“It’s . . .” She struggled to find a joke that would put the world back on its axis. “But . . . I’m a girl.”
“I noticed.” Julian held her gaze for a long moment, something unreadable hiding behind his grin. “But lionesses don’t have manes.”
She couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to. She bit her lip, wishing she knew what he was thinking. What he thought he saw in her face that had him watching her like he was waiting for an answer.
Then he coughed and turned away, running his thumb down the open spine of his sketchbook. Beatrice’s hand twitched on the table with a sudden urge to catch his wrist and drag her teeth over the fleshy part of his thumb.
Whoa. What the heck?
She shoved her hands under her knees, shocked by the impulse. What in the world was wrong with her tonight?
“Do Sasha next,” Nath said, oblivious to any prolonged staring that may or may not have just occurred.
“What, as an animal?” Julian asked.
Beatrice felt a twinge of annoyance that he could be so unaffected while she was freaking out. Although she wouldn’t have felt any better if he was also freaking out.
She resisted the urge to face-plant on the table. The last thing she wanted was everyone demanding to know why she was acting so weird.
“Ooh, yeah,” Kinsey said, her eyes lighting up. “What animal’s good at soccer?”
“People,” Sasha offered, bemused.
“Horses?” Nath suggested. “No, wait. Elephants.”
Sasha snorted. “Now I feel personally attacked.”
“What, because of your giant schnoz?” Kinsey teased.
“My schnoz is not giant!” Sasha protested, tenting her fingers over her nose and laughing.
“You’re all wrong, anyway,” Kinsey said. “Obviously, Sasha is a cheetah.”
“Fast but lazy,” Sasha said, squinting at a spot on the ceiling. “Yeah, sounds about right.”
“Who said you were lazy?” Kinsey asked, scowling at her.
“I did,” said Sasha. “Just now.”
The doorbell rang before Kinsey could answer. Rolling her eyes, she excused herself and walked out to answer the door.
“So the consensus is cheetah in a soccer jersey?” Julian said, brushing imaginary eraser dust off a new page.
“Yes,” Nath said, while Julian put a few light lines down.
“Hang on, I need a reference,” he said, taking out his phone. “I’m going to get the face all wrong and I can’t remember how the spots look.”
“Just put Sasha’s actual face on top of a vaguely cat-looking body,” Beatrice suggested.
“That sounds terrifying,” Sasha said as Julian laughed, eyes on his phone.
Kinsey’s voice drifted from the foyer, indistinct.
“Aren’t the spots sort of like crescent moons?” Nath asked.
“I thought that was leopards,” said Sasha.
“No, leopard spots look like donuts,” Nath said, grabbing his phone off the table and unlocking it.
“Ooh, can you give cheetah-me a donut?” Sasha said, distracted. “I love donuts.”
“Sure, why not?” said Julian, glancing at Beatrice sideways as he picked up his pen. There was a spark of mischief there, like they were sharing a joke.
And . . . God. She wished she’d met him before she and Greyson got paired up on that stupid project. Or that she’d found the backbone to end that relationship a long time ago. Or that she would have looked up from all her lists and work schedules and class assignments long enough to realize exactly how hard she was falling for the kind, hardworking artist beside her.
“Look who I found,” Kinsey said grandly, returning from the foyer.
Beatrice was still watching Julian’s face when he glanced past her to see who had come in. So she saw the sudden change in his demeanor from cheerful mischief to utter dread. The color drained from his face, and his body went rigid as he pushed back from the table.
Beatrice’s stomach knotted. She recognized that fear in his eyes. She’d seen it once before, back in the library when he’d first barreled into her life.
Beatrice flattened her hand on the table and spun in her seat, convinced the guy who’d been chasing Julian weeks ago had found him again. She was already rifling through her mental repertoire of referee tricks for something she could say to convince one person not to murder another in her friend’s parents’ dining room when she set eyes on the tall figure standing in the doorway behind Kinsey.
Dark, tousled hair, expensive jeans, and a fitted, dark blue dress shirt that leeched his pale eyes of color.
