Stars (Penmore #1) (21 page)

“Babe, don’t care about any chick on campus you want to befriend,” he replies, raising both hands in defense as if that makes up for his prior statement.

“Sorry, let me rephrase. Did I just hear you trying to tell me which
males
I can and can’t be friends with?” I question, crossing my arms and giving him my ‘are you fucking serious’ glare.

“Yep.”

“Are you forgetting about Marissa?”

“Nope, you can be friends with her all you want,” he replies, mirroring my position by crossing his own arms. If it were anyone else having a standoff with their partner out the front of a bar with both arms crossed in a heated staring competition, I probably would have giggled. Relationship fights are the best. Although, when it’s you and the guy you’re seeing, it’s hard to find the humor in this idiotic situation.

“So, you get to have friends of the opposite sex who are completely platonic—which I trust, by the way—and I don’t?” I ask, feeling the need to clarify exactly how ridiculous he was being.

“Exactly.”

I look directly into the eyes I love and let him know, “That’s bullshit.”

Except then I get hit with Grayson logic. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s bullshit. No fucking way a guy is hanging out with you, with your fucking gorgeous hair and golden eyes, and not wanting to get in there. ”

“Babe, guys can want whatever the hell they want, but they won’t be getting me. I’m with you. Completely. One hundred percent. In fact, I’m usually with you every moment of the day except for when I’m at work and class. Although, I do want to state that you’re wrong about Nate. I know in my gut that isn’t what he thinks about when he looks at me.”

“Well, I know he likes to pretend to be my big brother, but he isn’t. As far as I’m concerned, he’s a stranger. And like any guy off the street, I want to make damn sure he knows he doesn’t have a shot at you by limiting the times he sees you without my arm around you. If I have to I’ll be there for all your shifts.”

There really are no words. After taking a sharp inhale, I say, “That is definitely not going to work.”

“Stars, not really giving a shit if you think it’s not going to work. As long as you bloody well try.”

“And are you telling me that girls aren’t looking for a way in with you? Did you see how many phone numbers I had to pull out of your jacket pocket when I borrowed it yesterday?”

“Stars, you know they shove those numbers in my pocket and I always throw them out. I don’t give a fuck about any of those girls or plan on calling them,” he tells me, rolling his eyes skyward.

Now, how do I stay angry when he says things like that? Even if he
is
being a hypocrite, I still can’t help but be astonished and touched that he is stupid-jealous and completely smitten to the point of lunacy with
me
. I figure the best thing to do is maybe try and work out what is really upsetting my guy. No way all of this anger is about Nate. I know he doesn’t trust him right now, but given time I really think he’ll see that Nate would be a wonderful brother. I also think he already knows this deep down. He’s just afraid; afraid of Nate turning out to be just like their father. A guy that was perfectly happy to walk out of his life and only return when in need of a handout.

“Okay. How about we agree right now that it’s something we will talk about later and you instead tell me about what’s really upsetting you?” I ask.

Thankfully, Gray exhales and straightaway asks, “You talking about my dad?”

“Yeah, your dad. You just told Nate he’s back in town, remember?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, uncrossing his arms and reaching for my waist. Like always, his embrace is like going home. Strong. Solid. Safe.

“He visit you at training today?” I murmur as he wraps me in his scent.

Gray rests his head on top of mine before confiding in me. “Yep, just like always. Dressed as a fucking cowboy, if you can believe that shit.”

“A cowboy?”

“Yeah. Every time he visits, he’s some new character. Some new lie. I can’t stand it. I have no fucking tolerance for liars. Or people who think they can put on a fucking outfit and become someone different.”

Okay, he isn’t talking about me, and that isn’t what I did
exactly
. But as Gray leans on me, letting go of the anxiety his father has stirred up, suddenly I’m reminded of my initial plans for the day. And not in a good way. Because I can see how our conversation might go. I tell him that I grew up next door and then why he hasn’t recognized me might come up, or how I lied when I told him I grew up in this town will.

Unfortunately, I did start dressing differently at the beginning of the school year
and
I lied, which means Gray just gave me the answer to my question regarding how he’ll react when I finally reveal myself. With no fucking tolerance.

Except, I want to be wrong. I want the fantasy I’ve been living. I’m not ready for reality. So even though I know the answer, I can’t help but ask, “Don’t you think there are areas of grey though? Like some lies are told because of special circumstances, like no self—”

“To be honest, babe, it’s all the fucking same to me. My dad isn’t some drug addict; he just gets off on this bullshit. Enjoys thinking he’s smarter and better than everyone else. But no matter how you spin it, lying is just a game. With winners and fucking losers. I didn’t get to pick the dick that is my lying dad. I’m stuck having to deal with and lose to his penchant for deceit every day of my life. I’m thankful I get to choose my friends and the rest of the people I keep around. It means I don’t have to waste a second on anyone else’s compulsive neuroses.”

Damn.

I knew it.

The moment I tell Gray I lied, I’ll go back to who I was.

I don’t get to live on the stage forever. My life will be ordinary. It
will
be in the shadows.

Now it’s just a matter of time.

Am I ready for it to be the time, right now, where I say good-bye to the last few weeks of bliss?

PARKER

The plane home was noisy and crowded, a sign of the approaching festive season. Passengers bustled on with oversized fragile packages that would clearly struggle to fit in the overhead compartments, and everyone seemed to have limited patience for the flight attendant’s cheery attitude and sparkling turkey earrings.

I had hoped the two-hour experience would give me a chance to relax.

