Fragments of gray, p.6
Fragments of Gray, page 6
I make a mental note to learn about cars. I’ll have some free time now that school’s on break for the summer, so I can brush up on how to properly maintain and fix a car.
The ten-minute ride feels like eternity, as we travel away from the tourist spots and into the secluded area of Golden Bay.
Not a sound is made from the driver’s side.
Just an excruciating long stretch of awkward silence.
And now it’s been so long that I’m uncomfortable talking.
But I need to in order to get home. “Make a right,” I say, breaking the quiet.
Grayson follows my direction, turning down the narrow road. As he continues to drive, I notice his eyes widen at the only house in view.
“That’s—” he clears his throat. “That’s your house?”
“Yep.”
Grayson slows down, rolling up to my massive home. It towers over us, held up by the numerous stilts. There’s a wraparound porch on both levels of the house, connected by a set of stairs in the front and another set in the back by my bedroom. The lower level porch has a long staircase going out to the front of the house, hitting the driveway, and a separate staircase in the back leading to the beach.
“Wow,” he whispers to himself, looking at the gigantic building I call home.
He has yet to shift into park, and I doubt he’s going to, so I take that as my cue to get out. I don’t think either of us can take another moment of us sitting together not speaking.
“Thank you for the ride,” I say, placing my hand on the door handle. But before leaving, I get a sudden urge to clear the air between us. “And for the record, I’m not one of those girls who will read into this.”
Grayson shifts his focus to me, his head tilting to the side, unsure of what I meant.
Feeling slightly embarrassed I need to spell it out for him, my face heats up.
“I know you’re not into me, and that you’re just giving me a ride as a friend.” Nerves jump around my chest. “Maybe not even a friend—acquaintance?” Now that my mouth has started moving, I can’t stop it. “Rae’s brother—that’s what you are. You were being nice to me as Rae’s brother, and I will completely respect that boundary.” I pause for a hot second to see if he’ll respond, but all he does is blink. “Okay, I’m going to go now so I can stop talking.”
I open the car door, but before I can even place a foot onto the ground, a sudden flush of warmth hits my body as Grayson places his hand around my wrist. Bolts of electricity run up my arm as if I just got struck by lightning.
My gaze flies to his long fingers wrapping around the smallest part of my arm. My pulse goes wild as I gradually peel my line of sight away from his hand and up to his eyes.
They’re exquisite.
The color of them reminds me of how the summer sky looks when a storm is about to roll in. Electrifying, powerful, thrilling.
Everything that I want.
Everything that I need.
“Is that what you think?” Grayson asks, interrupting my thoughts about him. “That I don’t like you?”
“I… well, yeah.”
“Why?”
“Well for starters, you’ve barely said a word to me this entire car ride.” I shut the door, even though I should probably be getting out.
He shakes his head, releasing my wrist. Looking away from me, he says, “I get caught in my head a lot.”
There’s a mixture of frustration and sadness that paints his face. My heart is doing all sorts of gymnastics, yearning to know more about him. “Oh.”
“I became comfortable not speaking much, so sometimes I stay quiet. But you seem like you’d be a really great friend.”
Friend. Got it.
“I didn’t mean to act like an asshole,” he states. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Gray.”
He snaps his head back in my direction, a glimmer of amusement lighting up his once melancholy features. “Gray?”
“…yeah?”
“No one’s ever called me Gray. Just Grayson.”
“Sorry—”
“No, I like it, Red.” He smirks as his gaze follows the waves of my hair. I’m pretty sure my cheeks are turning the exact same shade.
“Real creative.”
“It’s about as creative as your nickname for me.”
“Your name is Gray.”
“Your hair is red.”
“Well I’m not some feisty firecracker, so don’t expect me to fit the redhead stereotype,” I tell him, making sure that I lower any fantasy expectations he might have.
“I don’t expect you to be anything but yourself, Emma.” The sound of Gray’s voice becomes low, striking a chord somewhere deep within me.
I don’t know how, but just that one sentence made it harder to breathe. The air thickens as I notice the way he studies me, his focus drifting from my eyes to my lips, down the length of my body and then back up again.
My head spins, a burst of excitement flowing through my bloodstream.
This feeling shouldn’t be here since he just implied that he only wants to be friends. But the more I try to fight off the rush of adrenaline, the stronger it grows.
“Do you want to hang out?” I gesture at my house. Another fun rush hits me, making me feel lighter.
A boyish smile appears. “Yeah.”
He goes to put his car in park, but I stop him. “You can’t park here,” I say. God forbid Dad gets home early and spots Gray’s car outside of the house. “There’s a dead end a little further down. It’s not really a parking lot, but it can fit a few cars.” I point ahead of us, and he begins driving. “Fishermen come down here at all different times throughout the year. I guess the inlet is a good place to cast. I’m just assuming—I don’t fish. I never had an interest in fishing, the whole thing seems kind of boring to me. Oh—I didn’t mean to offend you if you enjoy fishing. It’s just not for me. But if fishing’s your thing, that’s cool—”
“Emma.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t give a fuck about fishing.” He parks. “And I’m pretty sure you just set the world record for the amount of times someone said ‘fish’ in thirty seconds.”
