“Are you secretly a forty-year-old man? You could tell me.” I offer a small smile.
“I’m twenty-eight.” No trace of a smile. “My birthday is May nineteenth. My favorite color is green, but I like orange, too, because I’m a Giants fan. I prefer summer to winter, but I love autumn. I tried being a vegetarian once when I had to get lean for a role and I thought I’d eat my own arm off after two weeks. When I’m not thinking about food, I can go days without eating meat and not really miss it. I don’t drink soda, but I like beer, so it’s not a carbonation thing. My favorite drink is vodka tonic with lemon, not lime. I have a love/hate relationship with reading, which can make this whole acting gig a challenge, and I’ve chosen almost all of my roles based on a read-through of only the first scene.”
I furrow my brow. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because last night you told me you felt like you were with a stranger and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” Greyson’s defiant expression reminds me of Caleb recounting telling Grandmother about his investment in the bargain booze place. “Truth be told, I’ve been thinking about it since you accused me of the same thing the night we met, although at that point we were strangers.”
“Okay?” God, I wish I felt better because I’m pretty sure this is A Moment.
“Last night you made it pretty clear you could have had a better time alone in your apartment binging movies on Netflix.” Greyson shakes his head with a trace of a smile. “And not my movies either.”
“Ouch.” I wince. “I had a lot to drink last night.”
“I know.” He raises his eyebrows and the look he gives me makes me think he was the one who undressed me and put me to bed, but I don’t get to ask—and, really, do I want to?—as he continues. “I’m going to lay it all on the table right now, but then it’s up to you what happens next.”
My God, my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Greyson takes two steps closer. He’s close enough to touch if I wanted, but I cross my arms over my stomach. His voice is low when he speaks. “I like you, Claire, but you haven’t exactly made it easy for me. On the one hand I appreciate that. On the other, we both know I don’t usually have to work so hard. If it makes me sound like an asshole to say that, then I’m an asshole. I’ve made mistakes in our short acquaintance, but when you agreed to come here and after the direction our messages took this week, well, I thought it was a turning point. Last night makes me think I was wrong. I appreciate your help and your willingness to take our charade a little further, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue.”
“Obligated?” Greyson just said a lot of words, but that’s the one that sticks.
“Please don’t feel any pressure to leave if that’s what you choose. The apartment is big enough and you’re welcome to stay until you’re feeling better.” Greyson gestures towards the stove, his tone pure vanilla. “I made bacon and eggs and there are some rolls in the cupboard. That’s always my go-to when I’m feeling hungover.”
“I’m sorry, I’m really confused. I’m welcome to stay until I feel better, have some bacon and eggs?” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Bloody hell, is this your way of ditching me without looking like the bad guy?”
“No, I told you…”
“Why don’t you just ask me to leave? You told me before you don’t usually have to work this hard and we hardly know each other. I mean, a few sexy texts and a hot kiss or two don’t obligate you.” My voice ratchets up a little and I roll my eyes on the ‘obligate.’
Greyson bites his lip. “I told you what happens next is up to you.”
Anger crawls up my throat like bile. It occurs to me to wonder if I’d be so pissy if I felt better, but I think I would. “So you can take it or leave it? After all, I’m nobody and I’ve served my purpose, haven’t I? See you later and don’t let the door hit you in the arse on the way out?”
“Is that what you think?” Greyson’s voice tightens.
“I don’t know what to think.” I think this conversation is escalating more quickly than my pickled brain can process, but that statement, at least, is true.
Greyson’s retort is immediate. “Well I sure as fuck do if you’d bother to ask.”
Every part of me recoils like I’ve been hit, but I manage to keep an edge to my tone. “Fine. Enlighten me.”
“That conversation we had that last night at Castle Calder? That’s why I’m here right now. Not because of all of those flirty texts or even that kiss. That was damn hot, but you know what’s hotter?” Greyson’s green eyes are lasers slicing my face to shreds. “You calling me on my bullshit. You telling me about your shitty ex-boyfriend. Me admitting that the whole Alexa thing is a debacle. Do you know how often I meet someone I want to open up to? Never.”
