializes in.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
He runs his thumb along my arm.
Breathe.
“Yeah, I really do. Trevor shouldn’t have caused a scene like that. And I shouldn’t have let you get so involved.”
“The thing is, I want to be involved. If you’re a part of something, I want to be there. I can’t for the life of me understand why you’re even involved with that guy, but I can’t change your mind. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be there for you, though.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.” I finally have to look away.
“Sydney,” he breathes. The way he says it and the warmth of his breath inundate me. There’s so much emotion behind those two syllables. I can’t make sense of how he does it. Grant leans in and wraps his hand around the back of my neck, his long fingers tickle and tangle the baby fine hairs. Softly, he pulls my face in toward his and rests his chin on my forehead.
“You’d never have to ask for anything from me. I’d do anything for you. Willingly, you know? And then some.”
He tips his head slightly and presses his lips to my forehead. They’re warm and electric. But it’s his words that stun me. Wrap around me. Leaving me tumbly and shaky with an inexplicable longing. I don’t think about what I’m doing for once. I don’t calculate risk. Or weigh options. I don’t think about deductions for imperfect form. I just do it.
I press my lips to his. At first he’s frozen. But it only takes a second before his mouth and the rest of him reacts. He pulls me in by my hips and crushes his mouth onto mine. It’s warm and intense and everything I’d expected it to be. And better. All of the months of pent-up attraction and fascination collide, and the result is nothing short of exhilarating.
His grip on my hip is firm and protective, without feeling possessive. It’s so different from what I’ve experienced before. He parts my lips gently and his warm breath fills my mouth. One of his hands moves to my face and the other rests just under my tank top on the bare skin of my back.
This is a completely new feeling. Even with Trevor, I never experienced this level
of desire. Something about our connection is so different. It’s just so much more than physical with Grant. But the physical stuff is amazing. Right now, in this moment, in these arms, I understand just how hard I’d been fighting it.
I lean back on the sofa and pull Grant down on top of me without releasing his lips. He lets out a low, soft moan and positions himself carefully so that he isn’t actually putting any weight on me. I wouldn’t care if he was. I want to be near him.
He unlocks his lips from mine and moves them to my neck. My entire body is tingling at the feeling of his mouth on my skin. I don’t ever want it to stop. I wonder if he has any idea how amazing it feels to be so close to him. Or how good he is at what he’s doing. He moves his lips to my collar bone and, from there, down the length of my arm. The kisses are slow and he intertwines one of his hands in mine. The other slips up the back of my shirt, pressing me closer to him. Grant’s hand slinks around to my stomach, up onto my breasts and I gasp against his mouth as his thumb grazes over my nipple. A thousand nerve endings I didn’t know exists ignite. And something else, something I thought I’d felt but pales in comparison to what I’m feeling for Grant right now—desire. I want him. It’s so completely different from the way Trevor touched me. Grants hands move in a way that prove that he’s doing it because he wants to touch me, he wants to make me feel good, I’m not a possession to him. It’s amazing, and I want to beg him to never stop.
“Sydney,” he sighs. He’s stopped kissing me, but the room is still spinning. He’s not holding me anymore, but is sitting on the floor, kneeling right beside me on the sofa, but he might as well be a continent away now.
“What’s the matter?” I ask self-consciously.
He exhales sharply. “We can’t do this.”
“What? Why not?” My insecurity takes over and the room comes to an abrupt halt.
“Trust me, there’s nothing I’d rather do.” He leans in and kisses the top of my nose. I won’t look at him. “But you’ve got to figure out what you want for yourself. I told you, I don’t want to complicate things, and that’s exactly what this is doing.”
Please stop trying to be a good guy and just go back to kissing me.
Risk the Fall Page 14
