“So much testosterone. You guys do know the trophy is just plastic, right?” I joke.
The left side of Grayson’s mouth quirks up but falls quickly, his glare still pointed at Adam. “I don’t care if it’s made of paper. It’ll be on my bookshelf tonight.”
Adam scoffs, still grinning, not looking the least bit intimidated.
Just as Malik puffs his chest out, ready to fire back, Erin strolls up, pointing her glittery pen in all their faces. “Five minutes, boys. Save the shit talking for the game and go get water.”
Grayson and Adam are still leering at each other, but Grayson shakes it off, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Dinner with the winner after this?”
I laugh. “Sounds perfect.”
He winks, glaring at Adam once more before jogging off behind Malik.
The tension is still thick once he’s gone, and I tuck my hair behind my ears, but luckily Erin isn’t the least bit fazed and is already rattling off the last of my duties for the evening. But I can’t help but watch Adam as his jaw flexes and without another look in my direction, he heads in the opposite direction of Grayson, and my eyes follow him the entire way.
The last matchup is best three out of five, with the entire crowd of my sisters and other Greek students crowding around court one for the final showdown. The bleachers are full, Kappa Kappa Beta girls lining the boundary edge and cheering for the team they want to win. I just stand in the middle, pretending to help the line judge, not sure which outcome would make me happier. Or if either one will really make me happy at all.
I can feel it. The night isn’t going to end well. I just don’t know what will spark the bomb.
Each game makes my stomach hurt worse. Grayson’s team wins the first and second one, and Adam’s team wins the third. Every single guy on both teams is dripping with sweat by the start of the fourth game, and I’m biting my nails down to the beds, watching and overanalyzing the way I feel when things happen.
Grayson gets hit, I cringe. Adam gets hit, I feel like I’m watching a dog get kicked. Grayson’s team wins, I smile and clap, all the while watching Adam with a pit in my stomach. Adam’s team wins and I sigh with relief, all the while wondering what that means and why I feel it.
My sister once watched a football game between her two favorite teams — the school where she went to undergrad, and the school where she did her Masters. She said she felt sick watching and had no idea whom to cheer for. She thought she would be happy either way, but when her undergrad team won, she was more sad than happy. That’s when she realized she felt more connected to her graduate school.
I didn’t get it then, but now I do.
“We couldn’t have asked for a better finale,” Erin says as Adam’s team clinches the fourth game. They’re jumping up and down celebrating while Grayson huffs and huddles his team up to strategize. “These two teams are brutal. And we made it to game five. Here,” she says, thrusting the brightly decorated donations bucket toward me. “Go make another round while the crowd is all amped up.”
“On it.”
I take the bucket from her hand and try to keep my mind busy as I walk up and down the bleachers collecting donations. The fifth and final game starts with my back turned to the court, and I try to keep it that way, wondering with every cheer and boo which team is winning.
But it doesn’t take long before I’m standing back beside Erin, bucket full to the brim with donations, and all that’s left to do is watch to see who wins.
I play with my hair as the game continues, twirling it around my fingers and chewing the inside of my cheek. Adam’s team is down to only him and Jeremy, with Grayson still holding on to his entire team so far. But Jeremy catches two balls thrown at him at once, one in each hand, and with a roar from the crowd, Grayson’s team is down to three.
Adam strikes Malik in the leg, and he curses the entire walk to the sideline, leaving only Grayson and Steven, a drummer from one of his friend’s bands.
For a while the four circle each other, throwing balls and dodging them just the same, and it feels like there will never be a winner. But then Steven gets antsy, chucking his ball square at Jeremy who catches it easily. He laughs, holding up the ball in one hand with an oversized pouty lip aimed at Steven walking off the court, which earns him a hard ball to the ribs from Grayson.
And then there are two.
This can’t get any worse.
“I feel nauseous,” I whisper to Erin, but she just laughs, thinking I’m joking, thinking I’m so excited to see who wins. But I’m not. I’m dreading it. Because either way, I’m screwed.