Greyson stops talking like there’s nothing more to say, but I have a million responses, at least. The one that comes out spills from my mouth uncensored. “I don’t open up. Not really. I say I like my men good-looking and emotionally unavailable and I’m not kidding because it means I don’t have to get involved. Not really.”
It’s the most honest thing I’ve said to him. It might be the most honest thing I’ve said ever. I feel a lump the size of China in my throat and, God help me, my stomach lurches again. I open and close my mouth two more times in an attempt to get out the important bit. The third time I open my mouth, I manage a faint guttural sound. Followed immediately by vomiting the contents of my stomach all over my feet.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The second time I wake up the sun is low in the sky and I’m in Greyson’s bed with damp hair, wearing a blue Old Navy T-shirt, knickers, and nothing else. Again, there’s a glass of water on the bedside table, but this time, the door is open and Greyson hovers by the bedside.
“How are you feeling?” He picks up the glass of water. “Maybe you should try to have a drink?”
“Thank you.” I swallow and reach for the glass. “Greyson, I am so, so sorry about earlier.”
I avoid looking up so I don’t have to meet his eyes, but heat tingles my hands anyway. On the heels of our super intense conversation-slash-argument I vomited not once, not twice, but three times. Including the worst time where I managed to splatter my feet and get puke in my hair. To his credit, Greyson didn’t eww and ick, he just put an arm around my waist and half-carried me to the shower. Then waited until I’d finished and tucked me into his bed with a cool kiss on the forehead.
“Don’t worry about it. Honestly. Promise me you won’t give it a second thought.” His tone is so damn earnest I look up.
His eyes are soft and his face is so open I have to take a gulp of water so I don’t say anything dumb. I take another smaller sip before I say, “I’m going to give it a second thought, and probably a tenth. I never get sick, so to say I’m mortified is a massive understatement.”
“Hey, it got you in my bed, didn’t it?” He grins.
“Opportunist.” I take another sip of water, but then I have to lie back because suddenly my stomach feels sloshy.
Greyson’s expression changes and he perches on the edge of the mattress. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I drank a lot last night, but I swear I haven’t felt this bad in a long time. And I’m not just saying that to avoid the rest of our conversation.” Because besides thinking about how dreadful I feel, the only other thought in my head is how our conversation was cut short earlier, just as we were on the verge of…well, something.
“Our conversation isn’t going anywhere. I remember where we left off.” Greyson doesn’t smile when he says this and, for fuck’s sake, there goes my stomach again.
I prop myself up on my elbow, but it doesn’t help and I wave my hand. “I think you’re going to need to move.”
He darts off the bed and reaches for my arm. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
I’d be mortified all over again if I wasn’t afraid of not making it to the loo. As it is, I barely have time to fling the lid
up before the meager contents of my stomach come up. Again. Greyson keeps one hand on my back and the other gently pulls my hair away from my face. Tears stream down my face and my nose runs, but I manage to sputter, “I cannot believe you’re doing this. I feel like such an idiot.”
“For being sick?”
My stomach heaves again before I can answer. “My grandmother would point out I’ve done this to myself.”
“Your grandmother’s kind of a bitch.” Greyson’s tone is so deadpan, I choke out a laugh, although I don’t dare get to my feet quite yet. “Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I think you might be sick, not hung over. You’re burning up.”
“You think I’m poorly? Is that why I feel so bad?”
“Maybe. I’m no doctor. I haven’t even played one on TV, but I’ve had a stomach bug or two and they’ve all looked suspiciously like this.” Greyson rubs my back. “Do you feel like you can stand and get back to bed?”
