Grey: The Encounter (Spectrum Series Book 1)

by Allison White

As if that reasoned with him, he lowers the bag and pushes it against my chest. His eyes have gone darker, if possible, his head cocked to the side.

  “Because you haven’t seen what I’m capable of yet, Liv…” He trails off, and suddenly the sunlight shifts and brightens his sharp facial structure. A slick piece of his dark hair dangles on his forehead, half of his face shaded pitch black while the other glistens and highlights the cut below his lip and above his left eyebrow. A part of me wants to push back the lone hair and graze my finger across his cut just below his full lips, but another—the more sensible—part of me takes a great step back.

  “And I don’t want to see what you are capable of,” I say. His lips curl up into an annoying, knowing smile. I look away briefly, slip my backpack on my shoulders, hike it up a bit, and curtly nod at him. “We will meet tomorrow to start the project. Goodbye, Grey.” I turn around and begin briskly walking away before he can say or do anything else that might upset me further.

  But that doesn’t stop him from shouting, “Oh, but you will, Princess. You will, soon enough…”

  Chapter Eleven

  Mason: Sorry I couldn’t make it for coffee. Was swamped with HW.

  Olivia: It’s okay. Wasn’t feeling up for it anyway.

  Mason: Make it up to you Thursday? Free then.

  Olivia: Thursday it is.

  I put my phone in my khaki shorts and twirl the straps of my backpack absentmindedly. I’m currently on my way to my last class—Psychology. Speaking of which, I asked Julia for Grey’s number and texted him that we’d meet to start the project after class.

  When I asked for his number, Jaimie instantly figuratively jumped down my throat and asked why I needed it. She didn’t believe me when I told her the real reason and went on to tease and accuse me of having a crush on him. With swollen, red cheeks and a slight stammer, I denied it and promptly left the room, which probably didn’t help my case a bit.

  He hasn’t texted back, though.

  I pull out my phone and stare at my message and frown. Answer me, Grey. I send him another and hear a distinct chiming of a phone. I look up and see Grey waving his fingers at me with a big, goofy smile. Ignoring the sudden swirling in my stomach, I storm over to him.

  “Why didn’t you respond to my text?” I ask, and he shrugs.

  “Didn’t feel like it.”

  I cross my arms. “What do you mean you didn’t feel like i—” He puts a finger to my lips and shushes me.

  “Shhh…it’s too early for your shit.”

  “For my shit?” God, he can be impossible. He’s making me curse, and I don’t even curse. I roll my eyes and smack his hand away; he smirks. “Doesn’t matter. We’re going to be late.” I take a step forward, and he takes one back, opening his arms wide. I think he’s going to hug me for some strange reason, but he holds them out to block the door. “What are you doing, Grey?”

  “Stretching,” he says.

  “Well, stretch somewhere else.” I take another step forward, and he bends down in front of my face with a smile that makes my stomach flip. “What are you doing?” I take a step back, but he takes one forward. Are we dancing the tango? If so, I hate the dance, and I definitely don’t want to dance with him. Not when he’s acting so strange, or any other time, of course.

  “Class has been moved to the botanical garden for meditation for the mind and shit,” he says and turns me around, rubbing my shoulders. “It’s totally optional but deathly boring.”

  My bones stiffen, but my heart doesn’t follow suit. In fact, it speeds up, and I wiggle my shoulders from out of his grip and side-glare at him as we walk away from the classroom.

  “Are you sure?” I ask him.

  I think he’s going to burst into laughter and admit that he’s messing with me, but he doesn’t. He gives me a closed lip smile and nods, looking at me with hooded eyes. But I don’t rule out the former. I see the mischief swimming in those coal-like eyes.

  He could be playing with me. Trying to sabotage me just to be an ass because he can. I wouldn’t be surprised.

  “I didn’t see a sign on the door that says so,” I point out.

  I’m pretty sure a sign would be put up. But he continues his denial and shakes his head, putting a hand on the small of my back. Before I could step out of his hold, he wraps his arm fully around my waist and holds me close to his chest. I clam up and glance up at his firm but amused expression, lips whipped up in a dark grin.

  “That’s because you’re blind,” he says as we cross the street toward his car.

  “I have twenty-twenty vision,” I defend myself, rounding the car to the passenger side. He slides the key in his door, and I slide in after him. “And I’m pretty sure I didn’t see a note.”

  “Why exactly would I lie?” he asks, starting up the car and pulling out of the parking space in one swift motion. I quickly put on my seatbelt, eyeing him with a steel gaze.

  I scoff, “For a dozen reasons. One of which being your sadistic need to screw around with me.”

  He glances at me with a cheeky smile. “Correction: I haven’t screwed you, yet…” I shiver in disgust, and he lets out a low rumble of a laugh. I cover up the smile itching my lips and take off my backpack and take out one of my favorite novels, Pride and Prejudice.

  He groans and taps his fingers against the steering wheel.

  “What?” I question, gently opening the book to where I last left off.

  “Nothing, it’s just—why? Why that book?”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  He glances at the slightly beaten-up copy my mother gave me for Christmas eight years ago. “Everything. First off, I was forced to read that piece of shit in the sixth grade—it scarred me for the rest of my life. And everything off, it sucked. Ass. And it sucked hard. Who could ever fall in love with a pretentious dick like Mr. Darcy?” He flails his arms, and I gasp in horror.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” He can’t be serious. No. This is just one of his stupid ploys to get under my skin. “This is one of the greatest novels in literature. Darcy and Elizabeth are one of the greatest couples in literature.” I defend the book with passion. It’s one of the few things that got me through that year.