Grayson and Adam tiptoe around each other for a long while — advancing on the line and then backing off, throwing balls at each other’s feet and retreating back with eyes ready for the backfire shot. They’re both too coordinated, too powerful, and now I’m convinced there really won’t be a winner.
Would that be worse or better?
“They’ve got two minutes before time is called and we declare a tie,” Erin says, eyes on the game clock. “That would be super anti-climactic.”
Now we’re both stressed, and when the clock ticks down to one minute remaining, Erin jumps into action, calling out to the crowd in the bleachers.
“Cheer for your favorite team! We need a winner! Let’s count them down! Fifty-seven, fifty-six…”
She continues the chant, the rest of the crowd joining in, half of them screaming for Adam to throw his ball while the other half cheers Grayson’s name. The two of them just watch each other, murderous, waiting for the other to make a move while they plan their own.
When the crowd reaches twenty, everyone is on their feet, counting down the clock and screaming even louder for someone to make a move. Then, almost as if in slow motion, Grayson takes three long, fast strides toward Adam, winding up his arm and launching his last ball straight at Adam’s knees.
Adam jumps high into the air with a spiral kick, sending him up and over the ball, and when he lands on one foot his arm follows through like a sling shot, ball flying back toward Grayson before his other foot even hits the ground. It all happens so fast, I’m barely able to register the fact that he jumped over the ball, let alone that he sent his own back straight toward Grayson. Grayson’s eyes widen at the rebound, too, and though he tries to dodge it, the ball grazes his hip as he bends away from it.
And with nine seconds left, Adam’s team wins.
“FUCK!” Grayson roars, picking up the ball that hit him and launching it over the bleachers. No one notices but me, because everyone else is crowding the field to congratulate Adam’s team. Erin announces them the winner over the loudspeaker as music plays, the tournament officially over, and I slowly make my way toward Grayson.
He just stands there with his hands on his head, breaths heavy and lips in a flat line as he watches Adam’s team celebrate on the other side of the foul line. Malik, Steven, and the rest of the team clap him on the shoulder, dispersing after one of my sisters hands them their silver medals.
“Hey,” I say softly when I reach him. I leave my arms crossed over my middle, afraid to touch him yet. “You okay?”
“It’s bullshit,” Grayson spits, thrusting his hands toward the other team. “Adam was out like twice and the refs didn’t call it.”
I smile, stepping into him and threading my arms around his slick neck. “The controller buttons are broken,” I tease, but he pulls my arms off of him, still scowling.
“It’s not fair. It’s all rigged for the Greek system. No way would they let a bunch of GDIs win.”
GDI is code for God Damned Independents, or non-Greeks. I didn’t know what it meant until Skyler explained it to me at Ralph’s once, and I’m surprised Grayson knows the term at all.
“I’m sorry, babe. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”
But before the words are even out of my mouth, Adam jogs over, hand outstretched toward Grayson.
“Hey, man,” he says, wide grin on his face. “Good game. Seriously. You
r team was smart and it could have gone either way there at the end.”
Grayson eyes Adam’s hand, but doesn’t reach out to shake it.
Adam waits a moment before shrugging, letting his hand drop and turning to face me. My knees nearly buckle at his bright smile, the widest I’ve seen it all semester, pointed directly at me like a blinding pair of headlights. “So, where do you want to eat? Dinner with the winner, right?”
I roll my eyes at the tease, but when Grayson shoves Adam hard, stepping between the two of us, my hands fly to my mouth with a gasp.
“Back the fuck off, Brooks, before you get more than just a dodgeball to the face.”
Adam shoves him back. “Calm down, it was a fucking joke.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not laughing. No one is going to dinner with my girl but me.”
“That right?” Adam says, stepping forward until he’s chest to chest with Grayson. “Because if I recall correctly it was me who had dinner with her when you were too busy playing guitar for your little groupies to take her on a date.”
