“I can’t get the shading right on this.” He sounds frustrated, and I smile because I know how seriously he takes his art. I take the pencil from his hand and try to show him, knowing the time for talking is pretty much over.
But as I work, it’s eyes on me from across the room—big, dark-blue eyes that I’ve only just noticed have some golden flecks in them—that leave me feeling uneasy and distracted.
I can’t figure out what his deal is. And I want to scream at him to leave. To not mess with their world, but Laney actually giggles at something he says, and he tears his eyes away from me to look back to her. Now, it’s my turn to stare, and it pisses me off.
He’s drawing something that has her laughing, but I can’t see it. It better not be something inappropriate. Fucker.
But something tells me it’s not. I have no idea why. I don’t know this guy. Not at all. He could be a creep. I learned long ago that good looks and charm have nothing to do with how good a person is.
Still, Grayson, with his big dumb smile that widens as another kid moves to Laney and him and also laughs at his picture, just doesn’t scream bad. I can’t take it anymore and scramble off my seat to look.
I see a poorly drawn truck with what looks like a dog hanging out of the door with its ears pushed back and its tongue flopped out. As I look at it, it’s not as poorly drawn as I thought. It’s just obvious he did it fast. “What the hell is that?”
His big blue eyes look up at me with an impish grin on his full red lips. “It’s a dog on a windy day, man. Don’t tell me you couldn’t figure that out.”
Laney laughs again. “I like his ears. They remind me of a dog one of my foster parents had once.” Her eyes grow sad now, and she seems to retreat into herself. That’s the kid I’m used to, but then she looks at Grayson. “He died.”
He looks at her with sadness, but oddly enough, not pity. “I’m sorry. That’s rough. Everyone knows dogs are much better than people.”
That makes her laugh. I mean a cute, small laugh, but still. The sadness imprinted on her little face nearly disappears as she grabs some crayons. “It needs color.”
“I agree,” Grayson says as he watches her color in his sketch.
I don’t know what to say. I hate that he’s here in my space, doing better with these kids than me. But I can’t deny them this if, for whatever reason, they like him.
Tanya, the woman who runs the program, sits next to me when I return to Max, and her eyes stay on Grayson. “Who’s your friend?”
I grunt something unintelligible as I work on my own art piece, and then my eyes drift to him. His dark hair is still wet from earlier, and he has it slicked back. He’s wearing a tight red t-shirt that’s damp and clings to insane muscles, sculpted from years of playing sports.
Stop. Looking. At. Him.
I pull my eyes away and turn to Tanya, who’s eyeing me suspiciously now. I shrug. “Just some guy from school who gave me a ride.”
Max snickers. “From your rich kid’s school.”
I don’t hide anything from these kids. They know I was a foster kid who lucked out and found a home. They know about the fancy prep school I go to, but they don’t judge me for it, aside from occasionally giving me a hard time.
“Yes. From the Douchebag Academy.”
Tanya shakes her head at me, admonishing me for the nickname, but she grins slightly. “Well, he certainly looks like he belongs there.” She turns serious as her eyes dart to Max. “But we all know looks can be deceiving, right?”
Max shrugs. “I guess.” His eyes meet mine. “What do you think of him?”
I try not to. I don’t want to think about him at all. My eyes subconsciously drift in his direction anyway, taking in his straight, white teeth as he smiles at the kids and jokes around. Trying to ignore the way the veins in his biceps bulge when he moves his arms, coloring the white sheet of paper in front of him.
“He’s fine.”
Max laughs again, concentrating on his drawing more than me, but I can feel Tanya eyeing me again. Heat creeps up my neck to my cheeks as I wonder if she saw me looking too long at his strong muscular arms or his stupid handsome face.
If she knows the thoughts running in my head, she doesn’t say anything. She leaves to help someone else, and I go back to what I was doing.
Ian joins us, and I do my best to teach them the proper technique for shading. When it’s time to go home, I skip putting on my still-damp jacket as does Grayson. We walk toward the exit together.
