Demi looks at me pleadingly. I did promise her one date. “Sure.” I start reciting my number while he programs it into his phone. He smiles, says goodbye and walks away.
I push past Demi into the coffee shop and stand in line to place our order. “Are you mad?” Demi asks, taking her place next to me. I am mad, but more with myself. I can’t believe I allowed Demi to bully me into this. I shake my head no but judging by the look on her face I’ve already hurt her feelings. “I’m sorry, I just thought you’d like to go out and have a good time,” she whispers. Somewhere in Demi’s sad eyes I can see that she only wanted to do what she thinks is best for me and as far as friends go, I can’t hold that against her.
We take a seat and I tentatively sip my Café Mocha, enjoying the combination of caffeine and chocolate. “It’s ok Demi.” I’m trying to alleviate the guilt my friend might be feeling. “I know you’re just looking out for me but dating is the last thing on my To-Do list this year.”
She sighs and her shoulders slump. “Is it because of Grayson? I saw the way he was watching you at the bonfire on Saturday night. He didn’t take his eyes off you once.”
Grayson, Grayson, Grayson. Too many things are leading me straight back to him. I need to tread carefully here. There’s no way I can tell Demi, or anyone else for that matter, how I feel about him. I don’t even know how I feel about him.
“Maybe,” I reply, weighing up which is the best form of defense in this situation. “My ex-boyfriend wasn’t a nice guy. I just think it will be better to focus on me for a while. I promised you one date, nothing more.”
Demi looks like she wants to ask me something but obviously thinks better of it when all she does in response is nod. The coffee shop is rather quiet so we sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Demi speaks again.
“So, Grayson huh?” She tries to hide the smirk on her face but fails miserably. I roll my eyes. “We’re not going there Demi,” I scorn playfully.
“We’ll see,” is all she says. She stands up to dispose of her coffee cup while I finish mine.
I follow her out the coffee shop and we head to our class. Our Psychology I professor starts talking about Developmental Psychology and while I normally have no trouble paying attention, today I’m getting lost in the many thoughts swimming around my crowded head. I spend the entire hour thinking about Grayson and his weeping mother. The way he held her, supported her and comforted her tells me two things.
One: Grayson Carter is hiding something.
And two: He’s definitely not the person he wants everyone to believe he is.
The unsolicited impulse to find out who he really is pulls at my insides and my resolve to stay away from him cracks slightly. But when I think about seeing him tonight, I’m suddenly fighting the urge to run for the hills.
Because I’m positive I’m going to get to know him, whether I want to or not. It’s inevitable.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t resist it with everything I have.
Chapter 6
Grayson
Monday night I come to a stop outside Coach Morgan’s house. My parents’ black Mercedes is parked in the drive way next to Coach’s pick-up truck. We’re having dinner with Coach and his family tonight and I can’t help but be excited to see his two little girls, Hannah and Finley.
I grab the flowers I bought for Mrs. Coach from the passenger seat and make sure I look presentable before heading to the door. My mother is always carrying on and on about always looking your best, especially when you’re visiting other people.
I knock once and let myself in, something I’ve grown accustomed to doing since my family is pretty close with the Morgans. “Hello?” I call out, hearing mumbling coming from the kitchen. “In here Grayson honey,” my mothers’ voice replies.
I walk two steps before I hear Hannah and Finley running down the stairs. “Grayson! Grayson!” they yell in unison, their tiny little voices filling the hallway. I put the flowers down and crouch on the ground in anticipation of their attack. Their faces light up like the Fourth of July when they see me and launch their little bodies into my arms.
“Hi girls,” I say, returning their affection.
Their little arms go around my neck and they squeeze. “We missed you,” Finley says, placing a kiss on my cheek. Hannah, the younger one of the two, watches her big sister and follows suit, leaving a wet kiss on my other cheek. I know most guys my age are terrified of kids but Hannah and Finley are special. Since my sister Emilie’s death, I’ve come to love these two little girls as if they are my own flesh and blood, taking on the role of a ‘big brother’ so to speak.
“I missed you too girls,” I return their kisses with one of my own, causing them to giggle and run into the kitchen where our mothers are standing.