by Peyton Storm
So what was it? What kept me from going back to Greyson? Maybe because it wasn’t just about the two of us? Maybe I was being a coward. More questions that I couldn’t answer.
Instead of turning them over in my head a few dozen times, I took a quick glance in the mirror, tossed my hair, adjusted the girls, and headed back to bed.
I froze mid-step when the door lock decided to announce my arrival. He didn’t move; maybe he’d slipped into a nap. He’d more than earned one. Again, I was faced with a decision. Behind door number one, literally, was Greyson, warm, naked, and curled around my sheets. Behind door number two, aka my front door, was the pavement I’d love to hit.
Although going for a run had always soothed me, my cure all, I chose door number one. I wouldn’t be the one to run. Instead, I would be the one facing the firing squad.
Greyson didn’t mince words.
“Why did you run?”
It was a good question, a valid question that he deserved an answer to. Only I still didn’t have one, which would only cut it for so long. I didn’t feel good about it, but instead of giving him some made up excuse, I hoped my kiss would tell him all the things I couldn’t. I needed time, at the very least, some sleep. And just before my eyes drifted shut, I knew that the next words I spoke would have to be chosen carefully.
My lids parted slightly, just enough to notice it had grown dark outside. How long had I been asleep? I snuck a peek over my shoulder to find Greyson in the exact same position that I, myself, had woken up in. He laid on his right side with his hands cradled underneath his head in silent prayer. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Greyson was completely at peace. With the perma-scowl at rest and the hard lines of his face smoothed out, he looked more like the boy I used to know.
Even though it would mess up my entire sleep schedule, I wasn’t quite ready to leave the bed. Not to mention, my eyes still had trouble staying open. I needed to check my messages, though, and I’d left my phone on the coffee table. I found a couple of unread texts, but nothing urgent. After double-checking the volume, I placed my phone back on the nightstand and slipped back into bed.
I had told myself just a few short minutes, but instead, I fell into a deep sleep. A couple hours later, I began to stir but kept my eyes shut. At some point, I must have rolled over onto my back as I could feel the tips of Greyson’s fingers trace circles around my navel. The fucker knew I was ticklish. With each swirl of his finger, my stomach instinctively drew tight, which, of course, gave me away. I turned my head in his direction and pried one eye open only to find him already staring back at me. He smiled wide and dropped his gaze back towards my stomach. When his fingers ventured alongside my hips, my own gaze followed as well.
“Tell me,” his voice, barely a whisper.
I couldn’t help but smile. I sometimes forget that not every twenty-two-year-old man knew a stretch mark when they saw one. There was such concern, worry in his voice. He must have mistaken it for more of a scar.
“Tell you what?” I asked, just to be sure.
“What happened here?”
Again, I smiled through my answer. “Paisley. Paisley happened here.”
His eyes shot back to mine while obvious confusion showed across his face.
“It’s okay. It’s not a scar, per se, it’s something that happens during pregnancy. A woman’s body has to accommodate a growing baby, and, well, I only have so much skin.”
I ended in a chuckle, in hopes to ease his concern.
“I’m an idiot,” he deadpanned, and I cringed a bit, knowing I hadn’t quite succeeded.
“Stop. Unless you’ve been pregnant or have fathered kids of your own…”
My voice lodged in my throat, wishing I hadn’t put that out in the atmosphere. He could have a kid of his own. I mean, why not? My heart began to seize, my throat felt dry. My God, I was such a hypocrite.
“No. No kids,” he replied.
The hint of sadness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, but I didn’t want to pry. Instead, I tried to lighten the mood.
“Let’s just call them my battle scars. Look! I have a matching one on my other hip.”
I followed up by flexing my biceps because I’m just that weird. He released a soft chuckle, and we laid there in complete silence until I just couldn’t take it any longer.
“Coffee?” I asked as I threw the blankets back and planted my bare feet on the floor.
“Please,” he answered, giving me an excuse to bolt from the room.
Chapter 21
Greyson
I hadn’t slept that well in for as long as I could remember. I didn’t care that I would be dead on my feet at my appearance, which was just a few short hours away. The only thing on my mind was the soft sound of Presley’s breath as she laid sprawled out beside me.
She slept with the back of her left hand against her cheek, and when she kicked her right leg out from under the covers, they slid a little lower. I noticed a faint, pale line that ran from her hip down towards her pelvis. Had she been hurt? In an accident? It seemed to be a strange spot for a scar, but I found myself drawn to it, curious.
She’d caught me in the middle of my fixation, and when she explained it to me, I’d felt like the biggest fucking moron on the planet. She’d actually birthed a human for fuck’s sake. How the fuck had that escaped me? Paisley hadn’t been easy. That kid had her mama’s fight in her. It just never occurred to me what Presley’s body had really endured.
I thought back to all my own injuries and fuck if they didn’t pale in comparison to what this woman had battled through. How was I the hometown hero? People should be lining up to get her autograph. I suddenly had the urge to know more, but we’d grown silent, awkward, and then Presley eased herself from the bed, careful not to aggravate her ankle. She then grabbed her robe and headed towards the kitchen.
