that supposed to mean?”
“Most girls—”
“No. No, no, no, no,” I say, cutting him off. “If you’re about to compare me to those girls who throw themselves at you and all but beg to suck your dick just to be close to you for one night, then we’re going to have a problem. I’m not them and just because I’m not drooling over how sleek and sexy your car is, doesn’t automatically mean that I don’t like your car. I like it just fine, I was just pointing out that everyone around here has black cars, even the Ducati is matte black. Don’t be such a boy.”
A smirk pulls at his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he throws back at me, mimicking my tone.
I let out a frustrated sigh and meet his hard, but playful stare. “It means that a week ago, you told me that you knew me better than I knew myself, and right now, I’m wondering if you actually meant what you said or if you were just talking shit to prove some ridiculous point.”
A soft, amused laugh pulls from Grayson as he concentrates on the road ahead of us. “I guess you’ll have to figure that one out on your own.”
I roll my eyes and drop back into my seat. “How is it that every single time I have even a small conversation with you, I end up confused as all hell?”
He grins and I don’t miss the way his dreamy grey eyes light up like a New Year’s Eve party. “Call it a gift.”
Everything warms inside me, and as he drives, I find myself unable to look away. There’s just something so intriguing about Grayson. There always has been since the second I met him. He’s the dark, broody hero that’s silently saved me from behind the scenes, always there, always protecting me, and never claiming the credit. “What are you looking at?” he grumbles, refusing to look back at me and making it clear that he knows I’ve been staring.
“You’re not mad at me anymore.”
“Mad?” he questions, his brows pinching as he pulls off the side of the road right outside an expensive-looking tattoo parlor. He puts the Challenger in park and turns to look at me. “Why the hell would I be mad at you?”
“Last week in the dining room,” I start, “after we blew up Sam’s house. We had that fight and I called you out on all your bullshit. I’m not about to claim that I know exactly what goes down in that fucked up mind of yours, but you looked pretty fucking mad.”
A wicked grin cuts across his face and it sends a million different messages, all of which I can’t even begin to figure out. “I wasn’t fucking mad at you, babe. Well, for a hot fucking minute I was. There’s just something about the way you manage to read me and use that shit against me. I’m not used to having chicks so easily call me on my shit, but mostly I was just pissed at myself because you were fucking right.”
My brows instantly shoot up, recalling exactly what was said during our little discussion by the dining table, which somehow ended up with my back slammed against the wall in the most delicious way possible. He told me that he would stand behind me. He would betray his parents for me and follow me to the ends of the earth, but somehow it turned from discussing Dynasty politics into him being too fucking scared to make a move with me. The tension was heavy, hot, and desperate, so fucking desperate that I had to walk away and put a bullet between Sam’s eyes, which only led to an entirely different situation all together.
“A lot of things got said during that conversation,” I remind him. “What part was I right about exactly?”
His grin widens, and without another word, he pushes his door open and gets out before looking back at me with a cocky as fuck smirk stretching across his face. “Are you coming or what?”
Fucker.
I roll my eyes and push my door open with a loud groan, letting him know just how much I appreciate his casual avoidance of our conversation. I meet him on the sidewalk, and as he reaches for the door handle of the tattoo parlor and pushes it open, I meet his heavy stare. “You’re getting another tattoo?”
He shakes his head. “Just adding more detail to the raven on my chest.”
“Raven, huh?”
He looks