Beatrice’s throat went dry in recognition. It wasn’t a dangerous stranger with a knife. In fact, it was someone she knew quite well.
Her boyfriend had decided to show up to Thanksgiving after all.
Fourteen
Greyson.” Beatrice sprang to her feet, her chair scraping the floor.
Greyson’s expression was stony, and he was staring at Julian with a dark look in his eyes that Beatrice didn’t like at all. It didn’t make sense. If Greyson was going to be angry at anyone, it should have been her.
All the cozy warmth of a few seconds ago had fled the room. The tension coming off Julian was almost palpable, although he hadn’t moved since he first pushed back from the table.
Confused and fighting a tight, guilty feeling in her chest, Beatrice switched into referee mode. Just keep everyone calm and reasonable, and the rest would be easier to sort out. She summoned a smile for Greyson, though it felt more like a grimace. “I thought you weren’t going to be able to come.”
“Clearly,” Greyson said in clipped tones, never taking his eyes off Julian. “What’s he doing here?”
“You guys know each other?” Sasha asked. She hadn’t jumped out of her chair as Beatrice had, but she was poised to do so, both hands pressed against the table.
“Sure,” said Greyson. “Julian and I go way back. Don’t we, Jules?”
Beatrice had to bring all the stress in the room back down somehow. She took a step towards her boyfriend, reaching out a calming hand to lay on his arm. “Greyson—”
“Relax,” Julian said, snapping his sketchbook closed and getting to his feet. “I was just leaving.”
“Wait, really?” Nath asked. “What for?”
Beatrice tried to send Julian a silent apology, but he wouldn’t look at her.
“I just realized what time it is.” He jerked on his coat and thrust the sketchbook into a pocket. “Thanks for having me over, Kinsey.”
“Yeah, of course,” Kinsey said, eyes wide as they darted from Julian to Greyson and back. “But—Hang on, don’t you want some leftovers to take home? Or some dessert?”
“No. Thanks.” Julian headed for the foyer, his gaze on the ground, shoulders tight, like he wanted to avoid touching Greyson as he passed.
Greyson seized Julian’s coat, dragging him around so they were almost nose to nose. “I asked you what the hell you’re doing here,” Greyson said, his voice pitched so low it felt like thunder.
Julian shoved Greyson back, nearly sending him sprawling. Beatrice jumped out of the way, clapping both hands over her mouth to catch a frightened squeak. A chair hit the floor. Sasha barked a warning, and someone let out a curse.
“Don’t touch me,” Julian spat at Greyson, his hands fisted at his sides. Beatrice had never seen that look on his face before—the mingled hate and fear. Even in the library all those weeks ago, he hadn’t looked so cornered and desperate and furious. “I said I’m fucking leaving.”
Greyson’s lip twisted as he shifted his stance, his eyes hard. Beatrice knew what was going to happen next. The shove would turn into a blow, and the blow would turn into a second—
“Stop,” she begged, grabbing Greyson’s wrist and tugging him toward the dining room. “Just stop. Tell me what’s going on.”
He didn’t budge. He didn’t even look at her.
Julian, though, caught the movement, and his g
aze snapped to hers. Something flickered behind his eyes for a split second, too fast for her to understand if it was anger or pain, but it tore through her like a knife. She was just making him more upset. But she didn’t know what else to do.
“Julian—” she began.
He turned on his heel. Kinsey dodged out of the way to let him by.
“You win, okay?” Julian shot over his shoulder at Greyson. “You win.”
Beatrice had no idea what he meant. But she couldn’t let him leave like this. She dropped Greyson’s hand and started after Julian.
Greyson caught her arm and wrenched her back. “Let him go,” he said, his eyes like ice.
“But—” Beatrice threw a help-me look in Sasha’s direction as the front door slammed behind Julian.
Sasha was already on her feet. “On it,” she said, slipping into the foyer.
“Let him go,” Greyson said again.
“I’m his ride,” Sasha called back impatiently.