The smell of fresh coffee pulled me from her sheets, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, I sat on the edge of her bed, fished my phone out from my jean pocket, and checked my messages. I couldn’t help but smirk at my email notification. Howie had wasted zero time. Good man. Dax had sent his umpteenth text reminder to be at the high school field at eight a.m. sharp. I set an alarm for six and joined Pres for some much-needed caffeine.
On my way down the hall, I had the dreaded what now? pop into my head. When I reached her, would it be okay to touch her in any way? Could I kiss her, or was I destined for the walk of shame? Should I even bring up what had happened between us, or was it better to just follow her lead? I decided on the latter, just to be on the safe side.
Our conversation was light, cordial, and platonic. She mentioned getting in a quick workout, shower, and a late dinner. I’d taken it as my cue to leave, but when she offered me the treadmill first, I was happy to stay a little while longer.
I’d never ran in my boxers before, not while sober at least. I’d arrived in jeans, but there was no way in hell I was about to ask her if she had any shorts I could wear. She smirked at the sight but carried on with her slam balls anyway. No treadmill for her. She’d kept it more stationary. She wanted that ankle healed as quickly as possible. It was a quick workout, twenty-thirty minutes tops, but I enjoyed every fucking minute of it.
We just did our own thing. No pressure to make conversation that wasn’t there. Presley had always been just as competitive as me, if not more so. I shot her a wink when she topped my burpee count by two. I chose to bite my tongue rather than lecturing her about that ankle. Her response? She flipped me the bird and downed half of her bottled water.
“You good?” she asked, as she killed the music and reached for a couple of towels.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
She strode from the garage back down her hallway towards the bathroom.
She tossed one piece of clothing at a time, and I hovered closely behind her. When we made it to her room, I dropped
my ass on the side of her bed and grabbed my phone in an effort to keep myself busy while she lathered up.
“Ahem.”
I glanced up and damn near choked on my tongue. There she stood, stark ass naked, in the doorway.
“Well? Come on.”
Fuck.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I must have appeared too eager to join her because the second I stepped through the doorway, I was met with the tip of her finger poking at the center of my chest.
“Just so we’re clear, I have every intention of a quick shower, in and out, then ordering food.”
She smirked through her entire spiel and put on her very best stern face, glare and all. Pres wanted to play. A wink to let her know, game on, sent her spinning on her heel with an added sway to her hips as she turned to start the water. When I rolled up a towel and popped her dead in the ass, she responded with a squeaky yelp before she retaliated. I spent the next few seconds dodging the shampoo bottles and poofy shower sponges that she was hurling at my head.
“Okay, okay! I call Uncle!”
I even made a complete ass of myself by dropping my boxer briefs only to wave them in the air, back and forth like a surrender flag. Finally, she laughed. I closed the space between us to gather her in my arms. Her hair tickled my nose, but I couldn’t step away. Instead, we began to move.
We moved to the sound of the water drumming against the porcelain tub. Steam from the shower head began to take over the small space. I pulled back just enough to take her face in my hands and urge her gaze to meet my own. Not a single word was spoken; they weren’t needed. She took my hand and led me behind the curtain.
She buried her face in my chest as the water cascaded down her back. I rested my chin on the top of her head, and for the first time in forever, I didn’t allow my mind to drift to back when. I didn’t think back to all the mistakes made, all the regrets. I thought about a possible future if she’d have me. If Paisley, even Carter, would accept me. Neither owed me one damn thing, and I knew I brought nothing to the table. Nothing but what I felt for this girl.
It had always been this girl. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and I was okay with that.
What we had, where we were just then, I wanted to hold onto it, hold onto her, for as long as I possibly could. We turned, switched places, and I tipped my head back. The steady stream of hot water helped ease the tension that started to build in my shoulders. She reached for the shampoo, and the second she began to rub her hands together, the familiar coconut scent brought a smile to my face.
“God, you’re such a tree,” she mused, and I wrapped my hands around her hips to steady her as she rose to her tippy toes.
I bent to her, like I always would, and could feel her making shampoo horns on the sides of my head, but I didn’t care. This girl, woman, could do as she pleased. Bending forward brought me eye level to her breasts. When I flicked out my tongue to catch a droplet from her nipple, she smacked me right upside the head.
“Hey!”
And before I could say anything more, she dragged her tongue up the base of my neck, slapped my bare ass, and announced that it was her turn. She turned her back to me, and I was transfixed by the sight of her hair damn near touching her ass once soaking wet. I returned the favor by reaching for the shampoo bottle myself. Her hair was thick and heavy between my fingers. She dropped her head back and released a moan of pleasure as I worked my fingers along her scalp. It was always the absolute best part of my weekly massages. I had to stay loose for the game and picked up some techniques along the way.
While mine was an occupational necessity, I wondered if Presley ever pampered herself, if she ever took sixty precious minutes just for her. I was no expert, but once I rinsed her hair and capped my hands over her shoulders, the tension was unmistakable.
“You should get these knots worked out by a pro, darlin’.”
