Chapter 8

Chapter

Eight

GRACE

The dress is beautiful, but it's not me. It was nice of Brooklynn to lend it to me, but I don't think I can wear it. Sucking in a deep breath, I run my hands down the front of the fabric. It's soft and light.

It's a silvery-blue puff-sleeved milkmaid dress that hits right below my knees. It's stunning, but it's not me. Taking a step backward, I turn toward the closet and look at the contents hanging up. I realize that I don't have anything of my own to wear tonight, so this is going to have to be it.

"You look wonderful," Brooklynn whispers from the doorway.

Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at her. I give her a smile, but I don't know what else to say. I don't look bad, but I don't look like myself, and I feel uncomfortable. I can't tell her that her dress isn't for me. So, I just smile instead of replying.

Slipping on my platform nude-colored sandals, I smooth down my hair one last time. The doorbell rang a few minutes ago, so I know he's here. I could hear his voice floating up from the staircase as I stared at my reflection and tried to figure out how on earth I was going to go on this date.

I should stay home.

"Maybe I should stay home," I whisper, my eyes finding Brooklynn's.

Her smile widens as she shakes her head. I watch her blonde hair fly all around her shoulders. It's shinier and healthier-looking than mine. I find myself a bit envious of it. In fact, I find myself a bit envious of every woman in this house.

"Absolutely not. Now, the dress may not be your style, but it's the biggest trend right now. Otto likes new and trendy," Brooklynn says with a single nod.

She's right. He does. I've seen his brand-new Camaro. But I'm not that girl. I'm not the trendy girl. I'm the girl who wears solid colors, no patterns. I'm the girl who goes for practical, not sexy or popular.

I'm plain and comfortable.

I've always been that way.

I've never been the girl who goes for trendy. I've never been the girl who was popular or anything else. I'm just me. My mother was always on trend. Clothes and makeup were more important than anything else, and I shifted in the opposite direction. And that's probably the very reason why Hayze saw me as a target. Because that's exactly what I was— his target.

His mark.

"He won't like me much, then, I'm afraid. Not in the long run. I'm not trendy at all."

Brooklynn makes her way toward me, reaches out, wraps her hands around my wrists, and tugs me a bit closer to her. My eyes widen as hers narrows. She leans in a bit closer, her gaze never leaving my own.

"You're wonderful, Grace. Everything I know about you is wonderful. Clothes and music don't make a person. Otto sees you. If you let him, that is."

Oh, but I want him to see me.

Every single part of me.

Even against my better judgment, I want it.

"Go down to him. He's waiting for you, and he wants to see you walk down those stairs. He wants the fantasy."

I almost laugh in her face. Fantasy . Now, that's funny. I've never been anyone's fantasy. I can't imagine I would ever be to a man like Otto. He could have anyone, and I know that women throw themselves at the players after every single game… the coach, too. I've seen my father leave with countless women throughout my childhood. That is the fantasy, not me.

Feeling deflated, I decide to go downstairs and get this date over with. I just want to get it done. I should have never agreed to it in the first place. How I thought that this would be anything more than a one-night thing, I don't know.

I allow myself to hope for a moment, but considering who my father is, I know it won't work out. At all. Ever. So, I descend the stairs, trying not to look Otto in the eyes. Even though that's exactly where I want to look.

OTTO

Stunning.

Not just the dress, although she looks banging in it, but she is beautiful. I'm fairly certain that the inside matches the outside as well. My breath hitches as she moves farther down the staircase.

Then she stops at the foot, and I move toward her. Reaching out, I hold my palm face up for her. Her fingers curl around my hand, and I gently tug her behind me. Lifting my opposite hand, I wave to the girls, who are all in different parts of the house, watching me equally.

Silently, we walk across the street to my waiting car. I open the passenger door and reluctantly release her hand when she's folded into the car. Closing the door behind her, I jog across the front of the car to sink in the driver's seat before I start the engine.

The music blares, and I chuckle as I reach for the volume knob and turn it down. "Sorry about that," I say, giving her a wink.

She smiles, though she doesn't say a word. She hasn't said a single word at all. "Grace," I call out softly. Her eyes find mine. They search my own, but she still doesn't speak. "Are you okay?"

For a moment, I think my question has fallen on deaf ears because she stays silent. Then she lets out a heavy sigh. I still haven't put the car into Drive , I'm sitting in front of the house, unmoving as I stare at her and wait for her answer. I'm not taking a woman out on a date who doesn't want to be with me.

No matter how badly I want her.

And I want her badly.

"I'm not this person," she whispers. Arching a brow, I lean back in my seat and wait for her to expand, unsure why she's said that. Thankfully, she does. "I'm not trendy or sexy. I'm just Grace. And this isn't my dress."

I almost burst out laughing, but I don't think Grace would appreciate that much. Instead, I smile and reach out, taking her hand in mine.

"And you think I asked you out because of a dress I'd never seen before?"

She frowns, looking down at my hand in hers, then lifts her gaze to look up at me—it connects with mine. "I just…" she begins.

I slide my fingers along her cheek, cupping her there. Gliding my thumb across her bottom lip, I continue to look into her eyes. I can't look away from those green orbs. They have me frozen in place.

"You just nothing, Grace. I didn't ask you out because I thought you were trendy. I already know you're sexy, so I'm pretty certain you don't know what you're talking about. And trends don't mean shit. If I've given that impression, then you haven't been looking hard enough."

"Your car, your clothes," she murmurs.

I snort, closing my eyes for a moment, then reopen them slowly. "Honey," I rasp, "cars and clothes ain't shit. If I wanted someone else, I'd go after her. I like you, Grace."

I lean forward, and before she can rebuke my words, I touch my mouth to hers. I've been dying to taste her, and I'm pretty sure I won't be able to concentrate the rest of the date until I do this.

I also think it would take some pressure off—of both of us.

Her taste is the best thing I've ever experienced in my life. I didn't think it was possible that someone could taste this fucking good, yet she does. She whimpers. I swallow the sound before I lean back slightly.

Resting my forehead against hers, I let out a heavy sigh. "I like you, Grace. I like the taste of you, and I want more. A lot more."

"Otto," she exhales.

Leaning back, I release her and shift the car into Drive . As we move down the street, I don't say anything else. I'm going to wait for her to speak. And when she does, I'm a bit surprised. "I like you, too, and I want more. But we shouldn't be together."

"We aren't together. Not yet, anyway. But soon."

I hear her snort but ignore it. Moving down the street, I make my way downtown. I've made reservations. It's the best place in town, a family-owned and -run Italian restaurant. They even make their pasta from scratch.

Reid loves this place and brags about it all the time. He's told me how much Lorelai likes it, so I thought it would be a good first date for Grace.

I park in front, open the door, and unfold from the driver's seat. Walking around the back, I tug the door open and hold out my palm for her. She lifts her hand and slips her fingers in mine as she shifts to the side so her feet are flat on the ground before she stands.

Sliding my arm around her waist, I pull her closer to me. I feel her chest touch mine. My gaze searches hers. I can't read this woman—at least not yet. But I will. I am going to find out what makes her tick.

Every little thing.

"Whatever this is, I'm not sure I deserve it. That I'm ready for it."

My brows snap together. My eyes focus on hers before I clear my throat. "Why would you say that, Grace?"

"I'm not enough."

My eyes widen, and I dip my chin slightly. I touch my mouth to hers but don't deepen the kiss. "You are more than enough, honey. More than enough."

I'm not sure what happened in her life that she feels this way, but I'm going to get to the bottom of it.