“Friends?” he asks, apparently brushing everything that transpired between us, under the rug.
“Of course,” I agree, “Lyra might be my best friend, but other than her, you’re the only other person I consider a friend.”
“Well, I’m glad we got all this figured out,” I could seriously laugh at that statement because I’m more confused than ever, “because we’re going to be spending a lot of time together today,” he announces.
“How do you figure that? You gonna shadow Lyra and I like some bodyguard or something? She’ll just love that at the festival today,” I smart.
“Actually, no.” His melted-caramel eyes pierce my own as he releases a slow and lazy smirk. “Lyra got sick last night. She was up all night throwing up, but she didn’t forget about your mom going out of town and how you’re supposed to stay with us. Or that it’s your birthday. Or how badly you wanted to go to the Fall Festival. She made me a deal I couldn’t refuse. I’ll be accompanying you for your birthday with the promise of showing you a good time.”
“Is that so? Well, I admire how you set everything up to start off with a bang,” I remark, commenting on the precious puppy he gifted me. He raises his eyebrows and I quickly realize how that probably sounded, like I was talking about our heated make-out sesh.
Damn. I blush.
“Wh-what I meant was the dog,” I stammer as I attempt to explain. This whole thing is complicated and embarrassing, and those are the emotions I get to experience the rest of the day, too, since I’ll be spending it right by his side.
“Gotcha.” He winks. “So, what do you want to do first today? Have you eaten yet?”
I might have to lay out some ground rules for this so-called friendship, two of the main ones being that no winks or smirks are allowed. At all. Ever.
“Um, yeah, I ate.” I’m suddenly so insecure about myself, and everything in general. I’ve never understood how I go from one extreme to the other, and so quickly. First, I was bold and sure in Gray’s presence. Now, I’m withdrawn and hesitant. My mind and body are at war, but it could have to do with rejection, the sting still fresh.
And he’s still staring at me, expecting me to spit out some sort of idea as to where we can start the day.
“You just decide, I’m up for anything,” I passively answer, “although, if you’re hungry I can make you some French toast and fruit, or I’ll sit with you and drink some coffee while you eat somewhere of your choosing.”
“I’m actually starving, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you cook for me on your birthday. Let’s get this little nugget settled and head on over to the diner if you’re ready to go,” he suggests, picking up my little ball of fluff to examine her.
“Okay, sounds good. I’m ready but I haven’t packed my stuff yet, and I kind of have no clue what to do with her,” I admit, scratching the dog behind the ear.
“I’ve thought of everything, so no worries. I brought you a kennel, dog food, and all the other necessities. I was planning on coming over whether you texted or not, I just wanted you to have time to find her on your own so you’d be surprised. I’ll set everything up for her while you finish grabbing your things,” he propositions.
“Thanks Gray.” I turn to head back into my bedroom to bag up my things.
“Hey Sloane,” he says just as I turn away, “out of curiosity, did you decide what to name her yet?”
“Well, I rather liked Princess Frou Frou,” I tease. He shakes his head giving a hearty chuckle.
“Please don’t do that to me,” he pleads.
“I’m just kidding anyways, although I admire your creativity. I think I’ll wait until we know what her personality is going to develop into before making a decision. This might be the only pet I ever get, so I want to make sure her name suits her,” I explain.
“Makes sense,” he agrees before disclosing, “you might want to pack something warm in case it gets chilly. I have a few possible things in mind today, but I’ll run it all by you later.”
“Okay.” Now my curiosity is piqued.
Once I’ve gathered up all the things I think I’ll need, I step outside, locking the door behind. Gray is waiting on the front porch, leaning casually on the banister.
“Did you get her all set up?” I ask coolly, although I’m feeling anything but.
“Sure did, I put her over here by the porch where she’s in the shade of the awning but can still have plenty of room to play. We’ll drop back by later on and check on her too,” he replies, motioning toward where he’s assembled her little fence.
“Cool. Let’s get going then, you’re probably starving. Bye little girl, Momma will be back to check on you later,” I tell the puppy, as she looks up at me with her precious blue eyes. She releases a tiny whimper that almost breaks my heart. I pause for a moment, not wanting to go.