Grayson growls and shoves Adam again and I step between them, pushing my hands hard into each of their chests.
“STOP IT!”
They both pause, chests heaving against my hands, eyes hard on each other and noses flaring.
“It was just a joke,” I say to Grayson, who’s eyes widen as Adam snickers from the other end. I turn on him next. “And you already won, so how about you go gloat somewhere else and stop being an asshole.”
“I tried to shake his hand!” Adam defends.
“Yeah, and then made a joke about taking my girlfriend to dinner.”
“Wasn’t joking the other night, but then again you weren’t around, were you?”
Tossing my hands up with a sigh, I grab my backpack and longboard from behind the referee stand, strapping on the bag and fighting against the urge to punch them both.
“I give up. If you two want to compare dick sizes all night, be my guest. But I’m going to dinner.” They both take a step forward and I hold up a hand. “Alone.”
And with that, I drop my board to the sidewalk and kick off, leaving them both standing there as equal losers in my eyes.
I take my time at dinner, calling Skyler and asking her if she can meet me. She had to miss the dodgeball tournament for a local poker tournament downtown, but she’s finished when I call her, so we meet at Tizzy’s Tacos.
Two tacos, one bag of chips, and an hour of venting later, and I feel marginally better.
I don’t really tell her about Adam, mostly because no one on campus knows about what happened between us last semester, but I do tell her about Grayson. She listens, eating her burrito and offering advice around mouthfuls when appropriate. Even still, nothing is solved when we finish.
So, I take the long route home, zigging and zagging my board across campus, pausing to sit and reflect at the pond by the Student Union. When it’s nearly midnight I finally give up on trying to feel better and make my way toward the house. With Bo dropping out unexpectedly last semester, I don’t even have a roommate to go home to.
Ashlei is sitting on the front porch steps when I roll up to the house, and she lights up when she sees me.
“Hey, you’ve got a visitor.”
I cock one eyebrow. “A visitor? At midnight?”
She nods, biting her lip with a mischievous smile. “Mmm-hmm. I helped them sneak in. Just… be quiet. And have fun.”
With that little nugget of vagueness and a giggle, she hops off the steps and skips inside, leaving me standing in the open door behind her.
Tiptoeing up the stairs with my heart thundering under my ribs, my mind races with what—or rather, whom—I’ll find in my bedroom. If Ashlei had to sneak them in, it’s definitely a guy, but the only question is… which one?
The fact that I even have to ask myself that sends a surge of guilt through me.
As pissed as I am at Adam for making an already tense situation worse earlier at the game, part of me wants to thank him. He finally said what I had yet to fully express to Grayson — he wasn’t there for me when I needed him. All week I had looked forward to that date, and when it had all went up in flames, Adam had been the one there putting out the fire.
But Adam isn’t mine, either.
Even if I had chosen him over Grayson last semester, if I had given him the chance he’d begged for at formal, I would have ended up with the same disappointment. He’s drowning in his new responsibilities as president, just like he thought he would be. I knew he wouldn’t have time for me, for us, and Grayson had given me every part of himself last semester.
So, was it fair of me to be upset with him now? He’s chasing a dream he’s had his entire life. Shouldn’t I support that? I know he cares about me, and I care about him. So what if it’s not always easy?
With my hand on the doorknob to my bedroom, I realize I don’t want to see either one of them on the other side. I’m still mad at the way they acted. And I still have absolutely zero grip on how I’m feeling.
But it doesn’t matter, because one of them is waiting. So, with a deep breath, I twist the knob and push through.
And then my breath catches.
My entire room is covered in small candles, bathing my bed in a soft golden light. And as the door closes behind me and I gently drop my longboard and backpack to the ground, my eyes find Grayson’s.
He’s sitting on my desk chair beside my bed, in only his boxer briefs, hair damp like he’s freshly showered and guitar strapped across his chest. He plucks a few chords as he watches me, brows bent inward, tail between his legs.
