608 Alpha Ave

by Adriana Locke

  I survey the crowd. The girls are dancing to a nineties hit, and a table full of regulars are sitting by the door. A couple of guys who came to town from Syn City to get a tattoo at Cherry Bomb Tattoo Parlor sits at the end of the bar with their Jack and Cokes. Everyone else has gone home for the night.

  My heart sinks as I look at the clock and realize that Grayson isn’t coming.

  I haven’t heard from him since yesterday. I don’t know if I expected to or not, but I wanted to.

  I hoped I would.

  Our conversation as we descended the trail was light and fun. The smile he tossed my way as I pulled out of the parking lot was hopeful. Kaylee’s insight into things last night made it seem like it was a given.

  Yet, all day, I held my phone and hoped it would ring. I scanned the streets for him on my walk. I had lunch at Virgin Street Diner because I know he likes their pot roast on Fridays.

  It’s like Grayson Blake is a ghost or a figment of my imagination. I might actually believe that if my body wasn’t still sore.

  I grin at the memory.

  “Excuse me,” one of the men at the end says. “Can we get another?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I get to work fixing their drink while pondering what happened with Grayson. Surely, he isn’t mad at me. What could he possibly be upset with me about?

  “Nothing,” I mutter. “You did nothing wrong.”

  There’s a chance he’s busy, or maybe he’s as confused as I am about what this shift in our relationship might mean. If anything.

  Please be something.

  I reach over to get the whiskey and stop with my hand floating in the air.

  Grayson’s steely eyes snatch mine up and hold them in place.

  My mouth goes dry as I take him in. His black hair is wild, spiking up in every direction. There are lines at the corners of his eyes like he had a crappy night’s sleep.

  His navy-blue shirt with his name embroidered in silver thread on the left pocket is wrinkled and stained from the day’s work.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice gruff.

  “Hi.”

  The air crackles between us, drowning out the Shania Twain song about boots playing overhead.

  “You’re late,” I say and then clear my throat. “Long day?”

  It’s a dumb thing to comment on and an even dumber question. I never ask him things like that. I typically make a crack about him looking grumpy or just slide him a beer.

  Why am I a dork now that I’ve slept with him?

  “Yeah.” He laces his hands together and sets them on the bar. His knuckles are cracked. One of them is bright red like it’s been bleeding. “Can I get a beer?”

  I clear my throat again. “Yeah. Sure.”

  My brain scrambles as I reach inside the cooler. A knot burns in the middle of my chest.

  “Here you go,” I say, handing him his drink.

  He nods as if he was going to say something but thought better of it.

  “Grayson,” I say, shifting my weight. “I don’t, um, I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

  If this were a normal day, I’d roll my eyes and go on. But it’s not just another day.

  Today, I know what it feels like to have his hands on me. I know the taste of his lips and the feel of his tongue in places I can’t name in polite conversation.

  I’ve felt the warmth of his gaze when his guard is down and the way my body fills with a happiness when he says something sweet.

  I know that side of him today. It makes it hard to walk away with an uncaring shrug.

  “Hey, sweetheart. How about that Jack and Coke?” a voice from behind me asks.

  My eyes stay glued on Grayson. “Yeah. It’s coming.” I pause, giving him the opportunity to say something.

  He doesn’t.

  I finish making the drinks and avoid looking back up at him. His gaze is hot and is directed at me, but I’m not going to push. I’ve opened the door. Now he needs to make an effort.

  “Here you go,” I say, carrying the drinks to the men who ordered them. “I gave you an extra splash for having to wait.”

  “Well, thank ya,” the one with the blond hair says. “You work here a lot?”

  Grayson coughs.

  “Every day,” I say, ignoring Grayson. “Well, nearly every day.”

  “We might have to come back in. This is a nice little town y’all have.”

  “Thanks. We’re pretty proud of it.”

  He gives me a warm smile. “Want to show me around if I come back?”

  “I—”

  I’m cut off by the sound of Grayson clearing his throat. Before I can think about it, I look over my shoulder to see him staring at me.

  “Can I get another beer?” he asks.

  He’s clearly unamused.

  Although they shouldn’t—I’m not the kind of girl to make a guy crazy on purpose—my insides cheer.

  “Sure.” I motion for the two Jack drinkers that I’ll be back and head down to the cooler. I grab another beer and hand it to Grayson. “Here you go.”

  He doesn’t reach for it.

  “You sure you needed that?” I ask, motioning to the first bottle I gave him. “That one is still full.”

  He blows out a long, heated breath. “Can I talk to you after you get off?”

  I try to play it cool despite wanting to demand he talk to me now. “Yeah. Sure. What’s up?”

  “I think you know.”

  “Do I, though?”

  He presses his lips together. “I want to talk about yesterday.”

  “Yesterday was full of possible talking points.”

  He eyes me carefully. The longer he takes to respond, the more my anxiety rises.

  I know, without a doubt, that if he tells me yesterday was a mistake or that it was a one-off, it’s going to hurt. A bunch. Even though I tried to talk sense to myself last night and to discount all the hopeful things Kaylee brought to the table, I already know I bought into it.

