3. Grayson

Chapter 3

Grayson

I 'm afraid one wrong move will send Macy running to her room and locking me out. She's so reserved, I find myself grasping onto the smallest details she reveals about herself. I etch each one to memory. I wasn't surprised by her career choice.

The elevator opens, and by some miracle, she follows me in.

"Do you come to New York a lot?" she asks, looking at the numbers that drop at the top of the elevator.

"This is my first time. My boss sent me for a financial convention, and since I'm the newest and youngest employee, I couldn't exactly say no. Plus, it's good experience," I say. She doesn't answer, but I keep talking. "He doesn't like flying."

"And you like finance ?" she asks, like the idea of anyone enjoying my career is insane.

I walk out, hoping she'll continue to follow, and when she does, I suppress a smile. "I'm good with numbers, and it pays the bills."

"I failed algebra twice in high school," she says.

"Creative people tend to be bad at math," I say. "I once read that writers and artists use the right side of their brain more than the left." She doesn't answer, and I realize what a weird thing it was to say. I find myself elaborating. "The left side is more analytical, like me. The right is more imaginative, like you."

"You don't know anything about me," she points out.

Right . "You're an author. I'd assume you are both creative and imaginative." I shrug.

Smooth jazz is playing when we enter the dimly lit hotel bar. There are six people here, all of whom appear to be in their sixties or older.

Macy clears her throat. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," she whispers. "I saw a bar across the street that seemed a bit more…lively."

I chuckle and place my palm on her lower back, leading her away from the dull room. "Should we go?"

She tucks her bottom lip in like she's considering it.

"Say yes," I encourage.

She blows out a steady breath. "Okay fine."

As soon as the automatic glass doors open to the outside, cold air hits us, and Macy puts on my gray blazer. She practically drowns in the fabric. It's longer than the dress she has on, showing off her thighs.

"I've never been to a bar like this," she says when we near it.

I like the idea of experiencing a first with her, even if it's as simple as taking her to a crowded bar. The door is already open and music floods outside.

Macy enters first, tensing at the environment. The smell of alcohol is strong, and the music makes it hard to hear anything else. She picks up her voice. "Should we go sit?"

I lean down so I don't have to shout. "Sure," I say against the shell of her ear.

I follow her through the crowds of people, noticing a few dancing. Maybe I'll see Macy dance tonight.

We find two bar stools next to each other. I pull one out for her and she gives me a strange look.

"What can I get you?" a female bartender asks Macy.

She tucks her brown hair behind her ears. It makes her look younger. "What do you normally get?" she asks me.

Normally? This is beyond normal for me. I quickly skim the drink menu. "Listen, Tato, I'm going to reveal something about myself, but you need to promise you won't tease me about it."

Her eyes squint and then she nods.

"I know all these guys are drinking beer or whiskey, but honestly, I hate both. I was going to order a strawberry daiquiri."

Her head tilts and she slowly smiles. "I like that," she whispers. "Own it."

I peel my gaze away from her, my stomach somersaulting. Maybe she's starting to warm up to me. I press my palm flat on the bar top and say proudly, "I'll take a strawberry daiquiri."

"I'll do one too," Macy says. Then turns to me with a mischievous grin, "And we'll take two tequila shots."

I lean my head on my hand, widening my eyes at her.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?" The bartender eyes me seductively, playing with her hair.

"Nope, all good here."

After a minute, the bartender sets two small glasses in front of me. I grab both, handing one to Macy. She tilts her head back, slowly gulping the liquor and then slams the glass down. She scrunches her nose. I eye the salt on the corner of her lips and fight the urge to wipe it away. I take my shot and put my lime in my mouth like I've seen in movies.

Her big eyes look up at me as she sucks on the lime, scrunching her nose and shaking her head. "I'm going to vomit."

The bartender sets down our strawberry daiquiris, but her eyes don't stray from me. "Are you sure there's nothing else I can get you?"

"Yup."

She props her head on the heels of her hands, leaning forward to show off her chest. Jesus, lady, take the hint. I steal a glance at Macy, who mindlessly sips the drink.

"Can I get a beer," someone calls, thankfully getting the bartender's attention off me.

Every song that plays sounds the same as the previous, but when a new one begins, Macys eyes widen, and she stumbles out of her stool. "I love this song," she says with a lazy smile and then grabs my hand. I let her lead me into the crowd of sweaty bodies.

Someone knocks into Macy, causing her to trip and fall against my chest. My hands instinctively grab her hips to keep my balance, so we don't go tumbling backward into the people behind me like falling dominos.

She looks at me wide-eyed and before she can create space between us, I grab one of her hands and twirl her. Brown hair floats around her from the swift movement, and when she stills, a lock of it falls into her face, so I gently tuck it behind her ear.

