Rm W/a Vu (20 page)

When I wake the next morning, my head is pounding, and I swear I’m never drinking again. I open my eyes slowly in hopes of keeping the light of day from making the piercing pain worse. I’m pleasantly surprised to see I’m still shrouded in near-darkness. The time on my clock reads
11:00
, and since I know I arrived home closer to midnight, I know it has to be morning.

So why is it so dark?

Still lying on my stomach, I push myself up and crane my neck to look toward my balcony doors, only to find the dark shades have been drawn. I know immediately that I didn’t do that, which can only mean that Greyston did.

Greyston…

I’m instantly transported to the memory of last night and how I have very likely ruined the friendship we’ve built. “Oooooh noooo,” I groan, dropping my face back into my pillow. There’s no way I’m going to be able to face him—not after that.

While the kiss was amazing, and I had experienced things that I honestly never had before in my life, it doesn’t change the fact that I was out of line. I never should have kissed him. I never should have climbed onto his lap. I never should have ground myself against him like a brazen hussy.

Then I remember things a little more clearly: He
let
me kiss him. He
let
me straddle him.
He
pulled my hips against him. What I’m really having trouble understanding is
why
he let me.

Is he confused? Because, if he is, he can join my club. I’ll even let him be Vice President. Maybe treasurer, too.

Thinking about this is making me crazy. What I need to do is put it all behind me and act like a grown up. Greyston will understand that I can’t be held responsible for my actions while intoxicated. He has to.

Right?

 An infernal buzzing sound fills the room—and my head—making my brain pulse against the inside of my skull. A pretty picture, I know; it feels about as spectacular as it sounds.

I reach for my phone on my nightstand, but it’s not there. Then I remember undoing my skirt and letting it fall to the floor before pulling on my pajamas. I allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness and scour the floor for my skirt. I actually don’t see my clothes anywhere at all.

My phone buzzes again, and this time, I see the screen light up on the top of my dresser. Groaning, I crawl out of bed and grab my phone to check a missed text message from my mom, wondering if I want to go for lunch with her and my dad. They’re even offering to come and pick me up.

Food is really the last thing on my mind right now; I need to get rid of this headache first. Though, after that, I know I’ll need hangover food, and I bet I can convince them to go to IHOP.

I quickly return my mother’s text and ask if I can choose the restaurant before setting my phone down and opening my bedroom door. Across the hall, I can see that Greyston’s door is wide open and his bed is made. I poke my head out into the hall and listen, not hearing anything. The silence suffocates me, and I fear he’s avoiding me, which makes me feel queasy. I realize just how hypocritical that sounds since that’s exactly what I did last night when he knocked on my bedroom door and I pretended to be asleep.

My phone vibrates again, and I read my mom’s response; they’ll be here in about an hour to pick me up for lunch. My choice of restaurant.

Knowing I don’t have very long, I head into my bathroom to quickly brush my teeth so I can go downstairs to grab a cup of coffee and maybe a piece of toast to help the light stomachache I’ve got. I stop just inside the bright bathroom when I spot a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol sitting next to my sink, and I smile at how thoughtful Greyston is.

Maybe I’m over-reacting about all of this.

I take two of the pills from the bottle and pick up the glass, noticing that the water is still chilled. This can only mean he’d been in my room not too long ago.

After taking them, I go about ridding my mouth of the foul after-taste of alcohol, coffee, and sleep. Looking into the mirror, I cringe at the sight of my hair; it’s an absolute mess, so I take a minute to remove the hairpins and brush it, cursing at myself for not doing it the night before. Once it’s looking a little less like I should be doing the walk of shame, I wash my face and button my flannel shirt before heading downstairs for coffee.

I glance into the living room to see that Greyston isn’t there. I poke my head through the basement door, and I hear nothing. Finally, I enter the kitchen, and he’s still nowhere to be found. The smell of fresh coffee greets me, though, and as usual, sitting next to the coffee maker is an empty mug. I pour myself some coffee, adding only a small splash of cream and sugar so as not to upset my stomach, and pop a slice of bread into the toaster.

While I wait for my toast to pop, the sliding door opens, forcing me to spin around, my heart racing wildly. He looks fantastic in a pair of slightly worn-out blue jeans and a grey long-sleeved t-shirt. He hasn’t shaved, which then brings back the memory of how his stubble felt beneath my hand right before I kissed him. The memory makes me blush, and I have to avert my eyes from him.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see me. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Morning,” I reply. “Where…? I mean, I didn’t…”

His hesitance radiates off him. “I’ve been out on the patio,” he tells me, answering the question I couldn’t finish. “Thinking.”

With a slight nod, I offer him a smile, knowing full well that if I open my mouth, I’ll spill my guts to him, and I’m just not ready to deal with that yet. Before he can see the deepening blush that is slowly staining my cheeks, I return my gaze to the toaster.

“How are you feeling?”

I know I can’t refuse to answer a direct question without coming across as rude or hostile, so I shrug, still focusing rather intently on the red elements inside the toaster. “Physically? Not as bad as I probably should,” I reply.

Through the corner of my vision, I see him approach. “Juliette…”

I turn, pleading with my eyes not to bring up what happened last night. My stomach feels uneasy, and my heart continues to race when he reaches out and takes my hand in his. I glance down at the contact, watching his thumb move back and forth over the back of my hand—just like it did last night…right before I left with Erik.

“About last night,” I say, speaking up before he can. “I’m so sorry. I guess I was just feeling kind of down on myself after finding out that yet another guy was able to pull the wool over my eyes. I was looking for a little…validation?” I stop talking immediately, because I know I’m not making this any better. I glance up at him through my lashes to find him smiling. I want to believe that he’s harboring no ill will toward me, but somehow I’m doubtful.