I giggle, realizing my nerves have taken over. “Sometimes I forget when to shut up. At least I can make up for all the times you get caught in your head and don’t talk.”
He smiles at the comment, and I can tell by the little lift in his cheeks that he doesn’t do it often.
We get out of the car, and I lead us toward a tall sand dune. Feeling the sand sneak its way between my heel and my shoe, I make the decision to take off my wedges before I land face first on the ground.
In a flamingo-like style, I lift one leg up to unbuckle the strap around my ankle. Becoming wobbly balancing on one leg, I feel Gray’s hand on my elbow, steadying me.
He doesn’t say anything. He’s just there, making sure I don’t topple.
With him still holding me, I slip off my other shoe until they’re both in my hand.
“Thank you,” I say, and he gives me a nod.
We move up the sand dune, and I try to modestly climb over it, making sure to keep my skirt in check.
When we get over the hill, the ocean greets us. It’s calm, with barely a wave in sight. I watch as Gray looks out to sea as we move toward my house.
“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” I ask, as we get closer.
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
“My dad doesn’t hang out by the beach, so I’m the only one who uses this staircase,” I start to explain as we travel up to the lower level porch. Walking along the length of my house, I lead him up the connecting stairs to the second level. “And I’m the only one who comes in this way.”
Unlocking the door to our upper mudroom, we enter the space wiping our feet and dusting off the sand on our ankles.
If he doesn’t want anything to eat or drink, I might as well take him to the only place in this house that feels like mine.
“Damn,” Gray says over my shoulder when we step out into the hallway. He takes in the large estate, crystal chandelier, and pristine furnishings.
I shrug. “It’s alright.”
“Alright? Your home looks like it belongs in a movie.”
“It doesn’t really feel like home to me. Only my bedroom does,” I explain as we walk down the lengthy hallway. “It wasn’t always my bedroom. It was one of the guest rooms until a couple years ago. But now that it’s mine—and being all the way in the corner of the house away from everything else—it feels more like home.”
Opening the door, we arrived at my mini-sanctuary.
Gray enters, his feet moving cautiously inside. His eyes wander around my room, soaking everything in. When he hits my rug, he’s careful not to let his sandy shoes linger on it for too long.
Out of habit, I shut the door behind him.
I watch as he zeros in on my bookshelf, eyeing all the books. His fingers gingerly hover over the spines, looking at my collection.
“You read,” he states.
“Yeah, it’s a giant hobby of mine.”
He smirks, taking a book off my shelf. “War and Peace?”
“I like a lot of genres, some of the classics included.”
“Me too,” he says, flipping through the pages.
“So, you read as well?”
There’s this strange sense of trust I feel being around him. Maybe because he’s Rae’s brother.
“You have to be a reader in order to be a decent writer.”
I let out an excited gasp. “You write?”
He pauses, a perplexed look briefly crosses his face as if he’s surprised those words came out of his mouth, but he’s quick to shake it off. “I used to. Not anymore.” Shutting my book, he puts it back.
There’s a twinge in my heart, noting the damaged expression he wears, letting me know it’s a sensitive subject.
His gaze drops down to my desk, his eyes falling on my Bible. “Religious?”
Opening my mouth, nothing comes out. Confused by my own lack of response, my head tilts to the side. “It’s complicated,” I settle on saying.
He nods as he continues to quietly examine all the stories on my shelves.
“If you could live in any book, which book would it be?” I ask with extra pep in my words, hoping to get him talking more.
“That’s a tough one.”
“Yeah, it’s tough for me, too.” Chuckling, I move to sit on my bed. Kneeling on my mattress, I continue, “Okay, this is easier; which genre would you like to live in?”
Gray glances away from my bookshelf and over to me. “I…” He pauses, his gaze floating over my body. He lingers a little too long on my skirt, and I feel the warmth of his attention land on my thighs. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, forcing himself back to answering my question. “Mystery would be cool. Or some type of action.”
“Oh, that’s a good one! You could fight off all the bad guys.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, something like that.” He studies me for a brief moment, then asks, “Which genre would you choose?”
“Romance.”
One of his brows arches, intrigued. “Your favorite?”
I nod. “I’m a bit of a hopeless romantic.” My insides start to stir as he deliberately ambles over. “What about you?”
Gray gets closer, his voice dropping in pitch when he admits, “I’m just hopeless.”
His words are laced with a bitter sadness, but it does nothing to deter me. In fact, it makes me want him even more.
“Which… um, which type of character would you be?” I ask, becoming very aware of his proximity.
“Which type would I be or would I like to be?”
“Which type would you be?”
He inches closer, no longer hovering at the foot of my bed but drawing nearer so we’re face to face. His electrifying presence zaps my heart as it erratically strums, beating out of rhythm.
“That’s an easy one,” he says. I have to tilt my chin up to make eye contact, and as soon as I do, heat washes over me. “I’d be the broken hero.”
“Why?” My voice comes out as a whisper.