“She’ll be fine, Sloane, once we’re gone she’ll go back to chewing on her toys until she wears herself out and takes another nap. Trust me,” he coaxes me, taking my hand and gently pulling me in the direction of the vehicle. Reluctantly, I go with him.
“I just feel guilty,” I state the obvious.
“She’s pretty adorable, isn’t she? She’ll be fine though, I promise,” he tries again to quell my anxiety over leaving her.
“If you say so, let’s just go before I change my mind.” He opens the door for me, helping me step up into the raised-up jeep. Surprised he’s still attentive after what just happened, my stupid heart amps up its pitter-pattering.
Chapter Fifteen
Gray must be hungry, because he drives much faster than any of the other times I’ve ridden with him. We arrive at the diner five minutes after leaving my house. The place is so hopping, there isn’t a parking spot available when we pull in, and we have to circle the lot a few times before one even becomes available.
Despite the homey little joint being packed with families, a corner booth opens up just as we walk inside and I happily note that an old-timey jukebox is right behind it. As I walk across the black and white checkered tile, I take in the quaint feel of the restaurant. Coca-Cola must have a sponsorship with the diner because vintage Coke knickknacks are everywhere. Even the booths are red.
A large bar stretches across the middle of the room, dividing the employee and dining sections. I watch as a little girl with pigtails continually spins around on a barstool as she waits for her food to arrive. A man beside her, I’m assuming her grandfather, seems oblivious as he reads his newspaper.
Gray takes the booth facing the front door and I slide in across from him, picking up the menu out of curiosity even though I don’t plan to order any food. Surprisingly, as soon as my ass hits the seat, the waitress materializes in front of us. As I glance up at her my eyes land somewhere I wouldn’t normally be checking out on another girl. Her tits sit neck-high in spite of her fifties type uniform, clearly a purposeful doing since it’s impossible for even the biggest of knockers to achieve such an elevated position.
But hey, to each their own I guess. As I’ve said before, women should be able to dress how they want and her breasts aren’t even the reason my inner-bitch button gets pressed. It’s the overly friendly way she greets Gray on a first-name basis, completely overlooking me. She practically purrs like a cat as she rubs his shoulder, asking how he’s been doing, pointing out how she hasn’t heard from him in a long time. This bitch is trying way too hard, and is so desperate for Gray’s attention that it wouldn’t surprise me if she crawled under the table and started doing figure-eights between his feet as she rubbed against his ankles.
I clear my throat, keeping my facial expression blank when she faces me.
“Oh, hey there. Sorry, I didn’t see you for a minute,” she remarks in an outright lie as her smile slips a little.
“I noticed,” I reply coldly. “I’d like a coffee to drink with a small orange juice on the side,” I inform her before turning to Gray. “Gray, do you know what you’d like yet?” I ask, pressuring him t
o hurry up and order so this hooker will go annoy someone else. He raises his eyebrows at me, surprised by my forwardness, before opening his menu and pointing at one of the specials.
“I’ll have the Number Three. Eggs over medium, bacon, and french toast instead of pancakes,” he asserts, taking both menus, stacking them neatly, and then handing them to our floozy waitress. Then he adds, “Thanks Trina,” as he winks at her. She instantly brightens, flips her hair (which I’m pretty sure should be put up per restaurant standards), and saunters away with an over-exaggerated sway of the hips. He looks back at me, just in time to catch me rolling my eyes.
“You didn’t like our waitress?” he asks, acting all innocent and oblivious.
“Um, no. I can’t say that I did.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because she was acting more like a stripper in heat than someone who serves food. I couldn’t have been more surprised if she would have crawled up into the booth and gave you a lap dance,” I profess, pinning him in place with my glare.
I’m not sure what’s so damn funny, but he throws his head back in full-on laughter. The husky rumbling distracting me, causing me to rid myself of my rigid posture and relax back into the cushioned booth.