  I took the bait.

  I listened to the hype, and I sided with hope, despite it being illogical and unreasonable.

  I didn’t realize that I’d chosen this mental path until this moment in time. But as I stand in front of him and take in the fact that he clearly isn’t on the same wavelength as I am, I know how I really feel.

  And I know I’m screwed.

  Tears wet the corners of my eyes, and I blink them back.

  “I have an eyelash stuck,” I say, pretending to dab my eyes for an offending lash.

  Grayson leans forward. “About yesterday—”

  “Can we turn the channel?” the guys behind me ask. “We want to see the sports scores for the day.”

  “Sure,” I say, giving Grayson a chance to finish.

  But he doesn’t. A look of uncertainty fills his eyes, and I already know what he was going to say.

  This isn’t the look of someone who wants more.

  This is the look of a man who feels regret.

  My bottom lip trembles, and I bite it to stop it.

  Grayson is the picture of a man who is terrified that a woman will feel an attachment to him.

  That woman is me.

  And that woman feels humiliated.

  I should’ve known better.

  I rip my gaze from him and grab the remote. “The sports channel?” I ask. “Any one in particular?”

  “Nah,” the blond one says. “Anything is better than the news.”

  “I agree with you there.”

  “Do you like sports?” he asks me.

  I put some distance between Grayson and myself. “Yeah. Some of them. I like boxing and football.”

  The blond’s brows raise. “Who is your favorite boxer?”

  “Roy Jones Jr. It’s not a competition. He’s hands-down the greatest of all time.”

  The two men burst out laughing.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We were sitting
here wondering if you had a flaw,” the blond says. “My buddy here says you’re probably one of those women who hate anything sports or outdoors related, but you just proved him wrong.”

  I turn sideways so I can see Grayson out of the side of my eye. “I went hiking yesterday.”

  The two men comment, but I don’t hear what they say. My focus is on the man to my right.

  Grayson’s eyes drift immediately from the television to me. I don’t make eye contact with him but try to read his posture instead.

  He’s a brick wall. Square shoulders. Lifted chin. Smooth features.

  My chest aches right along with the rest of my body, and it’s all his doing. Every last throb of it.

  The men in front of me continue their banter about God knows what while I ponder my current situation.

  “Are you dating anyone?” the blond asks. “’Cause I’d sure like to take you out sometime.”

  I watch Grayson for any hint of emotion. Anything. A furrowed brow or a tight lip. A flexed jaw or a hard grasp of his bottle.

  But there’s nothing.

  There’s absolutely no inclination of him having any care or thought about me being asked out by a stranger at all.

  A lump lodges in my throat.

  “What do you think?” I ask as I look at Grayson.

  He sits quietly, stiff as a board, for a long couple of seconds. Then he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and lays a couple of bills on the bar.

  His gaze lingers on me as he stands. His jaw is locked as if he has no intention of answering my question.

  My breath stalls in my chest. My spirits sink as I resolve to accept reality. He doesn’t want me.

  The bridge of my nose burns as I sniffle back the surge of sadness and anger erupting from my heart. Because even though it’s Occam’s razor’s answer—it’s the simplest solution—I don’t quite believe it. I don’t believe, truly, that’s what he was doing. A hefty part of my anger is directed at myself for that very reason.

  I’m still giving him the benefit of the doubt. But I can’t help it.

  Tears blur my vision, and I want to shout at him. I want to ask him what all that shit was about when he said I was a prize.

  “Which guy are you?” I tease. “You’re the one who doesn’t want the prize, aren’t you? You aren’t ready for a woman like me”

  I wasn’t wrong. He had his taste. He sampled the speed bump and wants nothing more to do with me. And I don’t think it’s only that he’s not ready for a woman like me anymore.

  He doesn’t even want a woman like me.

  I close my eyes for the briefest second and let that bolt of reality impale my heart.

  “See ya tomorrow,” he says before turning on his heel and walking out.

  Corbin’s hand falls to my shoulder, jolting me.

  “Hey, pal. You good?” he asks.

  “Yup,” I say through the burn in my throat.

  “Why don’t you let me close for the night? Go ahead and take off.”

  If I walk out of here, I’m going to chase down Grayson. As much as I want to do that, I don’t want to do that.

  “I’m good,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll stay.”

  Corbin pats my shoulder and then walks away. When I turn around, the blond guy is looking at me, oblivious to what just transpired.

  “So?” he asks with a big smile. “Wanna go out tomorrow?”

  I glance at the door again just in time to see Grayson’s truck pull out of the parking lot.

  “You know what?” I say. “I’d love that.”

  And fuck Grayson Blake.

  Eleven

  Haley

  “I really hope that look indicates that you had a wild night with Grayson and not … something else,” Kaylee says, making a face as I walk in the back door of Cherry Pie Pizza.

  “Good morning to you too.”

  She grips a large plastic spoon and moves it around and around an oversized soup pot. It looks like it takes more energy to stir whatever she’s making than I have today.

  I sit on a stool beside the sink.

  “Oh, no.” She frowns. “What happened?”

