5. Grayson

Chapter 5

Grayson

M acy walks around the hotel room like I'm not even here. She grabs one of the complimentary water bottles and chugs the entire thing. She's wearing soft pink shorts and a T-shirt that says Reading is sexy. She plugs her phone cord into an outlet and climbs into bed, tucking her body beneath the comforter. The only sound is fabric rustling as she tries to get into a comfortable position.

Being in the same room as someone while they unwind from the day feels much more intimate than I'd imagine.

I don't wear her fiancé's clothes. I folded them and put them back in her suitcase. I lay in the second bed on my side.

She stares at her phone, eyes drifting horizontally along the screen like she's reading something. Maybe an e-book.

I break the silence. "What are you going to do in Florida?" I ask for the second time.

She looks up at me through dark lashes, setting her phone on the mattress beside her. "I thought you weren't going to talk."

Right. I did say that. But clearly her presence ruffles me enough to forget my basic social skills, leaving the impression that I'm a prick. I'm such a moron when I blurt out, "I did buy you a hotel room." Deep down, I think I like saying things just to see her eyes roll. Maybe I am a prick.

"I'm going to my grandparents' house in Sanibel," she whispers. "I used to visit them every summer, but the year before they died, my fiancé convinced me to stay in Idaho, since he didn't want to come with me." She clears her throat and whispers, "I never saw them again."

I squeeze my eyes shut. "I'm sorry," I say. "It sounds like you and your grandparents were close."

"We were."

"Are you going there to sell the house?"

She immediately shakes her head, like the idea is insane. "No, of course not. I love that house." She smiles, and I truly don't deserve to witness something so beautiful. "I've always dreamed of living there as a little girl."

"Why don't you?" I'm quick to ask.

She looks at me like no one's ever suggested it before. Like the idea is impossible. "Because I live in Idaho."

"Well, that is the purpose of moving," I say. "You leave one place to live in another."

"Walter won't leave Idaho," she whispers.

"I don't like Walter." It's an easy opinion to come to.

She rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling like she's in deep thought. "Goodnight, Grayson." She rolls over, pulling the string to the lamp beside her, flooding the room with darkness.

I hear the static of the sheets as she tosses and turns.

"Macy?" I call into the dark.

Her soft voice does strange things to my chest. "Yeah?"

I speak before I lose the nerve. "You're too good for him."

Silence stretches.

"I know," she whispers so quietly, I might've imagined it.

A clicking sound forces my eyes open. I blink several times, allowing my vision to adjust to the dark. I sit up, and slowly, the events of last night return to my memory. I face her.

Macy sits against the headboard, the comforter loosely wrapped around her and falling from her shoulders as she types away on her laptop, oblivious to the world around her. She wears big black framed glasses that reflect the white screen. The hair that was smooth and laying perfect yesterday sticks up and out in every direction like she slept through a storm.

Before I can filter it, gentle laughter passes through my lips and her face snaps toward me. It's slightly terrifying, her face glowing from the screen. Everything else is cloaked in darkness, like she's holding a flashlight beneath her chin around a campfire, telling scary stories.

"What time is it?" I ask, my voice choppy from sleep.

"Six."

"In the morning?" I rub my eyes.

"Obviously." She turns back to her computer and continues typing, as if my presence is easy to disregard.

I don't know what compels me to, but I climb out of my bed and into hers. I read aloud. "Fighting for his love was like trying to reach the shore in a riptide." She tries to close the laptop, but I pry it from her hands. "The harder you try?—"

"You are infuriating!"

I hold it out of reach. "The faster the air leaves your lungs until you're nothing but the water that destroyed you."

She stands on the bed and finally pries the technology from my hands.

I face her. "Is that for one of your books?"

She nods.

"Was it about the love interest? Because I don't know much about romance novels, but it doesn't sound like she likes that dude."

She tilts her head back and laughs. My stomach heats. I caused that . "No. It's about her husband. The love interest comes later in the story."

"Scandalous. I like it." I cross my ankles on the bed.

"Want to know how she meets him? The love interest, I mean." She lights up, so I'm quick to nod. "He's her husband's dad," she says slowly.

I let that sink in. "No!" I gasp.

She laughs. "Kidding."

I sit up a little more. "Well? How do they meet?"

She shrugs with a little smile. "I guess you'll have to read it to find out."

"You're leaving me on a serious cliff hanger here, Minerva." I grin. "When does it come out?"