“Okay, look,” Kinsey said, holding up a hand as Sasha followed Julian out of the house. “Let’s all just take a breath, here—”
“What was he doing here?” Greyson snapped, yanking Beatrice’s arm again.
She stumbled half a step closer, a flare of pain shooting through her shoulder, her heart pulsing against her ribs. The way he was looking at her made her breath seize. There was a darkness behind all that ice that she’d never seen before.
“Greyson,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded. Her hands shook so badly that she was sure Greyson could feel it. His fingers dug into her skin like a tourniquet. She felt as small and breakable as a brittle twig. “Let go.”
“Tell me what the fuck he was doing here, Beatrice,” Greyson growled, his breath hot on her face.
She flinched. “Greyson—”
“Answer me.”
“She told you to let go,” Nath said, appearing at Beatrice’s shoulder and wedging himself between them. “Back off, man.”
Greyson turned his threatening snarl on Nath. He was going to hurt her little brother. Beatrice grabbed Nath’s sleeve with her free hand, so she could drag him out of danger—
Greyson dropped Beatrice’s arm. His expression cleared as he stepped back. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his jaw with one hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Beatrice held onto Nath’s sleeve, her instinctive move to protect him truncated. She didn’t want to let go. Although whether that was because she was still worried about him or herself, she didn’t know.
“You okay, hon?” Kinsey asked, not-so-subtly putting herself between Beatrice and Greyson.
Beatrice nodded. She wasn’t okay. It hurt, where Greyson had grabbed her, and she was shaking all over. But it made her anxious to have Kinsey and Nath so close. Like if they took her side, it would make things worse for all of them. She wanted them to decide this wasn’t their fight and let her handle it.
But she didn’t feel equipped to handle Greyson on her own right now, either.
“I’m sorry,” Greyson said again. He threw out a hand toward the front door. “I just don’t understand what he was doing here. Last I heard, he was in Philadelphia. And suddenly he’s chatting up my girlfriend at this sorry excuse for a Thanksgiving dinner?”
Kinsey’s head snapped around to glare at Greyson, and defensive anger sparked in the back of Beatrice’s mind. She had worked hard—all of them had—to salvage what could have been a really crappy Thanksgiving. And right up until Greyson walked in and started terrorizing everyone and throwing aspersions around, Beatrice would have said that the dinner was a resounding success.
Anger lent her false bravery. She let go of Nath’s sleeve and stepped around Kinsey so she was facing Greyson head-on. “He was here,” she said, her voice gaining strength, “because I asked him to come. He’s my friend. And he didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Well, he lied to you about that one,” Greyson said, his lip twisting in disgust. “If he wasn’t so hellbent on playing the victim, he would’ve been having Thanksgiving dinner at my dad’s place with the rest of us. Julian is my step-brother.”
* * *
“Julian! Hold up!”
Julian didn’t slow his stride. He had to keep moving. If he was forced to stop, he would have to start punching things to get rid of some of the excess everything that was making it so hard to breathe.
“Julian!” Sasha ran up to him, her boots unlaced, her coat open to the cold, and fell into step beside him. “My car’s the other way.”
He was not walking past that house again. “I’ll get a cab.”
“In this weather? On Thanksgiving? Yeah, good luck with that.”
“Bus, then.”
“Oh my God, at least let me drive you to the train station. I don’t mind. Promise.”
Julian came up short, balling his hands into fists. He made himself take a deep breath and think like a reasonable person. Not an easy task, in the face of an unexpected Greyson Sayer-Crewe confrontation.
Old memories hurled themselves at him in vivid, incomplete flashes. An offhand comment twisted into cursing and shoving. The taste of blood in his mouth. Unyielding pavement scraping his back. Sunlight searing his skin as he fought to get out from under the hard blows raining down on him. Meeting his step-brother’s eyes and knowing with black certainty that he would think nothing of taking Julian’s life.
Julian felt sick. He hadn’t laid eyes on Greyson since the day he decided he’d rather take his chances alone on the streets than risk another night sleeping under the same roof as his step-brother. He would have been thrilled if he’d never run into Greyson again. It was just Julian’s shitty luck that Greyson would turn up right when Julian was starting to believe he was getting his feet under him.