“Cassie,” he starts, the chords finding more of a melody as he speaks. “I am so, so sorry. Not just for being a sore loser earlier and causing a scene at your event, but for making you feel like our time together doesn’t matter to me. I should have been there for our date.”
I shake my head, opening my mouth to tell him I understand and that he couldn’t have missed that show, but he cuts me off.
“No. No excuses, no bullshit about a show or my agent or whatever. I should have been there. And this is my promise to you that from here on out, I will be.”
He motions for me to sit on the bed and I do, hands folded together and squeezed between my knees as he keeps his eyes on me and strums out a beautiful song.
It’s an original, one that feels like he just wrote it — just for me — and I hang on to every word as he sings to me. It’s a song about being scared, about falling in love, about finding who he is in a time when he’s not even sure which way is up. And, finally, I get it.
It’s not about his music, or about me — it’s about him. Grayson is growing into himself, and with that comes figuring out how to balance it all. He’s finally getting everything he’s worked for and now he’s not sure how to handle it. But he tells me with his music how much he cares, and how he’s sorry, and he promises to do better, though I realize in that moment it doesn’t get much better than him.
When he thumbs out the last note of the song, I reach for him, sliding his guitar strap up and over his head and placing it gently beside the chair before straddling him. I thread my hands behind his neck, fingers playing with the soft tendrils of hair there as my eyes search his.
“That was beautiful.”
He swallows, framing my face with one large hand, his thumb running the length of my jaw. “Not as beautiful as you.”
Grayson’s eyes flick to my lips, and slowly, as if he doesn’t think he deserves to, he pulls me into him until his lips are pressed against my own. He kisses me patiently at first, soft and hesitantly, but when I roll my hips against him and tug on his hair, he groans, kissing me harder, with more need, more passion.
And for the rest of the night, that’s how he apologizes — with a kiss, a lick, a suck, a touch. And I accept with a sigh, a moan, an arch, a yes. He promises me more with his hands on my waist, and I remind him he’s always enough with my mouth on his skin.
I still want to
wait to go all the way, and Grayson respects it, bringing me to ecstasy without taking me past my comfort zone. He shows me how much he wants me with every single movement and I show him, too, touching him in new ways, tasting him for the first time.
When we’re both spent, holding each other as our breaths even out and the dawn begins to break, a light feather of realization floats down slowly in my heart.
I’m falling in love with Grayson Anderson.
I only hope he’s there to catch me when I do.
“BEING A GIRL IS THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING WORST!”
I flail around on my bed, kicking up the covers and swinging my arms like a toddler as Ashlei chuckles from her front row seat to my pity show. She’s perched on the edge of Skyler’s bed, sitting on her hands, shaking her head as I detail every thought I’ve had in my pea brain the past two weeks since Jarrett left.
“He’s probably just busy with his job, Jess. He treated you like an absolute queen when he was here,” she points out. “It’s not like he went home and said, ‘Fuck that bitch.’”
“I don’t know,” I counter, sitting up on the bed and tucking my knees up to my chin. “He did go out to Ralph’s with all of us, and we are certifiably insane.”
“I thought it was a pretty low-key night.”
“Skyler kept hiding under tables, grabbing people’s legs and shouting, ‘SHARK ATTACK!’” I deadpan.
Ashlei snorts.
“And Bear jumped up on stage and started dry-humping the DJ while begging him to play Party in the U.S.A.”
“Okay, so maybe we scared him off and he took a hammer to his phone so you couldn’t trace him.”
I bury my face in my hands, something between a groan and a whine squeaking through my lips.
“I’m kidding,” Ashlei says, hopping down from Skyler’s bed to come sit next to me. She places a hand on my back and rubs gently. “Seriously, he’s crazy about you. Just chill.”
Palm South University: Season 3 Box Set Page 11
