Grayson: Wordsmith Chronicles Book 3

by Christopher Harlan

  Grayson tells me there’s actually a small cab service in town—or at least there used to be—but we decide to walk back into town instead. It’s still light, and we’re going to grab dinner first. It seems like every business in this town is named after the person who started it, and the place we’re going to eat is no different. Red’s Eats looks like a shack, but I can smell the food way before we’re there. Grayson tells me it’s one of the best places he’s ever eaten, so I put my trust in his taste. If the food tastes half as good as it smells we’re in for a hell of a meal.

  “What do they serve there?” I ask him.

  “Burgers. Fries. Steak. Beer. Sometimes in that order, sometimes not, but that’s about it. I’m sorry it’s not fancy. It’s not that kind of culture around here.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,’ she jokes. “And do I look like a girl who needs fancy?”

  He shrugs his shoulders, and I’m not sure what that means. Do I come across like that girl who needs fancy? I don’t think so, but maybe I do. Harley and Everleigh are always making fun of me, telling me that I’m this conversation prude, but that’s not me at all, that’s just who they think I am. They know me as well as anyone in the world, but that doesn’t mean that they know all of me. I’m adventurous, I can be a little crazy, and I enjoy a casual dinner with a hot guy as much as I’d enjoy candle light and fancy French dishes.

  “Here we are.” He says. He still didn’t answer me, but I let it go. It smells too good, and the music is too loud for me to be offended. I’ll show him that I love places like this as much as he does. “Two, please.” Grayson tells the hostess, and she leads us over to a booth. When he said ‘causal’ he really meant it. There are rolls of paper towels on each table and booth, and it looks like a lot of the food comes out on paper plates with plastic utensils. I like it.

  “What’s good here?” I ask.

  “Burgers. Fries. Steak. Beer. Take your pic.” I laugh, but he’s not joking.

  “If we’re going to the bar after this I’ll skip the beer, but I’m down for a thick ribeye and some steak fries.”

  “That sounds delicious,” He tells me. He looks at me different after I tell him what I’m getting, like he really didn’t believe me when I said I’d like a place like this. I guess my taste in steak impressed him. “I like a woman who likes a thick cut of meat.” I shoot him a look at the double meaning and smile. He starts laughing, as though he didn’t realize that’s not what you’re supposed to say to a woman. “Sorry, it was right there. I forgot I wasn’t talking to Colton and Knight.”

  “Don’t apologize. And I can take a thick cut as well as the next girl. Goes down the throat easy.” His eyes practically bulge out of his head. “Should I apologize now?”

  “Absolutely not. Never apologize for what you just said. Ever. In fact, say it to me again at some point after I’ve had a few drinks.”

  “That might be dangerous.” I tell him.

  “What’s the matter? You don’t like a little danger once in a while?”

  When he asks me that he looks at me in a certain way that’s hard to interpret. It’s a little bit sexy, a little bit dangerous, and it gives me the feels all over my body. I don’t let on. I’m good at keeping how I feel to myself, but inside my body is reacting to him. This is going to be interesting.

  We order and eat pretty quickly. Our steaks come out fast, and they both look amazing. We eat, but I hold back from eating the whole thing because I don’t want to feel too gross. After we’re done Gray pays the check and we get up, neither of us finishing our meals.The bar is attached to the restaurant on the other end of the place. We walk in and it’s pretty crowded, but Gray grabs us a place at the bar and we squeeze in. “This is the first place we’ve gone where you haven’t known someone.”

  “Even I have my limits. We’re going to have to just be treated like normal people tonight, I’m sorry. I’ll get the red carpet rolled out for us when we get back to New York, okay?”

  “You mean I’ll get the Wordsmith treatment? I’m honored. I’ve never been with a celebrity before.” I realize what I’ve said as it leaves my mouth. Gray and I aren’t together. Not in that way. But this whole things feels like something. It doesn’t just feel like I hitched a ride with a guy friend of mine for a fun, impromptu road trip. It feels like something more, something that makes me tingle in all the right places. Maybe it’s all on my side. Gray doesn’t react to that part, his face changes when I say ‘Wordsmith.’ He’s still in the dumps about his books.

  He smiles, but it’s labored and forced for my benefit, I can tell. I have to get him out of this funk. Maybe the attraction is all on my side, that could be the case. He’s been a little flirty, here and there, and sometimes he looks at me like he wants me, but then he’s back to just being regular Gray. I don’t know what’s going to happen with that, but I can’t let him leave here thinking he’s a shitty author. Maybe I can help him with some stuff. But right now I need a drink.

  “What’s your poison?” He asks me.

  “I’m a tequila girl, I can drink it straight.”

  “Look at you!” he gives me that look of disbelief again, like I’m contradicting whatever it is he thought of me before. It’s weird because we’ve hung out here and there, so I thought he had a better idea of who I was, but maybe I do come off the way Harley and Ev are always telling me I do. I’m glad we had this little excursion. Now he can see the real me.

  “Oh I’m just getting started, my friend.”

  Grayson orders us two shots of tequila to get the night started. It burns going down, and in a few minutes we order another one. I start to feel it almost immediately. I’m a little bit of a lightweight, but once I have a few in me I start to let the more wild side of me out. He seems to be unaffected so far. “You want another?”