I nod. He helps hoist me up and I shuffle back to bed. I don’t even care that I’m barely dressed, I just want to lie back down. Once I’m back under the duvet, he reclaims his place on the mattress and I say, “Why am I in your room? I can get to mine and give you your bed back at least.”
“No chance. I think I need to keep an eye on you, so you’re staying put and so am I. Can I get you anything? Do you think you could eat some crackers or something?”
“God, no. I don’t even want water right now. But please. I’m fine. Or I will be. You don’t need to babysit me.” The words are automatic, but the truth is I don’t want him to leave. I take a deep breath as Greyson shifts on the mattress, and before he can get up, I reach for his arm and say, “But I’d like it if you’d stay.”
“Are you sure?”
I study Greyson’s face. He’s genuinely asking, I think, not looking for an out. “I’m sure. Maybe we could watch a movie or something?”
Greyson smiles. It’s a good one. “Do I get to pick since I’m playing nurse?”
“Have you played a nurse on TV? Let’s watch that.”
Greyson circles the bed, picking up the TV remote, before crawling under the duvet beside me. “I haven’t, but I don’t think your stomach can handle anything medical. How about we go for a comedy?”
“A comedy sounds great.” And it does. It is. Greyson chooses a comedy from Netflix and I quickly end up tucked under his arm, a hand on his chest, dozing off and on to the rise and fall of his chest and a laugh track. We have to pause once so I can be sick again, but it’s less violent and I feel a little better.
At some point, Greyson leaves to go get food, and when he comes back, the faint smell of bread lingers on his T-shirt. “Did you go to a bakery?” I murmur when he slips back under the duvet next to me.
“Pizza. There’s a place down the street that’s almost as good as New York.” He turns on his side, pulling the duvet up over his shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
I turn on my side to face him. “Well, I’m not sprinting for the loo since you mentioned pizza, so maybe better? How are you?”
“I’m good. This is,” he pauses, “nice.”
I grimace. “Holding my hair back while I puke isn’t nice for either of us. I promise you.”
“Maybe not that part. But the part where you’re curled up against me in bed? I could get used to that.” Greyson smiles a little.
I attempt one of my own, but it’s wobbly. “Me too. I’m sorry if I was a jerk earlier. I warned you I’m not very good at this.”
“You did. Want to tell me why you think so?”
“Um, no?” I laugh a little. “I mean, I don’t know. One of my old boyfriends blamed my grandmother, but that feels like a lame excuse. She did the best she could.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t deserve more.” Greyson’s voice is soft.
“Probably,” I admit. “She loves me in her way. I know that. But she loves her life, and maintaining her status quo is a priority to her.”
“Meaning you fall where?”
I shrug. “Second or third?”
“Can I ask you a question?” Greyson waits for me to nod before he asks, “Do you ever wish she hadn’t taken you in? That she’d let you go to someone else?”
I close my eyes for a long second and they feel gritty when I open them. “Yes and no. She’s all I have, you know? So, yes? Sort of? I’d miss her if she were gone, I think.”
“Better the devil you know?”
“Maybe.” I let out a shaky laugh. “Besides, they say everything happens for a reason, right?”
“I’ve always hated that phrase.” Greyson’s expression pinches like someone’s turning a screw.
It’s definitely not the kind of look that invites questions, but I can’t help myself. “Why?”
“The first time my father moved out, I was six. It was a shock because I didn’t even realize my parents were fighting. My dad moved back in six months later and then he and my mom repeated the cycle for the next three years, becoming less and less concerned about us overhearing their arguments every time. It got so bad I asked my best friend, Trevor, if I could move in with him when I was eight. I never officially did, but I had two drawers in his dresser and it was his mom I had to tell if I wasn’t going to be there for dinner.” Greyson smiles a little at the memory. “His mom was a total badass. She made sure I ate vegetables and nagged me about my homework. When I got a part in the class Christmas play, I was going to blow it off, but Trevor told his mom and she was the one who helped me learn my lines and made me a stupid skunk tail for my costume.”