“Sloane, that’s just how she is. I’m not the only guy that comes through here that she acts that way with, I’m sure. You don’t have anything to worry about, I don’t have my eye on her at all,” he admits as he pulls out his phone to check something.
I wish you had your eye on me, I mentally declare as I outwardly sigh. Yeah, I’m that pathetic. I think things inwardly, but can’t control how my thoughts are making me feel outwardly. Wait, let me rephrase. I used to be the QUEEN of the poker-face, veering topics of conversation away from me, and doing so in such a way that the other person didn’t even suspect I was doing it. I could tell a lie like a politician on the road to reelection.
Where Gray is concerned, however, I’m a completely different person. Every day I feel as if I’m changing. Lately, the walls I’ve erected over the years and worked to maintain, they get holes in them and are even completely penetrated sometimes, if only for a few moments. I become a clumsy mess, my brain skipping like a scratched-up disc that can’t operate smoothly.
No sooner have I relaxed, does the wanton waitress come strolling back over to the table, drinks in hand. Gray cuts his eyes in my direction, a look of curiosity playing over his face, and I give him a narrowed glance in return. Trina plops my glasses down on the edge closest to her, but reaches across to place Gray’s mug next to the window, pressing her breasts to his shoulder as she does.
“Food’ll be out in no time,” she announces extra-cheerily, all smiles in his direction, once again disregarding me. Gray nods in her direction, but never once stops looking at me, like he’s trying to prove some type of point. We both wait until she’s gone to pick up our conversation.
“So, other than hitting up the Fall Festival, what other plans do you have for us today?” I ask him. The corners of his mouth quirk up.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he eludes before standing and saying, “I’ll be right back.” Watching him stride through the restaurant with such self-assurance, I almost miss the looks and whispers given by multiple tables. You’d think there’s nothing better to talk about than the son of an innocent man who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve witnessed this same crap with Lyra on numerous occasions and it never fails to infuriate me.
As one table whispers, they glance over. I stare right back, my eyes flitting back and forth between both pairs, making it known they’ve been caught gossiping in hopes they’ll at least feel ashamed. They finally glance away, clearly perplexed as to why I, a young girl, am unfazed by their bullying tactics.
Seconds later, Gray strides back in, newspaper in hand and oblivious to the unwarranted attention he’s drawn. Or, perhaps just accustomed to.
“Mind if I look over the paper?” he asks.
“Be my guest.” I pull out my phone to make sure I haven’t missed any messages from Mom, relieved to find one notifying me of her safe arrival. “Mom made it there okay,” I verbalize. I look up to find that Gray is nodding his head, but is otherwise absorbed in whatever story he’s reading. My eyes hone in on a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses.
Great, just when I think he couldn’t possibly be any more indecently delicious, he has to go all Clark Kent on me. Again.
In typical Gray fashion, he’s wearing his boots, his jeans, a white tee with a button up shirt over top. Topping it off with the reading glasses, which I’ve never seen him on before today, it’s total hotness-overload.
“I didn’t know you wore reading glasses.” My comment, born from lack of filter, causes him to look up with eyes blazing. He shrugs. “I like the way they look on you,” I admit, not wanting him to misunderstand and think I’m poking fun at his sexy-as-fuck specs.
Scoffing, he comments mockingly. “Right, every girl loves a guy in glasses.”
“It would appear I do,” slips from my lips before I even realize I’m about to say it. Gray’s eyes shift from focusing on me, to narrowing at something over my shoulder.
“Do you know that guy over there? He can’t stop looking over this way, and I have a feeling he’s not interested in me,” he grates out, removing his glasses and sitting up straight.
I turn around in my seat, my eyes landing on Miles Huntley, the guy from my Horticulture class. Sure enough, Gray is spot on in his assessment. Miles keeps looking in my direction every few seconds, his overly anxious eyes widening when he realizes I’m turned around and looking at him. He waves at me, a confident grin stretching across his face when I do the same.
Turning back to his group, he interrupts an ongoing conversation, causing everyone at the table to glance over at the same time as he stands and begins walking this way.
Oh, no.