“You can go now,” I grunt, pushing through the doors.
I can practically feel him roll his eyes but don’t look. “It’s still raining. Quit being a pain, and let me take you home.”
I bristle, pissed off that he doesn’t seem to fear me at all. Not that I want him to, but it’s sort of an unwritten agreement that we leave each other alone. That his little friends stay the fuck away from me, and we all just coexist. I stop walking before we get to his car, but still under the cover of the building’s ledge. “What’s your sudden interest in me?”
He meets my eyes. “I think we established I’ve had an interest in you for a while.”
Shit. “Don’t say stuff like that to me. It doesn’t sound right.”
“How does it sound?”
I hate his stupid deep, husky voice. I hate what it does to me even more and push my legs to start walking. “Fine. Give me a damn ride home. But that’s it. We aren’t friends.”
He quirks a smile as we climb into his entirely too expensive car, and he starts it. “Oh, Rhett. I think we’re going to be great friends.” He smiles and backs out of the parking spot with a confidence I can’t stand.
Not fucking likely.
NINE
I drive Rhett to his place, but he surprises me when I park the car in the driveway, and he doesn’t immediately dart from the car. I turn to look at his profile—his strong jaw and pouty lips. His left arm is covered in beautiful black ink. His sandy-blond hair is disheveled from the rain, and I love that it’s buzzed on the sides and much thicker on top.
“What are you looking at?” He turns, his blazing greens boring into me.
“You,” I answer honestly, still fully aware he could go totally crazy on me but not finding the motivation to care.
“Don’t.” There seems to be less venom in his tone now, but maybe it’s just been a long day, and he doesn’t have it in him.
I turn my gaze to the small, white house I’m parked at. It’s not rundown or dilapidated by any means, but still it’s not anything I’m used to. It’s simple. On the smaller side with a one car garage that has stairs on the sides, running up to what looks like a room above it.
“This is cool.”
He blows out an impatient huff of air, and his eyes meet mine. “I hate that you know where I live.”
I can’t help the slow grin from forming on my face. “I like it.” I look back at the house. “Can I come in? Meet your parents?”
“My parents don’t live here. And no.”
My brow furrows. I may have asked around a little about him and found out he’s adopted. And I thought he lived with his adoptive parents and his two siblings. “They don’t?”
“No. I moved out. I live here.”
I look back at the simple-looking house and whistle low. “Wow. Nice. You rent?”
He scoffs and shakes his head at me like I’m an annoying puppy, nipping at his heels and following him around. Of course, Rhett makes me feel that way. “Not the house.” His gaze slides to the garage, and I nod in understanding.
“Cool, man. So, can I see your garage apartment?”
I’m too forward with him. I know that. Normally, I’m cool and detached. People drift toward me, but that’s not going to happen with Rhett. I have to be the aggressor. The one who makes every move, and something about that lights me on fire.
I feel challenged around him.
Something I haven’t felt in a really, really long time, if ever.
“No.” He shuts me down easily, like I knew he would.
“Oh, come on. You know you wanna show me your place.”
He shoves his fingers through his thick hair. “No. I don’t. It’s bad enough you know where I live. Now, you need to go away.”
He starts to open the door, but I reach out, grabbing his wrist. His gaze flies to mine, and my breath catches at the contact and the fact that he doesn’t pull away.
“Grayson.”
I don’t release him. “Most people call me Lancaster.”
“Yeah well, that’s just stupid.”
I laugh at his bluntness, and I actually pull an honest-to-god smile from him. Fuck, he’s beautiful. “Is it now?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have the same last name as your siblings,” I say stupidly, and he pulls away from me, jerking his wrist out of my hold.
“So?”
I shrug, trying to play nonchalant, knowing he prefers that. “Just an observation.”
“They changed their last names when Blair and Rhys adopted them. I didn’t. It’s no big deal.”