“Both Kinsey and Bee will kill me if I go back in without taking you home first,” Sasha said, bending to tuck her shoelaces into the tops of her boots. “If I have to chase after you in the ass-freezing cold to do that, I will. I could use the exercise after all that food.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Julian said, not managing to sound as venomous as he’d intended. “I can get myself home. Go back inside.”
“Eh,” Sasha said with a shrug. “Greyson’s a dick if you ask me. I’m happy for an excuse to avoid him.”
Julian looked at her, surprised. Greyson was capable of turning on the charm when it suited him. But she seemed sincere.
Her pale eyebrows drew together when he hesitated. “I can get the car and meet you at the corner.”
Part of him wanted to take her up on the offer. It was cold, and the clouds blocking out the stars above threatened snow. Not fun weather to try to hail a cab in. And that was before thinking about the amount of money he’d have to dish out to make it home. His eyes slid to the house.
He shouldn’t have left Beatrice alone with Greyson while he was like that. If anyone knew what happened when Greyson decided you’d betrayed him, it was Julian. It had taken a broken hand and a near-fatal beating to teach him not to challenge his step-brother, but it was a lesson well learned.
Julian reached up to push his hair back and discovered he was shaking. Fat lot of good he’d do Beatrice now, even if confronting Greyson would smooth things over, instead of making them worse.
“No,” Julian said, a grim clarity overtaking his panic. “I need you to go back inside. You have to make sure Greyson understands that Beatrice didn’t have a clue he and I knew each other.”
“I think Bee can cover that without my help,” Sasha said.
“No, listen,” Julian said, gripping her sleeve. “He has to understand this isn’t her fault. Okay? Blame it all on me if you have to.”
“What are you talking about?” Sasha asked, eyebrows shooting toward her hairline. “Blame you for what? How do you guys even know each other?”
“Please,” Julian said, ignoring her questions. It would take too long to explain. And she had no reason to believe him. “You don’t know what
he’s like.”
“He wouldn’t hurt her, though. Right? I mean, Nath and Kinsey are still right there, and neither one would let anything happen to—”
“Greyson is plenty patient,” Julian insisted. “And he’s slick. If he thinks he’s been slighted, he’ll keep that slight close until he sees a way to get even without getting his hands dirty. Please,” he said again, when Sasha hesitated. “If I thought there was a chance I wouldn’t make everything worse, I’d do it myself.”
Sasha sighed, but Julian could see she was close to relenting. “Are you sure you’ll be okay getting home?”
“I’m sure.”
Sasha shook her head, then dug in her coat pockets and brought out a couple of hand-warmer packets and a Sharpie. She scrawled something on one of the packets and then pressed both warmers into Julian’s hand. “If you can’t get a cab or whatever, you text me and I’ll make an excuse and come pick you up. And don’t frigging die of hypothermia, or Bee’s gonna kill me. For real.”
“Understood,” Julian said, knowing he wasn’t going to text her, even if he found himself walking home.
He’d spent all evening letting himself believe maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let himself like Beatrice. He’d even started entertaining the idea she might like him, too. There had been a moment in the kitchen when she looked up at him, and he thought, if they’d been alone, she might have let him kiss her. He’d started to hope . . .
And then Greyson walked in. And Beatrice had reached for his hand.
Well, fine, Julian thought, watching Sasha jog back to the house. He could take a damn hint. If Beatrice wanted Greyson, Julian sure as hell wasn’t going to stop her.
Even if that meant he’d probably never see her again.
He turned and started walking, head bent against the chilly wind, blind to the warm, homey light pouring out of the windows of the middle-class houses on either side. How many times had he told himself that hope only ever let him down? That his shitty luck was too fucking shitty to be overcome with plans and hard work? How many times had he told himself to stay the fuck away from Beatrice before he got attached? Before he got himself hurt?
Next Stop Love, #1 Page 13