608 Alpha Ave - Adriana Locke Page 0,28
come back in. This is a nice little town y’all have.”
“Thanks. We’re pretty proud of it.”
He gives me a warm smile. “Want to show me around if I come back?”
“I—”
I’m cut off by the sound of Grayson clearing his throat. Before I can think about it, I look over my shoulder to see him staring at me.
“Can I get another beer?” he asks.
He’s clearly unamused.
Although they shouldn’t—I’m not the kind of girl to make a guy crazy on purpose—my insides cheer.
“Sure.” I motion for the two Jack drinkers that I’ll be back and head down to the cooler. I grab another beer and hand it to Grayson. “Here you go.”
He doesn’t reach for it.
“You sure you needed that?” I ask, motioning to the first bottle I gave him. “That one is still full.”
He blows out a long, heated breath. “Can I talk to you after you get off?”
I try to play it cool despite wanting to demand he talk to me now. “Yeah. Sure. What’s up?”
“I think you know.”
“Do I, though?”
He presses his lips together. “I want to talk about yesterday.”
“Yesterday was full of possible talking points.”
He eyes me carefully. The longer he takes to respond, the more my anxiety rises.
I know, without a doubt, that if he tells me yesterday was a mistake or that it was a one-off, it’s going to hurt. A bunch. Even though I tried to talk sense to myself last night and to discount all the hopeful things Kaylee brought to the table, I already know I bought into it.
I took the bait.
I listened to the hype, and I sided with hope, despite it being illogical and unreasonable.
I didn’t realize that I’d chosen this mental path until this moment in time. But as I stand in front of him and take in the fact that he clearly isn’t on the same wavelength as I am, I know how I really feel.
And I know I’m screwed.
Tears wet the corners of my eyes, and I blink them back.
“I have an eyelash stuck,” I say, pretending to dab my eyes for an offending lash.
Grayson leans forward. “About yesterday—”
“Can we turn the channel?” the guys behind me ask. “We want to see the sports scores for the day.”
“Sure,” I say, giving Grayson a chance to finish.
But he doesn’t. A look of uncertainty fills his eyes, and I already know what he was going to say.
This isn’t the look of someone who wants more.
This is the look of a man who feels regret.
My bottom lip trembles, and I bite it to stop it.
Grayson is the picture of a man who is terrified that a woman will feel an attachment to him.
That woman is me.
And that woman feels humiliated.
I should’ve known better.
I rip my gaze from him and grab the remote. “The sports channel?” I ask. “Any one in particular?”
“Nah,” the blond one says. “Anything is better than the news.”
“I agree with you there.”
“Do you like sports?” he asks me.
I put some distance between Grayson and myself. “Yeah. Some of them. I like boxing and football.”
The blond’s brows raise. “Who is your favorite boxer?”
“Roy Jones Jr. It’s not a competition. He’s hands-down the greatest of all time.”
The two men burst out laughing.
“What?” I ask.
“We were sitting here wondering if you had a flaw,” the blond says. “My buddy here says you’re probably one of those women who hate anything sports or outdoors related, but you just proved him wrong.”
I turn sideways so I can see Grayson out of the side of my eye. “I went hiking yesterday.”
The two men comment, but I don’t hear what they say. My focus is on the man to my right.
Grayson’s eyes drift immediately from the television to me. I don’t make eye contact with him but try to read his posture instead.
He’s a brick wall. Square shoulders. Lifted chin. Smooth features.
My chest aches right along with the rest of my body, and it’s all his doing. Every last throb of it.
The men in front of me continue their banter about God knows what while I ponder my current situation.
“Are you dating anyone?” the blond asks. “’Cause I’d sure like to take you out sometime.”
I watch Grayson for any hint of emotion. Anything. A furrowed brow or a tight lip. A flexed jaw or a hard grasp of his bottle.
But there’s nothing.
There’s absolutely no inclination of him having any care or thought about me being asked out by a stranger at all.
A lump lodges in my throat.
“What do you think?” I ask as I look