into his pocket and pulls out a phone. My phone.
“You left this downstairs.” He places it on the bathroom counter. “Why’s he blowing you up?”
“Is he?” I carefully re-tuck the towel under my arm, at least making sure it is secure since this conversation could quickly become less than safe. “I don’t know.”
I splash water onto my face, wishing I could wash away all those messages and the last few weeks with Parker altogether.
“Like four missed calls, text messages, voicemails.” He rests a hip against the counter, waiting, expecting an explanation from me.
“Were you snooping, Grip?” My smile in the mirror as I dry my face is strained.
“I heard it ringing downstairs when you were in the shower.” Grip crosses his arms over the width of his chest, biceps flexed with the motion. “Does he understand that it’s over? Why all the calls?”
I dot moisturizer on my face and shrug.
“I’d have to listen to the messages to know what he wants for sure.”
He picks up the phone and extends it to me, one brow cocked. “No time like the present.”
My short laugh sounds uneasy even to me. I grab the phone, but set it back on the counter.
“Later. Aren’t you the one who said I need to get ready?”
I run a brush through my hair and don’t look at him even though his scrutiny in the mirror never wavers.
“I said I didn’t want to re-hash everything,” Grip says. “But just tell me what happened with Parker.”
Shit.
“Um, what do you want to know?” I drop the question but walk away before he has time to respond, heading into the closet and flicking through my limited wardrobe options. “You really should tell me what to wear for this surprise of yours. Is this okay?”
I hold a romper to my chest, taking his “I don’t give a damn” expression as a no and discarding it to search the rack for something else.
“Okay, maybe this one?” I hold up a cotton candy pink belted tunic dress with a high-low hem for his inspection. He still doesn’t respond with anything other than the exasperation on his face. “Yeah, I like this one, too.”
He snatches the dress from my hand and tosses it onto the padded bench in the center of the closet.
“Stop avoiding my question.” Impatience disrupts the rugged beauty of his face. “What happened with Parker?”
“I thought we were short on time.” I turn my back to dig in my carryall, searching for ankle boots. “I know I had a pair of—”
He pulls me around by my shoulders to face him. His hands glide down my still-damp arms to link his fingers with mine, the warmth of his bare chest emanating to my chilled skin.
“Tell me. Now.”
I sigh and slump my shoulders before starting.
“I used Parker to push you to Qwest.” I chew the corner of my mouth for a second. “We weren’t ever actually in a relationship.”
I roll my eyes and gesture vaguely.
“I mean, we dated a few months, yeah, back in high school.”
“And fucked in the coat check.” Grip’s words emerge controlled, but a savage objection flares in his eyes, a warning that beneath the placid surface, a beast bides its time.
“Yeah.” I rake my fingers through my hair. “But it didn’t take me long to figure out it wasn’t gonna work. I broke things off when I started at Columbia and he went off to Stanford. He’s been trying to wiggle back in ever since.”
“So you fucked Parker, after all these years, just so I would try with Qwest? You went that far to manipulate me?”
The scariest part of what he says is what he doesn’t say. The things that, even though not voiced, take flight behind his eyes. Disappointment. Anger. Disgust.
“Not exactly. I—”
“Then what exactly?” he slices over me.
“Give me a chance to explain.”
“That’s what this is. The chance to have your say.” He narrows his eyes. “I just hate everything you’re saying.”
I sit on the bench and press my knees together under the thick towel, trying to keep my back and my facts straight.
“That night on the roof you said neither of us had been in a serious relationship, and that seemed to make you think there was a chance when I really didn’t think there should be. Then before the show, I overheard you talking with Rhys and Kai in your dressing room.”
“You eavesdropped on us?” It comes as a quiet demand.
“Not on purpose, but I could tell that you wanted . . . more. That you wanted