“She sounds lovely. Do you keep in touch with her?”
Greyson’s smile fades. “She died of cancer when we were fourteen and if there was a reason for it, I still don’t understand. It sucked, plain and simple. Trevor was angry all the time, shut people out, screwed around in school. He spent a year getting into more and more trouble until finally his dad took a job transfer to Raleigh and they moved.”
“You didn’t keep in touch.”
“No. I called and emailed him, but he never responded. I even sent him a letter, but I doubt he even read it. And that’s assuming he got it in the first place.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe he just couldn’t cope with reminders from his past, you know?” God knows I couldn’t when my mom died and I was little. If I’d lost her as a teenager, I’d probably still be a basket case.
“I looked him up on Facebook a couple of years ago, but I didn’t send him a friend request because it felt weird.” Greyson offers a self-conscious smile. “I mean, he knows who I am if he really wanted to be in touch.”
“Wait. You’re on Facebook? As yourself?” I reach for my phone. I know I’m deflecting away from the serious conversation we’ve been having, but one thing I really can’t talk about for very long is grief and loss. “I’ve seen fan pages, but I didn’t know you had a personal account.”
“So you’ve looked at my Facebook fan pages?” Greyson grins. “I would have thought Instagram would be more your style.”
I manage to grab my phone and clutch it in my hand without turning it on. “Oh, don’t worry. I follow you there, too. You’re very lax about posting, by the way. I’d recommend setting up a schedule.”
“Well, thank you. I’ll take that under advisement.” Greyson laughs. “So, you’re, like, a fan?”
“I told you that before.” I laugh, too. “When we were first talking about Alexa. Remember?”
“You mentioned the VaughnGayle hashtag thing, which I get. Between my grandfather and Alexa’s publicity team, you couldn’t go online without seeing that. But I didn’t know you were, like, devoted.”
This time when I laugh, it’s loud. “Devoted might be pushing it. But I have been known to bookmark a few of your better interviews.”
“Have you? I’d be curious to know what you think are my better interviews.” Greyson’s expression is curious, like he really wants to know, but he’s also definitely amused.
“Before I met yo
u, I’d say anything with George Douglas or Jackie Knox. But now I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
Answering truthfully is like shining a giant beacon. On myself. But lying—even glossing over the truth—is undoing the truth, trust, and tenderness we’ve gained today. If I’m going to leave this flat and never look back, my choice is clear. But if not… I take a deep breath. “When you’re on those shows, you’re still acting. Granted, you’re charming and personable, but you’re not Greyson Vaughn, slightly-too-defensive-for-his-own-good, sensitive guy. And that guy is the one worth knowing.”
“You know I try to keep that guy under wraps.” Greyson offers one of his best half-smiles. “He’s kind of a pain in the ass.”
“No doubt. It could be my wonky stomach or the low-grade fever talking, but I think he’s kind of great, in spite of that. Or maybe because of it. I’m not sure.”
I wait for my heart to start pounding like it’s flying out of my chest, but it doesn’t. The ceiling doesn’t fall in and the world doesn’t end with me admitting my fledgling feelings. In fact, all that happens is Greyson reaches over and takes my hand, clasping it warm and tight between his.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Greyson and I are still holding hands when my phone buzzes in my hand, followed by his ringing from his bedside table. I glance at the screen. Grandmother. Christ on a bike.
“It’s Mike,” he says. “I should take it. I’ve already dodged him once.”
He swings his legs out from underneath the duvet and off the side of the bed as he answers, walking to the window. I press the green icon on my phone to answer Grandmother’s call.
She starts talking before I say hello. “Darling, I had to call to congratulate you. The photos from last night are gorgeous. You and Greyson have caused quite a stir.”
“Oh. Wow. Um, wow.” Between puking up the lining of my stomach and lying in bed with Greyson, I’d forgotten all about last night. “Is that a good thing?”
A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2) Page 15
