608 Alpha Ave

by Adriana Locke

  “Grayson, look—”

  “I know you’re pissed.”

  I quirk a brow, but I don’t disagree.

  He wipes a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean for all of this to happen.”

  “You know what? I believe that.” I lift my chin. “I don’t think you meant for any of this to happen.”

  His features soften. “You don’t?”

  I shake my head. “I was really pissed at you last night. I’m always pissed when someone makes me cry.”

  His lips part, but I don’t give him the chance to speak.

  “But that’s on me,” I say quickly. “I’m the one who let my emotions come into the mix. You didn’t promise me anything. You even told me exactly why I shouldn’t expect or hope for anything to come from what happened. And I was the idiot who did it anyway.”

  He lowers his gaze to the floor.

  “Because I did. And I’m going to tell you that because I’m not a liar and I don’t play games,” I say, my voice staying firm and clear. “I’m not going to tell you that I didn’t hope something might spark between us, and I’m not going to tell you that it didn’t hurt last night when you walked out. But I’ll own both of those things.”

  “Maybe—”

  “No.” I shake my head fervently. “No maybes. No … anythings.”

  He lifts his eyes to meet mine.

  Something is swimming in those steely grays that pokes at my heart. There’s a hint of feeling, of emotion—an emotion that wasn’t there last night—I could pick out and analyze if I wanted to.

  But I don’t.

  Because it’s pointless.

  I sigh. “I’m sorry for making you feel any sort of way because—”

  “Don’t fucking apologize to me.”

  “Okay.”

  He blows out a hasty breath. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t even have fucking met you out there.”

  Although I suspected—I knew—he felt that way, hearing it come so matter-of-factly out of his mouth is like a spear to my heart.

  “I was a more than willing participant,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “But it’s done and over, and now we’re going to move on, and it’s going to be fine. You can come to Fireside and have your beer, and I’ll … I’ll do and say whatever it was that I did and said before this mess.”

  He reaches for me, and I take a step back. He seems to reconsider and drops his hand.

  Tears reach my eyes, and I blink rapidly.

  “I’m going to meet the hero of my life. And you can keep allocating your resources the way you want to.” I try to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. “I have to go.”

  My back hits the door, and I fumble behind me for the knob. The metal is cool in my hand as I grab it and turn.

  “Haley,” he says abruptly.

  I hold the door part way open. “What?”

  “Are you going out with that guy from the bar tonight?”

  I take him in—his wild, beautiful, broody features. His icy eyes. His messy hair. His sturdy, taut shoulders. They’ll never be mine. Even though I want that, so much, it’s better this way.

  He’ll never be mine.

  “I gotta go,” I say.

  I pivot so fast that I nearly run into Grant Blake as I head for my car.

  Twelve

  Grayson

  “Pick up for Blake.” I ignore the way the little Richards girl—Anna, I think her name is—looks at me from the other side of the drive-up window. “It was a large loaded pizza.”

  “I know.” She grins and leans against the wall. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “You’re a kid. You better check that.”

  Her giggle turns into a laugh. “I know how old I am. Thank you for noticing too. That’s very mature of you.”

  “Pizza. Go get it.”

  She grips the windowsill with both hands. “Wanna know where my mom is right now?”

  “No.”

  “She’s at Haley Morgan’s house.”

  I lean forward and peer into Cherry Pie Pizza and look for someone to help me.

  “Mom is helping Haley get ready for her date,” she says, her voice chirpy.

  My gaze whips to hers. She seems to find joy in my reaction.

  “Haley has this hot guy from the town next door coming to take her out to eat.” She smiles mischievously. “Isn’t that fun?”

  I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.

  “I don’t think Haley is really into him, though,” she says.

  I shouldn’t bite. I shouldn’t get into this conversation with Anna.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask in a rush as if I’m afraid I’ll not have the nerve to ask it in another two seconds.

  Her eyes light up. “Because Haley was going to cancel because she’s in love with someone else.” She pauses. “Mom convinced her to go because she said Haley was too amazing to sit at home and bemoan a man who doesn’t love her back.”

  Love her back?

  Haley doesn’t love me. She couldn’t.

  I roll my tongue around my mouth and try to decide what to do.

  This isn’t a conversation for me to have with a child. I also can’t leave without paying for the pizza I ordered.

  “Yeah,” Anna says, flipping a long strand of hair over her shoulder. “I guess she’s downright smitten over this guy, and he just blew her off. Isn’t that rude? I mean, have you even met Haley? She’s the best. The absolute best. So gorgeous with her long legs and her—”

  “Pizza.”

  She rolls her eyes and heads to the back with a sigh that was custom-made for me.

  A bubble of energy builds in my gut. I adjust in my seat. My credit card tap, tap, taps against the side of my truck as I await Anna’s return.

  “That’ll be fourteen dollars and twenty-five cents,” she says, setting the pizza on a table inside the restaurant.

  I hand her my card.