“I’m a tortured soul. Just an angry person, mad at the world.”
His face lingers closer to mine, close enough to kiss. My chest pounds as I force myself to not glance at his lips that are now perfectly aligned with mine.
“Are you angry now?” I ask, curious because his words don’t match the energy that’s blossoming between us.
Gracefully, he takes two fingers and brushes a thick strand of hair away from my face, then drags them down my neck, sweeping my hair off my shoulder. Goose bumps scatter across my skin. “This is the first time in a while I haven’t felt angry, Red.”
Butterflies fill my body. I wet my lips in anticipation, knowing it’s coming. It has to be coming. Gray’s gaze follows the flick of my tongue, and his warm breath hits my face.
My veins buzz with hope as he edges closer.
“Emma?” Dad’s voice cuts through the intercom.
Gasping, my stomach plummets to the bottom of the house, and I catapult off the bed, running to the intercom. “Yeah, Dad?” my voice squeaks as my entire body trembles.
Fear creeps up my spine, and I say a silent prayer that he doesn’t know Grayson is here.
“Dinner at six thirty,” Dad responds.
“Okay, sounds good.”
Panic flooding me, I pivot on my heels and barrel toward Grayson. “You have to get out of here,” I whisper.
“What?” He takes steps backward, stunned by the sudden shift.
“I’m sorry—he can’t know you’re here.” My clammy palms meet Gray’s chest as I push him toward my window. “I can’t have you walk out of my room—you have to go out the window—I’m so sorry.”
He keeps walking backward. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine—you need to go—now!”
With that, he’s opening up the glass pane and starts stretching his leg out over the opening.
“Wait!” I stop him. “What if he’s in his room? He’s going to see you!”
“I’ll cover for you,” Gray assures me.
“How?”
“I’ll act like I’m trying to rob the place.”
My eyes widen. “You can’t do that—you’ll end up in jail!”
He shrugs. “Much rather me get in trouble than you.”
“No. I can’t let you do that.” I begin to pace, my hands shaking fast, nausea churning in my belly. “Okay, just give me a second to think about what we should do. Maybe I can—”
“See you later, Red.”
Grayson jumps out before I’m able to finish my thought. I rush to watch him, wanting to get his attention but knowing I can’t make a sound out the window. He effortlessly hops from the steps to the lower level porch, then races down the long staircase and onto the beach.
Once I can no longer see him trailing along the sand, relief flows through me, and I take a deep breath, relaxing my shoulders.
That could’ve gone so badly.
ELEVEN
Emma
Later in the evening, after I made Dad dinner and cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms, I’m finally able to unwind. Dad doesn’t know Gray was here because he didn’t bring it up—and I know for certain he immediately would if he found out. Seeing that he’s now sound asleep and didn’t mention it before bed, I know I’m in the clear. I’m able to breathe easier knowing we flew under the radar.
However, my head is still spinning from my afternoon with Gray. So, in an effort not to get my thoughts caught up in him, I choose to get sucked into another couple’s life.
Freshly showered and in a camisole and rolled-up, striped shorts, I snuggle under my covers, getting lost in another fictional world.
Three wisteria-scented candles flicker on my nightstand, creating more of a relaxing vibe.
My gaze goes back and forth between my Kindle and my bookshelf, where War and Peace sits. I fight the urge to pick it up and feel the same places Gray’s fingertips touched.
That’s creepy, Emma. Not cute.
Snapping out of my Grayson-daze, I go back to my latest romance story. Where I left off has me already clenching my legs, as an ache that can’t be soothed builds.
Easton’s fingers circle my clit before he enters me. “That’s it, baby,” he says, gruffly. His movement grows harsh as he pounds into me. “Your pussy belongs to me now.”
Heat rises across my chest, and the more I read the tighter I press my legs together. As I continue to read about this unhinged couple wildly making love on a balcony, my body temperature continues to rise.
Just as I’m about to get to the climax of the scene, there’s a tap at my window.
Pausing, I glance over at it to make sure I’m not just hearing things.
My curtains are closed over. I can’t see anything even if I wanted to, but I don’t hear the tap again so I go back to reading.
“Emma?” a whisper comes from the other side of the window. “Emma, let me in.” There’s another round of tapping.
The second I realize it’s Gray, excitement skitters up and down my spine. Rushing over to the window, I open the curtain, and sure enough, he’s standing on the other side with a little smirk on his face.
I’m quick to unlock it and help him climb inside.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He pushes his dark hair out of his face and rights his footing. “You left this in my car.” He holds up a pen.
The cap has teeth marks on it, not to mention it’s not a ballpoint.
It’s not mine at all.
My eyes narrow, trying to assess him and this situation. “Um. Thanks?” Slowly, I take it from him.
We stand in awkward silence, toe to toe, as I hold a pen that’s not mine.
“Alright, fine,” he says, letting out a loud sigh. “I came here to see if you’re okay.”
“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
“What’s up with your dad?” he cuts to the chase.
“Nothing.”
“Does he hit you?”
“What!” My eyes nearly burst out of their socket.