She scoffed at the notion, stating something about never having the time. I’d have to see what I could do about that. Presley had never been one to do for herself, to put herself first. She had to grow up pretty quickly. Presley’s mom bailed when she was just a kid, leaving her and her dad, who, according to Pres, had struggled for years with the reality of the woman he’d married being able to just walk away from their little girl. Pres, in a way, had to take care of her dad once her mom left, and that’s a lot for any kid, let alone one as young as Pres. Then I came along, and fuck knows she did all she could to keep me straight.
I pulled her tighter against me in a lame attempt to soothe the ping of guilt that was piercing the center of my chest. She’d gone from me to being a teen mom to a little girl. I had played a role in her pattern of putting herself second. Fuck. We have to talk. Panic started at the base of my spine.
“You good?”
She nodded in response, and I quickly reached around her and turned off the water.
“We have to talk.”
Presley
Jesus Christ, what was taking so long? Did the coffee maker need to be descaled, again, or was it that time had stood still and that I’d grown uncomfortable in my own skin? From the second I’d realized I was pregnant and moving forward, I rejected the word regret. And while that included my time with Greyson, I really wasn’t sure what to do moving forward. I knew that he’d come strolling down the hall at any second, and I just wasn’t sure what, if any, words would come.
It wasn’t long before I realized he had the same reservations. We were civil, pleasant even. Not much more than an awkward conversation you may have while in line at your local coffee shop. Seeing that he was just as unsure as me was oddly reassuring. It told me that he didn’t have any preconceived expectations, and knowing we were both stumbling our way through it, I found comfort, but still not ease.
Physical exertion had always been my go-to if I found myself wound too tight. I had two choices: I could either see him out and then hit the mat or suggest he join me. I went with the latter for two reasons. One, hitting the treadmill would probably do him some good as well, and two, I wasn’t quite ready for him to go.
Greyson and I had never just been about sex, as great as it was. We’d always loved to simply fill one another’s space. I’d hoped some things hadn’t changed. It was hard not to crack a smile when he dropped trou with zero hesitation. I cranked up the music, and off we went.
It reminded me of when we were kids, the it couple, who drew attention when we worked out together at the local rec center. Mrs. Alexander had worked as a custodian for as long as I could remember. She was a retired high school teacher who held a part-time job just to keep truckin’. She was now well into her seventies, so I’d say it was working.
She’d taken a liking to Greyson almost immediately, even if no one else had. His uncle had provided well for him, but the fact that he’d lost his mother to cancer struck a chord in her. She always made a point to ask how he was doing and insisted on seeing his grades, which she then rewarded with various homemade treats. Last I’d heard, she was still laying down the law at the rec and keeping the kids in line. I’d hoped she would be able to retire soon. If anyone had earned some lazy, carefree days, it was Mrs. Alexander, or Mrs. A as she insisted. I wondered if Greyson ever thought of her.
Even though I had dazed out, I still managed to hold my plank strong. Small beads of sweat began to fall from my brow to my mat. I hopped to my feet for some slam balls, but when Greyson ditched the treadmill and hit the mat as well, it was on. My body screamed in resistance, but I kept pushing. A strange need to one-up him helped drive me to a new personal record. Perhaps that drive was fueled by the risk of the alternative. The alternative of being swept away by the soon to be professional football player working out in my garage.
Greyson, in his zone, was a sight within itself. Back when he would train me, he was never a big fan of machines. He kept all the bells and whistles to a minimum.
Y
ou don’t need a machine darlin’. You are the machine.
Aside from some occasional treadmill time, he practiced what he preached. Greyson was the perfect specimen. In high school, out on the practice field, he was a man amongst boys, and that man was now clouding my mind. In other words, our training session was over.
There were many things that I missed about our time together. I missed the laughter and banter and his rare, yet contagious, belly laugh. Our relationship had been intense and certainly far from perfect, but we could always find a way to make one another laugh. The back and forth banter, I missed. Though maybe I didn’t have to.
I could feel his energy hovering just behind me. He drew closer when I tossed my tank top aside, but when we reached my bathroom, instead of following me inside, he made his way to the edge of my bed. I thought for a moment that I had read him wrong, that maybe he was looking for a quick exit. It didn’t seem to be the case, but I figured there was always at least a slight chance. There was one sure way to find out.
Any and all doubts melted away when I stood before him, in my most vulnerable state, and suggested he join me. The look he shot back at me was one that I knew well. There was no other place Greyson Ty Thomas would rather be.
We went from good-natured ribbing to a shared moment that I can’t quite put into words. We fell into sync as though no time had been lost. We laughed, touched, and savored the warmth both around and between us.
There had always been something incredibly intimate about Greyson washing my hair. Maybe it was the steady stream of hot water or the steam that rose from it. Maybe it was the sweet, calming scent of coconut that filled the air. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the feel of his strong grip winding through my hair. My eyes rolled back behind my lids, and a soft moan escaped when he tipped my head back to rinse the suds away. I then buried my face at the center of his chest, with every intention of staying cradled against him until the stream ran cold. It was then that I felt his body go rigid.