“I’m not sure why you’re apologizing. You didn’t act alone.”

There’s a huge part of me that wants to take comfort in his statement. The problem is, every time I remember just how two-sided our almost-affair was, I kind of go catatonic, because the memory of just how amazing it felt when his thick, hard—

Inhaling a shaky breath, I force myself to stop thinking about it before I get myself into even more trouble. “I’m apologizing because I never should have kissed you. It was wrong. You said so yourself.”

Greyston’s eyebrows pull together, and he looks absolutely baffled. “Wrong? I never once said it was
wrong
.”

“But it was,” I tell him, running my available hand through my hair and gripping tightly at the roots until it stings. “God, on so many levels.”

“Name one.” The strength in his voice makes it sound like he’s challenging me.

Looking him dead in the eye, I answer in an unwavering voice. “Toby. There’s one.”

“What? How do you figure?” I can only look at him, because how can he think Toby isn’t a factor in all of this?

Greyston moves to cradle my face in his hands, looking deep into my eyes. The intensity of his stare reminds me of the night before, and I fail to answer his question in lieu of getting lost in him. My hands move mindlessly to his waist, my thumbs looping into the belt loops on his jeans and holding steady.

Greyston’s eyes close, and he rests his forehead to mine. His thumbs begin to move gently along my temples, lulling my own eyes shut as I give in to the tingle that is moving through me and sigh. “Forget about him,” he whispers.

There’s a very brief moment of time that I
do
forget about him. I forget about him long enough to tug Greyston’s body closer to mine. Long enough to stand on the tips of my toes and let my lips graze his.

Then I remember him—remember everything—and I pull away, covering my mouth with the tips of my fingers and shaking my head. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t, Greyston. He matters; I know he does. How can you deny that?”

It pains me to watch the expression on Greyston’s face contort to one so defeated. “I guess I can’t.” I nod solemnly and turn to the toast that had popped a few minutes ago and is now cold.

I’ve just started to butter it when Greyston leans against the counter right next to me. “Can I just ask you one thing?” he asks, his voice not belying the fact that he’s somewhat distraught. Not wanting to refuse him, I nod. “Why him?”

Confused by his question, I set the butter knife down and look at him. “You tell me.”

I can tell he’s frustrated, I just don’t understand why. My head hurts again, but I’m fairly certain it’s not from my hangover. I run his question over and over in my mind, but it doesn’t seem to matter how I try to spin it, I can’t make sense of why he’s asking.

“I don’t know what it is you want me to say,” Greyston says. “You’re the one who keeps bringing him up. Always asking about him… You do know he’s not available, right?”

Dumbfounded, I stare at him. “Uh, yeah I know that. You guys made it pretty obvious the day I met him.”

Silence falls between us, and we continue to stare at one another. He looks just about as perplexed as I feel, and it takes a minute, but he finally speaks again. “So, you know that he and Callie are engaged…and yet, you still—”

“Wait…what?” I interrupt, my confusion reaching an all-time high. “No…I… What do you mean he and Callie are—? I thought that…”

My hands fly to my mouth, and I stare at Greyston, absolutely horrified as all of the dots connect. Within seconds, they form a giant neon sign in my mind that reads:
GREYSTON IS NOT GAY!

“Oh god,” I whisper into my hands.

Greyston regards me with raised eyebrows as I internally kick myself for jumping to yet another wrong—and much, much worse—conclusion. “Wait, so you
didn’t
know that he and Callie were together?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he starts his own little connect-the-dot puzzle. “But you said you knew he was involved? And you said that we made it…” The instant his eyes widen, I cringe and await his outburst.

He backs away from me, and I open my mouth to begin yet another round of apologies, but no words come out. This happens several times, but it’s Greyston who beats me to it, yet again.

“So, you thought…?” He’s pacing on the other side of the island, looking at me, then the floor, then at me again. “That day you met Toby, you…you thought that
we
were together?”

My face kind of scrunches up, and I shrug in response. “Would you believe me if I said I was just kidding?” He stops pacing and looks at me with an unreadable expression. “No? Didn’t think so. In my defense, I asked all sorts of questions, and every answer that
both
of you gave led me there. You even introduced him as your partner.”

“
Business
partner,” Greyston corrects. Even though I feel like he should be furious, he looks amused and somewhat relieved by this turn of events.

He moves around the island again until he’s standing a few feet away, but it’s me who takes that final step. Greyston reaches up to push a few strands of hair away from my face. He’s handling my blunder far better than I think he should be—not that I’m complaining.

Slowly, his hands move down until they rest along my jaw and neck. The tips of his fingers tickle, and the tiny hairs all over my body prickle. I shiver.

We stand in the kitchen, silent as we try to absorb everything we’d just unearthed. The way he’s looking down at me should feel odd, but for some unknown reason, this—being in his arms—just feels right.

“I’ve made a lot of assumptions in the past two weeks,” I admit quietly, and Greyston chuckles. “So, in order to clear a few things up, I’m going to ask you one thing.”

Greyston nods, leaning forward and kissing my forehead lightly. I sigh when the warmth of the gesture spreads beneath my skin. “Ask me anything,” he whispers, kissing my right cheek next and making my legs tremble. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Then he kisses my left cheek, and my fingers curl against my thigh. Finally, he kisses the tip of my nose, and I giggle. “Ask away.”

“So, just to clarify for my own personal peace of mind, you’re not gay?”

Greyston breathes out a single laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’d even think that, because from the minute I opened that damn door, all I seem to be able to think about is you.”