  “Give me a few minutes. I’m still feeling the first two.”

  “You got it. I don’t wanna have to carry you home on my shoulders, firemen style.”

  “Why not,” I joke. “Firemen are hot. Not as hot as male romance authors, but still.” I give him a quick look, hoping that he understands what that glimmer in my eye means. He’s not stupid, so I think he’s picking up on it.

  “Oh yeah?” He asks. “So you’re telling me you’re attracted to my two best friends. Damn, just my luck.”

  “I’m not gonna lie, they’re two good looking men. And they happen to be with my two best friends, but I have my eye on someone else.” I can’t believe how bold I’m being. I’m only two drinks in, but it’s already effecting my inhibitions. The things I’m saying to him are normally the things I just think, but now those thoughts are finding their way across my lips—lips I wish were around his. . .

  “Is that right?” He asks, interrupting my dirty thought. “And who’s that?”

  “Roland Rays, of course. Have you seen him, he can make a girl wet with those eyes.” I start laughing a little too hard and Grayson does, too. Roland is one of the Brotherhood—this other group of male authors who are like the arch enemies of the Wordsmiths. They’ve been going at each other over past few months, and hopefully that’s all come to an end.

  “I know the guy, I’ll give him your number.” He jokes back. “And don’t let Colton hear you say that, he’s got no sense of humor where that guy is concerned. Neither do I, actually, but I’m starting to feel the tequila, so fuck it.”

  “I know, you hate those guys, don’t you?”

  “Hate’s a strong word,” he says, signaling to the bartender for another round. “But not nearly strong enough.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “Fuck those guys. I’m the reasonable one in the group, usually, but all that shit that went on with Colton got me ready to throw down with all them. I had to be talked down off the ledge. It was that prick who told me about my book.”

  “Roland?” I ask. He nods and make a disgusted face. “Your whole face changed when I said his name. You really do hate him.”

  “He gets my fucking blood bo
iling. I’m protective of the people in my life I love. I’m a pretty peaceful guy if you leave me alone. But if you fuck with me I’m gonna come back at you ten times as hard.” As he’s talking I’m literally getting wet. His whole demeanor changes when this subject comes up. It’s probably unpleasant for him, but for me it’s fucking hot. He doesn’t look like some good looking, artsy type right now. I see a whole different side to him. An alpha male side. A protector. A sexy badass. I love what I’m seeing, and if there weren’t a bunch of people in here right now, I’d. . . “Fuck him up.”

  “Huh?” I ask, not really listening.

  “I want to fuck him up. Beat him silly. But we all talked and agreed that we’ve had enough of that kind of thing. Even though I feel justified in doing it, it’s that kind of thing that started Colton down the road he went on recently. It’s a dark one.”

  I take my third shot, and so does he. I don’t know who I am right now. I usually don’t drink this much, this fast, but I also don’t usually run away with hot romance authors. To quote Grayson, fuck it. “Don’t even worry about those guys. Granted, I’m new to this whole romance world, but I’m a quick study, and a lot of the female readers don’t seem to like them, at least from what I’ve seen. They don’t seem to have much activity on their pages, either.”

  “That’s cause they suck. I’m glad the readers have some taste.”

  “Except with your books, right?”

  “Uhh, not this again! I’m having a good time talking shit and getting a little buzzed, I don’t want to think about my shitty sales right now.”

  I’m a little more than buzzed myself, but I’m still there, mentally. He doesn’t seem to like the pep talk approach. He really thinks he sucks right now, so I’m going to try a more practical approach to making him feel better. “Do you like advice? If you do I have some. I’m not going to tell you how great your books are, I promise, I know how authors hate that.” My sarcasm is thick as I can lay it on, only because I know he appreciates it.

  “I’m all ears.” He tells me.

  “I think that you need to widen your audience a little. I don’t think it’s a matter of your book sucking, I think it’s a matter of not enough eyes being on it—or you.”

  “Well let’s say you’re right. How do I go about that. I do as many signings as I can each year. I have a pretty decent social media presence. I’m not sure what I’m not doing.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I tell him. “No one knows what they’re not doing, otherwise they’d be doing it, right? That’s why you need someone who’s on the outside looking in.”

  “And I take it that you’re that someone?”

  “Only if you want me to be. Like I said, I’m new to this world. An outside, so what do I know. But I have a few ideas if you ever want to hear them.”

  “I absolutely do,” he says. “But not now. Not when I’m buzzed. I want to remember them and listen to everything you’re saying to me. Now’s not the best time. Maybe when we’re on the road tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. I almost forgot that our little fantasy is going to end as soon as Grayson pulls his car out of the garage tomorrow. I don’t want it to end. We’ll still have a few days in the car to talk and whatever else, but I’m still sad our weird vacation is coming to an end. At least we still have tonight.

  “Yeah, right. That’s a good time. We’ll talk on the road.” I’m starting to really feel the alcohol now. I’m drunk, but not out of it. He’s there, too, but he refuses to admit it. “Maybe you should get the number of that cab service for after. I think if we try to walk home we might end up on the side of the road somewhere, passed out.”