  My spirits fall. Again. It’s a pattern that I’ve noticed over the last twelve hours or so. I think about Grayson walking out of Fireside, and—boom!—my feelings are hurt all over again.

  “I knew better, Kay. I knew better than to get my hopes up.”

  She stops stirring.

  “He didn’t call or text or … anything after, you know, the hike.” I shrug. “But that’s normal. I mean, I guess it is. It’s fine—or it would’ve been. I wrote it off and thought maybe he needed to get his brain wrapped around it too. You know?”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Well, that was me being optimistic.” I pick a loose pepperoni out of the pizza bar and pop it into my mouth. “Maybe that’ll give me salmonella, and I’ll have that to worry about instead.”

  She sighs. “So, what happened? I get it wasn’t good but spill it.”

  “He came in last night. Late. And acted all cold and quiet. But that’s Grayson sometimes. He can be that way. So I sort of held my breath and waited for him to warm up.”

  “Smart.”

  “There were two guys in town from Syn City, I think. I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, they were sitting at the bar, and one of them flat-out asked me on a date right in front of Grayson.”

  Kaylee’s eyes go wide.

  I pick up another pepperoni. “And I looked at Grayson and said something like, ‘What do you think?’ or something random. Basically, just—”

  “Giving him the opportunity to step in,” she says. “Got it.”

  “Yeah. Except he didn’t.” My throat burns all over again. “He stood, took out his wallet, paid his bill, and walked out.”

  I didn’t know Kaylee’s eyes could grow this wide.

  “So, anyway, I’m on my way to see Garret Blake with the marketing stuff I put together for him last night. I look like this because I stayed up all night to get it finished.” I take a bite of the pepperoni even though I think I might puke. “I just want to be done with it. Move on.”

  It's what I have to do. I have to contain these Grayson-centered thoughts and memories to the smallest part of my brain possible. I need to replace them with something—anything—else.

  It’s the only way I can imagine getting through this.

  Kaylee drops her hands from the spoon. “I’m so sorry. I feel guilty.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I … Well, I clearly misread the signs.”

  I stand and wipe my hands on my jeans. “This has nothing to do with you. You are a good friend. I just needed to tell someone where I was going in case I make a scene and they call the cops and someone has to come bail me out.”

  She pulls me into a quick hug before I head to the door.

  “Also,” I say, over my shoulder, “I’m going out with some dude whose name I don’t know tonight. So come over around five and help me get ready.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  We exchange a sad smile.

  I step into the early morning sunshine and set my sights on Blake Brother Auto Repair.

  “Good morning,” I call out to Garret.

  He lifts his eyes from a stack of papers on his desk. He looks surprised to see me as I walk into his office.

  “I got all of your fliers done,” I say, plopping a folder in front of him. “If you could email me a user name and password to your website, I can go on there tonight or tomorrow and add whatever you want. Just please put all of that in the email too.”

  He leans back in his chair. It squeaks a sharp, high-pitched squeal.

  “How are you?” he asks, not acknowledging the folder.

  Nope. Not going there.

  No doubt Garret knows what happened and, judging by the sympathy I can see in his expression, he feels pity for me.

  My stomach tosses and turns.

  “Oh, I had an
other idea as I was researching layouts for the flier last night. Have you thought about having a car show here? Have people bring their classics and park them in the parking lot. You could have burgers and hot dogs and a band or something. It’ll bring a lot of people here and maybe draw some additional interest into the shop.” I shrug. “Just a thought.”

  A slow smile spreads across his lips. “That’s a great idea.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you—”

  “Where in the hell are the …” Grayson rounds the corner, his voice petering out as his eyes land on me.

  The air fills with his cologne, the earthy, musky notes caressing my senses. Memories of the trail and the swing and of him catapult back to me, and I wish I could make it stop.

  I drag my gaze from his thick chest to his brother. “I’ll look for your email.” I flash him a smile and head for the door. “Excuse me,” I say as I make a point not to touch Grayson on my way out.

  My shoes clatter against the linoleum as I walk down the empty hall. My heartbeat picks up as I nearly run to the front door.

  “Haley!” Grayson calls out to me.

  I don’t turn back.

  I have nothing to say to you.

  “Haley! Dammit. Stop,” he says.

  I get to the door that opens into the waiting area. I want to charge through the lobby and race to my car and never set foot in here again. But, even if I manage that, we’re going to come face-to-face somewhere at some point—likely Fireside when I’m working.

  I’d rather not have this conversation there.

  “Haley!”

  My feet falter, but I come to a stop a few steps before the door. My hackles are raised. My gut’s clenched in preparation to fight or flee, and I do my best to keep my head clear as he approaches.

  “What do you want?” I ask him, my voice cut and dried.

  He stops a few feet in front of me and peers down. The flecks of blue I know to look for in his eyes are there—all soft and brilliant at the same time.

  “I don’t have a lot of time …” I shrug. “What’s up?”

  He opens his mouth and then closes it.

  I get antsy, my weight swaying from side to side. I don’t want to stand here in front of him as if I expect him to apologize or make me some offer he thinks that I think should be expected.