“Hey Sloane,” he slides into the seat right beside me, “happy Birthday.”
Lyra. She must have told him. Makes sense considering she was really pushing for me to pursue him.
“Um, thanks Miles,” I respond, and he places his hand on my arm, leaning in.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your breakfast, but I just wanted to take the opportunity and tell you now instead of having to wish you a belated birthday Monday.” He eyes Gray speculatively, unsure of his role in my life.
“This is my friend Miles. We have Miss Laurent’s Horticulture class together,” I explain to Gray before turning to Miles and saying, “Miles, this is my good friend Gray. He’s Lyra’s brother.”
“I know of him,” Miles affirms good-naturedly. “Morning Gray, nice to meet you,” he verbalizes. Gray gives a curt nod of his head but says nothing, so Miles turns back to me.
“So, do you have any big plans today? If you don’t, I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner, maybe ride over to Reedsville and catch a movie,” he suggests. Trying not to make it obvious, I glance at Gray, noting the tick in his jaw and stiff posture.
“She’s actually all booked up today,” he finally speaks up, pairing his words with a glare directed head-on at Miles. I interject before he can say anything else.
“He’s right, Miles. I really appreciate the gesture but I already made plans to spend the day with Lyra and her family on my birthday.”
Miles lips flatten into a straight line, brows snapping together at my rejection.
“Maybe we can do it some other time, though, okay?” I throw in, not wanting to hurt his feelings. I admire the courage it must have taken to come over here and ask, especially with Gray here.
His features take on a complete transformation as his confidence returns. “Awesome, we’ll set something up. Let me give you my number.” I pull out my phone and create the contact information for him, holding up my phone to show him once I save it. “Sweet,” he smiles, “See you around. I hope you enjoy your day, Sloane.”
Once Miles has gone back to his table,
Gray scans my face inquisitively like he’s trying to gauge my mood. That couldn’t have played out more in my favor. Maybe he’ll get a dose of the jealousy I experienced with our waitress.
“Something the matter, Gray?” I ask, coyly. He denies me an answer, picking his paper back up to continue his reading. This whole back and forth thing with him, I just don’t get, and it’s one reason I’ve always resolved to avoid relationships at all cost. Not that I’ve been given the opportunity much. Yes, people have been interested before but I was never that interested in them.
It’s no secret with my lifestyle, I have to remain closed-off. I’m the walking definition of non-commitment, my circumstances— the recipe for romantic disaster. On this day, my 18th birthday and coming-of-age into womanhood, life decided to make me the centerpiece of a cruel joke. It felt like the forces of the universe were taunting me, “Hey Valley, try this sample. See what lust-filled passion is like when it’s played out with the man of your most vivid sexual fantasies.” Then, when I reach out for a second helping, my hand is smacked away.
I’m used to having the unobtainable things that I desire, dangled in front of my face. I’ve always gotten over it and I know I’ll do the same with Gray. I’ll settle. Friends will simply have to be enough.
But, as I sit across from him right now, I’m finding the opposite is true. This isn’t as easy as getting over the fact I won’t get to spend the night at 10-year-old Susie White’s birthday sleepover, despite the fact every other girl in my class is going. It certainly isn’t as easy as accepting the news I’ll only be able to choose one of my beloved stuffed animals when we flee from home. Definitely not as easy as accepting that I won’t always have a say in my alias name. (For the record, Begonia McDonald is the worst name I’ve ever been called, and giving someone an ugly name actually piques peoples interest as opposed to obscuring it).
No, as I sit here across from him watching the intensity of his eyes as he reads, all I can think about is how it felt to be the center of his attention. He kissed me like the sky was shattering and we were living out our final moments. Dramatic and corny or not, I feel like my whole life just shifted and will never be the same again. This deep, aching desire that I hold for him comes with insight over a concept I never could quite grasp before. My whole life, I’ve never believed in love, at least not the non-familial type. I’ve always felt that in reality, love was either lust, loyalty, or friendship in disguise. And if the combination of all three existed in a relationship, it’d be even more likely for two people to mistake the feeling.
Love on the Run Page 17