Her eyes slowly fall shut as she lifts her face to the ceiling. She begins to sway in such an effortless way, as if the music itself is stringing her along.

I'm a tense body among countless dancing ones but I don't mind how stiff I probably look. I watch Macy like she's the first glimpse of land after spending months at sea.

When a new song starts, her eyes meet mine, glistening like morning dew. She steps closer, drowning out the smell of sweaty people with her vanilla scent. Her hands are soft when she wraps them around my neck, and as though it's what the music needs, she tilts her head to the side.

I'm under her spell when I begin to sway. It's not much of an effort, I just let her rhythm guide me. I take advantage of her shut eyes to notice everything about her. The faint freckles on her face remind me of constellations and there's a shadow tucked beneath her full lips.

Her eyes open and meet mine when the beat picks up. My hands find her hips. She doesn't tell me to remove them. Her gaze moves over my face like she's taking a good look at me. I hold my breath.

"How'd you get that scar?" Her thumb brushes over my top lip. "This one," she whispers. My eyes fall shut of their own accord from her touch.

"I caught a frisbee with my face when I was younger."

"Ouch." She winces.

She lifts her arms in the air and jumps up and down. I watch her in complete awe, the image is something akin to a memory. This time, when she looks up, her eyes catch on my lips.

I stop thinking and wrap my hands into her hair and breathe in the strawberry on her breath. My eyes fall closed, and my lips hover an inch above hers.

An alarm drowns out the music. It's raining. Inside.

My eyes shoot open. People start running toward the small exit, slamming into me, and making me fumble backward. It's complete disarray, and Macy is nowhere in sight. I push through bodies.

"Macy!" I shout, but it gets drowned out by the alarm and panic.

I go in the opposite direction of everyone else, but every step I make forward I get pushed three paces back. There's a girl on the floor that I quickly pull up from beneath her arms, so she doesn't get trampled.

There's not even smoke. I bet some drunken idiot pulled the alarm.

"Macy!" My scream leaves my throat raw, as if I've swallowed a razor blade. Damp people clash against me, but none of them are her.

I reach the bar. Water pools and drips from the top. I pull myself onto the wet surface, standing tall above the crowd, searching for a specific brunette in a crowd of them.

I could never live with myself if something happened to her, but right as the horrific thought forms, I spot her. With hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, Macy helps people off the floor. She pushes them in the direction of the exit instead of getting herself out. Of course, she does.

"Macy!" This time when I call her name, her eyes find mine.

I jump down, pushing through to get to her, and once I do, I grab her hand and lead her to the exit. Once we make it outside and past the crowd that gathers around the bar, I finally look at her. I examine her body from head to toe, ensuring she isn't injured. Her chattering lips are pale and her wet hair drips along her goose fleshed skin. Black makeup runs down her cheeks. I rub her arms, trying to warm her with friction since my blazer isn't doing much good getting stepped on in the bar right now.

"I'm f-fine," she chatters. "Let's go back to the hotel."

We make it there shortly; I follow Macy to the elevators. Once we are shut inside the confined space, her gaze is on nothing in particular when she rings out her hair and begins to laugh. Her entire body seems to shake with the wonderful sound.

I can't take my eyes off her. My heart picks up and I burn .

I stared like an awestruck idiot when she ran into me at the airport before remembering how to speak. And when I locked eyes with her before getting in the cab, it was like fate stepped in right before I could leave her.

I thought bribing the driver to take us to the diner was harmless. All I truly wanted was to have more time with her. Looking back, no wonder her assumption of why I was buying her meal was so crass. I just wanted to be with her. I wanted to make her laugh but instead, I managed to make her dislike me within minutes.

But now, her laugh echoes off the elevator walls, making my heart skip a beat. When the door opens, her cheeks are pink and her laughter quiets into just a smile. "That was crazy," she whispers more to herself than to me. "Was there even a fire?" she asks, stepping out of the elevator.

I shrug to appear unaffected by the laugh I earned from her. "Someone probably pulled the alarm."

She doesn't say anything else, and when we reach the room, she doesn't make a move to open the door. She slowly turns to me, meeting my eyes. "You might as well change your clothes in here since you need to grab your bag," she says, gesturing to my soaked outfit.

I tuck myself into the closet and struggle to pull my wet pants down my legs. I put the outfit I wore earlier back on and when I step out, I hear the water running in the bathroom, so I take this time to hang my soaked clothes to dry.

Shortly after I hear the shower turn off, Macy comes out in her pajamas. She eyes my attire. "You don't have anything else to wear?" she asks with a frown.

"It's all in my checked bag." Still at the airport.

She rummages through her suitcase and pulls out a T-shirt that's too big for her and some sweatpants. "You can wear this."

I glance at the men's clothes, wanting to ask why she has them, but her phone rings. I glance at it since it rests on the bed right where she layed the clothes for me.

The name Walter flashes across the screen.