"Probably a few months. I'm editing it now."

"So, it's already written?" I ask.

"The first draft."

"Let me read it."

She pauses for a moment, eyes on mine and a tilt to her head. "You can't. The first draft is a complete mess."

"That's fine. I'll read it now and when it's published, that way I can appreciate it even more."

"You'd read it twice?" she whispers.

"If the whole thing is as good as what I just read, I'd read it ten times."

She only blinks.

"Well?"

"I'll think about it," she says quietly, and I almost swear she blushed. Her eyes are bright and shining like maple syrup. I'm about to offer to take her downstairs for breakfast, but the annoying ring of her phone pierces the air. I glance down and see the name of her fiancé. I hand it to her.

She rolls her eyes and answers the phone saying, "Walter," as a way of greeting. Something about her sitting here with me and aiming that attitude of hers toward him makes me want to grin.

I can hear him through the phone's tiny speakers. "The fridge is making that weird beeping sound again."

Her whole body winces in what looks like annoyance. She speaks through her teeth. "It's not closed all the way," she bites out.

I hear the faint sound of him closing the fridge. "Oh," he says slowly. "My bad." What an idiot.

She straightens. "Is that all?"

"Yeah."

"You don't have anything you want to say to me? Anything to ask?"

"Um." It's silent. "No?" he says it like it's a question.

Her shoulders tense and I swear there's a flicker of hurt on her face. It passes all too quickly. Like she shoved it into a drawer and slammed it shut.

"You know what, Walter?" She throws the comforter off her body like she's suddenly burning hot. "Don't call me again unless your eyeballs are falling out or the house is on fire. Even then, I want you to count to one hundred, and when your done with that, I want you to ask yourself ‘Is it really worth giving my fiancé an ulcer over, or am I a big boy who can figure it out myself?'" Before he can reply, she hangs up, and then lets out a frustrated groan. With her eyes aimed at the ceiling, they begin to glass over. And then she cries.

My chest is on fire. "Macy," I whisper, hesitantly placing my hand on her shoulder. She leans her head on the appendage. Her warm tears are dripping onto my skin and some buried instinct within me kicks in. I grab her and hold her in my arms until the sobs leave her body.

I don't know how much time goes by until she pulls her head away from my chest, but when she does, her nose is a hair away from mine. Feelings I've never felt in my life overwhelm my senses. I'm losing my grip on reality, staring at her mouth, and wondering what it feels like.

She stops breathing for a moment, as though she's wondering the same thing as me. Our lips are so close, and the longer I stay not kissing her, the more a ball of fire ignites in my chest.

Macy Brookes is turning me to ash without lifting a finger.

She's suddenly off the bed, rubbing at her arms as if she's trying to wipe away invisible grime.

My mouth is agape at what a mess this has all become. Maybe she has the right idea of trying to wipe off my touch like it's a stain. "I'm sorr?—"

"Thank you for the room, and for not murdering me. But I don't know you." She grabs her suitcase, not bothering to change out of her pajamas. She steps into her sneakers and throws open the door to leave.

I'm up in an instant, needing to rectify this before she goes. I grab her suitcase like I did yesterday, so she can't leave. "Macy," I say like I'm trying to calm down a wild animal before it darts away. "I know you're engaged, and I shouldn't have..." I shake my head. "There are no excuses for my actions." I don't know anything about the relationship she has with her fiancé other than the fact that he made her cry only moments ago, and that certainly won't do. "I don't think you should marry him, Macy."

She looks like she's about to skin my balls and feed them to me.

"I know. We aren't friends." I hold up my hands. "I just know you deserve better."

"Go ahead. Keep telling me about my engagement," she says painfully calm. She releases her hold on her suitcase to cross her arms over her chest.

"Look, I'm well aware that it's none of my business but?—"

"Damn right it's not!"

"But…" I care about you. "You aren't happy with him."

"You don't know what you're talking about. I lo—" She winces. "I love Walter." She picks up the handle of her suitcase. "Let. Go," she growls. "Now."

I don't remove my hands. "Why are you marrying him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why doesn't he seem to mind that his girlfriend left the state without telling him? He didn't even ask if you were safe. Why would you marry a guy like that?"

Her nostrils flare. "I'm not his girlfriend, you imbecile. I'm his fiancé ."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't have to explain myself to you. I don't even know you!" she cries out.

I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her awake, but instead I let go of her suitcase, and she leaves.