I prayed that as the plane took off I might begin to feel excited about seeing my dad, Millie and Grandma Mimi for the first time in months and forget the possible struggles I might face going home.

However, I sat anxiously upright in my chair the entire flight. I was numb to the toddler enthusiastically kicking the back of my seat because I was picturing my bedroom window and the necessary actions I would need to take upon arrival. My heavy drapes would have to be closed for the duration of my stay, to ensure that Gray celebrating next door remained unaware that I was less than a few feet away.

I would also need to borrow some of Mimi’s sweaters. Maybe the one with the Persian on the front that hangs to my knees.

I was so busy planning my holiday disguise as I made my way off the tarmac I nearly missed seeing my dad at the terminal gate, waving a huge banner that read, ‘I missed my daughter.’

I had no defense against the onslaught of emotion I experienced when I finally snapped out of my trance and noticed his cheerful exuberance. Thankfully, my dad saw the early glistening tears resting at the top of my lashes and immediately wrapped me in his arms, the sign forgotten at his feet, forcing those exiting the plane to walk around us.

The ulcer I’m sure is growing in my stomach, built up from swallowing the truth over and over again, finally dissipates knowing how happy my coming home has made my dad.

When we finally let go of one another, Dad takes in my new stylish curls, skinny jeans and tank top and tells me, “I can’t believe it, but my girl has come home prettier than when she left. And she was stunning when she left.”

My dad is such a corny sap.

For as long as I can remember, he was always calling me beautiful and pretty.

It hasn’t really been until Grayson lavished me with attention and I started carefully putting together my outfits that I finally started to believe it.

I always just thought that’s what dads always did—worship their kids with love and attention. Tell their little girls how pretty they are, even if they aren’t. Although, talking with Grayson and Nate about their dad and his deceitful games, I realized how lucky I am.

“Hey, Dad, thanks for picking me up,” I tell him as he tucks me under his left arm so we can walk toward the baggage collection still cuddling.

“I’m actually really glad you decided to fly. I would have been worried you trying to drive the Beetle back again.” I felt so guilty. Not only was I still lying to Gray about having known him before I came to Penmore, now I was lying to my dad.

It wasn’t like I could tell him that I needed to fly because I needed my boyfriend’s friends to see my car and everyone to think I was still at school over the holidays.

“Yeah, me too.”

“You still okay with heading straight to Grandma Mimi’s and dropping your bags at home later? She’s been calling non-stop to find out when you land,” he tells me as he pulls my bag from the conveyor-belt.

“Sounds perfect.”

Pretty much anything that meant I was far away from our house, and Gray, would be perfect.

GRAYSON

“So, how come I don’t get to meet the new girlfriend?” Ma asks as she fills the freezer and fridge with the mountain of groceries she bought for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It is ridiculous, really, the way she shops for both holidays at the same time. I think she hates to watch families shopping together more than once, reminding her of when our family used to prepare for Christmas together. Of course, she distracts me with talk of Parker before I have a chance to tell her to sit down and let me put them all away.

“I asked, but she told me she needs to work over Thanksgiving so she can spend more time with her dad over Christmas. It sucks, but you’ll see her when we make the championship,” I explain, winking at her across the kitchen bench as I swipe a muffin from one of her Whole Foods grocery bags.

“I’m surprised you didn’t stay with her,” Ma replies, humor in her eyes.

“Yeah, well, she sort of bullied me. With the team getting a break over Thanksgiving but having to play on the twenty-sixth in Dallas, she knew this might be the only time I could visit before the championship.”

Before I can tell her how much she’ll love Parker when she meets her, Ma tells me quietly, “You know, I always thought you would end up with the little Elliot girl.”

Her soft, pensive statement stops me in my tracks.

“Who?” I ask, struggling to recall any girl in our small town named Elliot. Before I stop myself, I ask, “What sort of screwed-up parents name their daughter Elliot? That’s fucked up.”

“Her first name isn’t Elliot, you knucklehead. I’m talking about Paul Elliot’s little girl. The one who lives right next door and has been in love with you since you were six,” she tells me rolling her eyes. “Also, don’t swear in my house.”

I quickly catch the apple she throws at my head for ignoring her house rules, and I can’t help but state, “No way there’s a girl next door. What the hell’s her first name then? And how the hell have I not noticed some chick with Mr. Elliot? Is she hidden in their attic like Quasimodo?”

“I’ll have you know that the Elliot girl is absolutely stunning, in a cute nerdy sort of way. The fact that you never noticed her, baby boy, I think is something you can answer for yourself. And I think her name’s Penelope. Or maybe it’s Kate… or Cara. Don’t give me that look. I at least knew she lived next door. She’s just always been so timid around me and I got in the habit of calling her ‘Precious’.”

“Okay, so maybe I was a little self-absorbed during high school, but, Ma, you aren’t winning any neighborhood awards here,” I mutter, chuckling.

“Oh, shoo with you. I love you, my boy, so I’m not going to disillusion your hopes that you were only self-absorbed in high school,” she tells me, laughing and flicking the tea towel at my head.

Rather than be pissed, I can’t help but wink at her and dodge her pathetic attack. Okay, so before Parker I think I might have been in danger of letting all the fanfare go to my head. Girls throwing themselves at me, teachers willing to email me my assignments and Herons supporters always volunteering to let me skip any line. Thankfully, I won’t have to worry about turning into a giant prick now that I have Stars to level me out. Every Friday, if we have a chance before class, she likes to sit us in the shade hidden beneath overgrown branches. Each time we go out to dinner, she ensures we avoid the groupies or the places usually filled with avid supporters so I finally noticed the things I had started taking for granted.