  “I think you should know,” she says, swiping the plastic through a little device, “that if you miss out on Haley, it’s the worst thing you could ever do.”

  “How do you even know anything about this?” I ask her.

  She looks at me like I’m stupid. “It’s Cherry Falls. It would be more shocking if I didn’t know.” She hands me my card back. “Also, I heard Mom and Haley talking about it the other night. I can’t help they talk loud and that I’m drawn to the sound of sobs.”

  Sobs?

  My jaw clenches as I imagine Haley sobbing over me.

  Is that even possible?

  “She’s going out with some other dude tonight,” Anna says, handing me my pizza, “and if you don’t figure out a way to stop that, you’ll miss your shot.”

  “It’s not my shot to take.”

  She snorts. “Please. It’s so your shot to take. And, if you don’t, one of these days—probably soon, you’re going to look up and see her with someone else. I hope you can take that.”

  I put my pizza on the passenger’s seat and look back to the child therapist at the window. I grab a five out of my wallet as I slide my card back in.

  “Here,” I tell her, handing her the cash. “Save this for your doctorate in psychology someday.”

  She grins. “Thank you. And please don’t mention to anyone that we had this little convo. It probably won’t go over well with my mother.”

  “I might tell her so that you’ll stay out of my damn business.”

  “And I might tell Haley that you were here, and you were sad.”

  “I’m not sad,” I lie.

  “Whatever. Have a good night, Mr. Blake.” She shuts the window right in my face.

  Haley

  “I don’t wanna go,” I whine at my reflection.

  The outfit that Kaylee helped me put together is cute. A midnight-blue romper with frilly sleeves and the tiniest pink and white flowers dotting the fabric is very flirty and fun.

  It’s absolutely not what I’m feeling today.

  K
aylee pulled my hair back into a low ponytail and then somehow flipped it through itself to create some chic and sophisticated ’do.

  Chic and sophisticated are also two words I wouldn’t use to describe myself today.

  My conversation with Grayson from this morning continues to plague me.

  I hate it.

  I loathe arguing with anyone, really, but I especially dislike feeling that a friendship I had is ruined because I caught a case of the feels.

  I knew better and I did it anyway.

  Story of my damn life.

  “I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t have even met you out there.”

  That sums it up for me. That was the nugget of truth that I needed to hear to know, without a shadow of a doubt, how Grayson Blake feels about me.

  How can you argue that? How can you make excuses for it? How can you pretend someone has any interest in you whatsoever when they say they shouldn’t have touched you?

  He told me. He explained it, so why am I struggling so much over this?

  I like my personal space. I like to get to be me every day and not worry if I say the wrong thing or give off the wrong impression because it doesn’t fucking matter.

  I frown.

  He didn’t give me the wrong impression.

  At least I know, I guess. It was great sex. That’s all. I can put it aside and move on, learning something, hopefully, from the experience.

  Something more than what it’s like to orgasm more than once in the span of a few minutes.

  “I just hoped …” I sigh and look at myself again. “I hoped he’d turn out to be the one.”

  While I waited on the fliers for the shop to print last night, I got out my manuscript. It took a second for me to get started, but once I did, the words poured from my soul.

  I always thought I’d start a book with something happy, have a fun come together of my hero and heroine, and then break them up before ending on a positive note. Little did I know that the story in my heart started a bit darker.

  It started with my heroine having a broken heart.

  “A little life imitates art,” I say like I’m a true artist. Still, I like the sound of it. It feels good.

  Just like being with Grayson did.

  I turn away from the mirror and check the clock. My date should be arriving any minute. I grab my purse and make sure I have some cash.

  “If Grayson doesn’t want to be with me, then so be it,” I mutter. “He’ll realize what he could’ve had one day, and it’ll be too late. I’ll be at dinner with some guy, and he’ll walk up and—”

  The doorbell rings, breaking through my thoughts.

  My stomach flutters with a host of butterflies. I clutch my purse as I head to the door.

  “No more Grayson,” I whisper, pulling the door open. “You’re going to focus tonight on—Grayson!”

  I grip the side of the door to steady myself.

  He’s standing on the porch, hands planted on each side of the door. It’s as if he’s caging me in my living room with his entire body and blistering eyes.

  “What are you doing here—”

  He grips the side of my face with both hands and brings his lips to mine.

  I hesitate, caught off guard by both his presence and the kiss. I open my mouth to object, or, at the very least to protest, when he scoops up the words with his tongue and swallows them whole.

  The heat of his mouth, the passion of the kiss, the warmth of his arms makes all of my pause melt away.

  At least for now.

  A kiss never hurt anyone.

  I drop my purse on the floor and plant my hands on his chest. My brain screams at me to think about what I’m doing, but my heart overrides it.

  He kisses me long and hard, then slow and soft. His tongue works around my mouth in a careful, leisurely way.

  My body sags into his hard chest as his hands skim my body and lock at the small of my back. I’m dizzy with lust, with questions, and, more than anything, I’m dizzy with possibility.