  “Good call. I hope they still exist.” Gray takes his phone out of his pocket and Google’s the number. “Hey, look at that, still there! I’ll be damned. What time do you think?”

  “At this rate? I have about one more shot left in me. Call it a half hour. I need to dance off some of the booze.”

  “That’ll be a problem.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Umm, because I don’t dance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You ever see Footloose? The original, I mean, not that abomination of a remake.”

  “Of course.”

  “Picture Chris Penn’s character, but before Kevin Bacon teaches him how to dance. That’s me.”

  “Come on,” I say. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “It is. We’re in the trust circle here. I can’t dance for shit.”

  The bar has a jukebox, and a little makeshift dance floor in the middle where couples have been dancing for a while now. I’m afraid that when I stand up I’m going to fall over, but I need to risk it and move around a little. Plus I love to dance. “ How about we wait for a slow one, then. No skill involved. You basically just have to hold on to me and rock back and forth like you’re half asleep. You can handle that.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do I really have to beg you to put your hands on me?”

  He smiles a slightly drunk smile. “No,” he says with some conviction. “You do not. We’ll wait for the next slow one. Let me call the cab.”

  “Okay.”

  He calls the company as I watch the dance floor, waiting for the perfect song to start playing. A few minutes later he hangs up. “Thirty minutes. They’ll meet us outside.”

  “Perfect.”

  Just then, the song that was playing when he was on the phone stops. There’s a pause in between that song and whatever is coming up next—a silent transition that lets me get my bearings and stand up. I feel a little light headed at first, but I’m definitely okay. I stopped at three and so did Gray, and now I’m just hoping that before we go. . .there it is! Okay, I have to admit that Shania Twain isn’t exactly my cup of tea, and I have exactly zero of her songs on any of my playlists, but I remember when “You’re Still the One” was blasting out of the radio like every five minutes. I rocked out to it a few times. Well, mostly rocking, it’s a pretty slow song, but it’s perfect song for the dance I want with this gorgeous man.

  I’m shocked when he puts out his hand. “Let’s do this.”

  “Really?” I ask. “I though you were going to try to get out of it.”

  “Man of my word,” he tells me. “And like you said, I just have to rock back and forth.”

  “That’s right.”

  “While I’m holding on to you tightly.”

  “So tightly. Like your life depends on it.”

  “Let’s go.”

  The song is a few seconds in by the time we leave our stools behind and hit the dance floor. I pull him along to an open spot, and guide his hands around my waist where they need to be. Shania’s voice is signing in perfect pitch—the girl really can sing, I have to give it up. The verse is ending, and the chorus is about to blast, the lyrics just about perfect for how I’m feeling right now.

  You're still the one I run to

  The on that I belong to

  You're still the one I want for life

  (You're still the one)

  You're still the one I love

  The only one I dream of

  You're still the one I kiss good night

  His hands find my waist perfectly, and I show him how to move. He picks it up right away, and in a few seconds he’s leading me in a circle, his hands firm around me, and mind reaching up around his neck. The feeling of his hands on my waist make me want them all over me. The music fades, and the people around me vanish. I want his hands lower—to creep their way down my body, and to do things to me that are like the characters in one of his books. I’m looking up into his eyes as we sway, and I’m getting such intensity from his eyes that there’s no mistaking what he’s feeling. I’m feeling it, too. The music is loud, and I can feel the squeeze of his hands tightening around me like he wants to do more than just dance. I rest my head against his chest as the chorus repeats again, and feeling my body against his is making me want more than just a dance.

  It ta
kes me by surprise when he leans over and puts his face next to my ear. The music is booming loud, but I can hear every syllable of what he says to me as if the room was completely silent. “I want to take you home, right now.” I can’t believe my ears. So much so that I pull back in the middle of the song and look up at him like I didn’t hear him right. He nods again at me to let me know that I head him correctly, and I put my head against his chest again. He lowers his hand to just below my ass and pulls me in hard against him. I can feel the stiffness of his cock against me as he forces my body against his. He’s so fucking hot, and this cab can’t come fast enough.

  The song finally ends, and everyone starts clapping. Grayson and I separate, but only for a second. He pulls me back so that I can feel how hard he still is. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the song, or the setting, but I don’t care. I want him and he wants me. Who cares why? He leans into me again. “I think I need to sit down for a second.”

  “Come here.” I pull him over to the stool at the bar and we sit down again.

  “Thanks.”

  We sit there for a few minutes, and then Gray gets a call from the driver that he’s outside. We leave the bar behind, the best part of the night just beginning.

  Chapter 9

  Rowan

  I never knew what what the feeling of an old wood countertop would feel like underneath my bare ass, but now I know. My pants are on the floor in a little heap, and my ass is pressing down on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Grayson hasn’t spoken a word to me since we got out of the cab. He just slipped the driver a twenty, took my hand, pulled me inside, and started undressing me. His kiss is rugged, passionate, almost savage in its intensity. Our lips smashed together for about thirty seconds before he was pulling my cloths off, and as soon as my pants were off he lifted me up like I was weightless and placed me down on the island so we could make out some more.