I snorted. Was that a compliment? I couldn’t really tell. Mitch went on. “You liked to have a good time and everyone knew it. You owned who you were, with no apologies.”
I ducked my head at his description of the person that I used to be. I wasn’t necessarily proud of that girl. She had been a bit of an idiot. A selfish idiot. Mitch Abrams should know that better than anybody.
He lifted my chin, his fingers firm on my skin. Our eyes met and I couldn’t look away.
“I feel like somewhere along the way, you lost some of that girl and that makes me incredibly sad. Because, Gracie Cook, you’re smart. You’re capable. You’re fucking incredible and you don’t even realize it.” He was breathing heavily, clearly worked up by his admission and my eyes began to burn.
“So are you, Mitch,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Mitch’s lips quirked upward into a tiny smile. “I bet you say that to all the guys,” he teased half-heartedly. Then he sobered and became serious again. “Don’t let your mother dictate the opinion you have of yourself. Because if she can’t see all the things that I do, then she’s the crazy one.”
I swallowed thickly and had to look away before I started to cry. He stripped me to the bone so effortlessly.
“Thanks.” I gave him a watery smile without meeting his eyes.
“You’re going to have to find that place where it’s okay to stand up to her. Because you deserve better than that, G. You always have,” he finished, dropping the folded napkin onto the bar and getting to his feet rather abruptly. “I should get going. I only came in because I saw Jordan’s car in the parking lot.”
“Oh. Okay. You can stay you know.” I hesitated before continuing. “It’d be nice if you did.”
Mitch’s face was unreadable if not a little conflicted. He shifted on his feet as though not sure what he should do.
“But if you have things to do, it’s fine—”
“No, I can stay.” One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three… “I’d like to,” he said softly.
“Awesome.” I grinned. It was a real one. I forgot about my mother. About my embarrassingly wet crotch. About all the weirdness that typically lurked between us.
Because he looked at me in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.
Like I was a girl who mattered.
To him.
“Cole just got here. We’re just waiting on you, buddy,” Jordan said over the phone. I pulled into the gas station and cut the engine.
“I just have to pick up Sophie. I’ll be there in twenty. Tell him to keep his shirt on,” I muttered.
“This is Cole we’re talking about here. His shirt’s already off,” Jordan sighed and I chuckled.
“Tell him if he messes with my saved settings on my game, I’ll kick his ass,” I said.
“Then hurry up. Maysie’s making potato skins. I’m not saving you any if you take much longer.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. I hung up the phone and got out of my car. A short beep caught my attention.
Gracie waved at me from the other side of the pumps.
Stomach clenching. Check.
Heart thumping. Check.
Get a grip, Mitch!
We both climbed out of our respective cars. I unscrewed the gas cap. I felt like I was going in slow motion. I dropped the cap onto the ground and had to crouch down to get it. When I stood back up, I smacked my head on the side of the car. I was flustered.
“You okay?”
I could feel her standing behind me, but I didn’t want to look at her. It was a bad idea. Looking at Gracie Cook only brought about death, destruction, and uncomfortable hard-ons.
Of course I looked at her. I was a weak, weak man.
“You hit your head pretty hard. Any dizziness? Nausea?” she joked.
“I think I’ll live,” I snorted, patting the lump that had already formed.
She went back to her car on the other side of the pump.