  Finally, after what feels like both forever and not long enough, he pulls back. His forehead rests against mine.

  I drag in hasty breaths, unsure what to say.

  “You can’t go on that date tonight,” he says, his voice ragged.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re mine.”

  Every synapse in my body misfires, and my knees go weak.

  You’re mine—two words I’ve always wanted to hear. But to hear them from Grayson?

  “I was an ignorant asshole,” he says.

  “Yes. Yes, you were,” I say, still trying to catch my breath.

  The memory of the hurt—the way he didn’t call, how he walked out on me at Fireside, his words at the auto shop—come hauling back. It stings my heart.

  Grayson reads me and mutters under his breath.

  “You could’ve handled this differently,” I tell him. “You should’ve.”

  “I know.”

  I pull away from his embrace. It kills me to do it, and I instantly miss the heat of his body, but I do it anyway out of self-preservation.

  “Why are you here?” I ask him, touching my lips with the pad of my finger.

  He drops his head.

  “You can’t just come here and kiss me,” I say. “You can’t just … decide when you want some form of … whatever from me and then walk off. Because that’s not how I’ve ever operated, and I’m not going to start being someone’s booty call, Grayson. Not even for you.”

  His eyes flip to mine. “That’s not what I’m doing. That’s not what this is.”

  His tone is scratchy and reminds me of how I felt inside when I realized there was nothing between us in his eyes.

  “Then what is this?” I ask.

  He runs a hand down his face. “I don’t know how I fucking thought I’d be able to walk away from you, but I can’t. But you should walk away from me, Haley. You should shove me off this porch and have a life without the bullshit I bring with me.”

  Not a fucking chance.

  Even though I’m mad and a little hurt, I’m not going to shove him off this porch. I’m not going to push him away in some childish form of protest—to hurt him because he hurt me too. I’m going to give him a chance to say his piece and then decide whether to knock him off the steps or not.

  “I’m thinking about it,” I say, fighting a grin.

  He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t bat an eye.

  “I mean it,” he says sincerely. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make me leave. And I’ll go, if you want me to. But …” He growls into the evening air. “I can’t say I won’t make life a living hell for any man who thinks he has a chance with you.”

  I can’t help it—I laugh.

  “I’m kidding,” he says. “Mostly.”

  I reach up to brush a strand of hair off his forehead. “I should make you leave. You really hurt my feelings, and I want you to know that.”

  He nods, his eyes pleading with me not to. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, babe.”

  “I’m not your babe.”

  He closes his eyes. “You’re right. I’ll go.”

  Panic courses through me. Although I don’t know how this ends, I know I don’t want him to leave.

  “Don’t,” I say.

  His body stills. His eyes open.

  “Tell me why I should let you stay,” I whisper, the words pregnant with hope. “Tell me why you’re here.”

  I hold my breath as he thinks.

  What if he gives me a shitty answer? What if he really doesn’t want me but just doesn’t want me going out with someone else tonight?

  Or … what if he gives me a great answer?

  I lean against the railing and watch him chew on his bottom lip. My hands tremble beside me as I try to stay levelheaded.

  “Why am I here? Because when I think about not being with you, it makes me rethink everything I thought I knew,” he says softly.

/>   “Like what?”

  He tilts his head to the side.

  “Yes. I wanna know,” I say.

  He sighs. “I’m as excited at the prospect of having sex with you right now as I was before we did it. The anticipation is probably worse, actually. And the idea of you having a problem and going to someone else with it? It makes me rage.”

  My insides melt.

  “I have loads of time, energy, and some money—although not a ton—and that’s great. I love the way I spend all of them. But it seems … like a matte finish when I compare it to how I might spend all of it with you.” He leans closer. “That would be a glossy finish, if you wondered.”

  “Speak car to me.”

  “I was speaking book. Isn’t that a book cover term? Matte or glossy?”

  I can’t help but laugh and nod. He made a book joke for me.

  He chuckles before being serious again. “I used to think it would be selfish to be in a relationship when I love to do so many things on my own. But now?” He shrugs, his shoulders moving up and down. “Now the idea of spending this weekend alone, and next weekend, and the next—not spending them with you … I can never go back to Wildflower Falls without you.”

  We exchange a grin.

  “So, if you’re willing to take a chance on a mechanic with grease on every shirt he owns, I’d love to try to figure out how to … be Ed Sheeran.”

  “I don’t want you to be Ed Sheeran. Just play me one of his songs every now and then.”

  A smile slowly spreads across his cheeks, as a bubble of excitement fills well beyond its means inside my heart.

  “Does this mean I can call you babe?” he asks.

  I try to play it cool and not let my happiness boil over, but it’s pointless. My cheeks ache from the smile stretching from ear to ear.

  He sweeps me off my feet, my legs dangling over his arms. He kisses me again—this time with unspoken promises written on his tongue.

  “Hey,” I say, pulling back. “Let’s go inside.”

  “I like the way you think, babe.”

  He carries me inside, my giggle trailing behind us.

  Thirteen

  Haley