  “Try again: Edward and Bella all the way.” He must be kidding. His rueful smile confirms he is. I punch his shoulder and laugh.

  “Dick.” Laughter can’t stop tumbling out of my lips, and he keeps looking at me. I shake my head and look out onto the road. “I really hope you’re kidding.”

  “I am,” he assures. “The big title is already reserved for Ana and Grey; by the way, that fucker stole my name.” I laugh at the way his eyes turn hard and he clenches his jaw.

  “Should I be worried as to why you know the names of horrible characters of shitty romance films?”

  “Jaimie made it her mission to trap me in the room and force Julie and I to watch horrendous romance movies. It’s the absolute worse. It’s also the reason I barely stop by the room anymore. I’m too afraid she’ll shackle me to the bed and pin my face to the TV screen.”

  Another laugh sounds before I can think. Soon enough, my mind trails off in deep thought, conjuring up doubts about the perplexing boy next to me. Am I losing my mind? Is he actually tolerable? Have I overlooked his true self? Is he really a nice guy who’s just misunderstood?

  I almost run with my doubts and prepare myself to give him another chance, until he smirks.

  “So the prude can laugh. What an amazement. You know, I bet we just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.”

  Well, there goes the doubts. He really is just an ass. And here I was, hoping for the latter. Pity.

  My lips fall into a straight line, and I rest my elbow on the window. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

  Now that he’s confirmed his true self, I’ve discovered I don’t care for it and would rather be in my bed, curled up with a novel. Anything would be better than being next to him in a confined space, really.

  “I am t
aking you nowhere,” is his vague response.

  “What do you mean?” I sit up straight as he pulls into a parking spot along the town’s shopping strip. Out the window is a beauty supply, a shoe repair store, and an arcade, among other stores. Out of the three, I imagine he would most likely go into—none and go smoke an entire pack of cigarettes until his lungs give out.

  “You can come, or you can stay.” He taps a finger on my nose, and I scowl at him. He grins. “Depends on whether you want a good grade on this silly project or not,” he adds, and I raise an eyebrow, skeptically glancing at the stores. When I look back at him, he’s wearing a pair of black sunglasses and sporting a cheeky grin. “Join the dark side, Princess, or stay and probably suffocate to death in the car—your choice.” With what I presume is a wink, he turns and glides gracefully out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

  I’m stunned and find myself questioning if I really want to do this. Go along with his sporadic and questionable actions. But then I think—of course. I’m not going to let anyone get in the way of my perfect grades. Even if it’s a condescending jerk like Grey. I can deal with him for four more days. Then I never have to go out of my way to see him again.

  “Sounds easy enough,” I mutter, then hesitantly exit the car.

  Isn’t he afraid someone’s going to steal it if it’s still unlocked? But thinking back to what he can do fighting wise, and where we are, which is a pretty good town, I don’t think anyone will mess with it. And if someone does, I have no doubt he will find that person and beat the life out of them.

  I step up to the three shops and frown. I didn’t watch him enter any of these because I wasn’t paying any attention. I look up at the bold signs and contemplate which one Grey would realistically enter. Beauty shop’s out instantly, and so is the shoe repair; I’m almost positive those boots he loves to wear are kept in good condition. I can’t imagine him shopping for a nice pair of Toms shoes. The last option is arcade games, and although I don’t see Grey playing retro car games from the 80’s, it’s the lesser of three evils. I enter the shop and look around for him.

  Neon red and green strobe lights flash around the wide floor space, and the splicing sounds of games fill the air that smells of cheesy pizza and fruit punch. Not many people are playing games, considering it’s during the school day. Nevertheless, I suspect the only people to come here later would be preteens and their parents watching over them.

  “Grey?” I call out. I look around but stop short when I look up and see a sign flashing: ‘POOL,’ with a large flickering blue lightning bolt pointing downward. Of course, Grey would play underground pool in a strictly pre-teen arcade. What else would he do with his spare time?

  I cautiously descend down the steps, calling his name softly, even whispering it the darker and quieter it gets the further I get underground. I anxiously grip onto my backpack straps when I finally land on firm ground.

  Almost instantly, I develop into a fit of coughs. The air is thick with smoke and smells deathly of cheap beer and sex—not that I know what sex smells like, I’m just taking a ballpark guess. At least five pool tables, all rimmed with flashing lights, take up the spacious room. Smudged mirrors line the far wall, and chalkboards used to count scores mirror each other on the adjacent walls.

  There are around ten older men smoking cigars and cursing as they clash beers together in victory and slap the tables in defeat. This place most definitely can only be accessible during late nights.

  I look around the room, feeling like an ant compared to these burly giants. If Grey isn’t in here and this is some sort of trap, I will not hesitate to murder him. And I’m never violent. But he truly brings out the worst in me.

  “Over here, Princess,” a familiar, deep voice sing-songs.

  I whip my head to the right. There he is. He’s bent low, angling a long wooden stick toward scattered balls. I walk over to him, like I’m the stupid positive side of a magnet that can’t stay away from the opposite negative side of another magnet. Except I’m not really attracted to him. Nor would I ever be.

  “Are you ready to get this over with?” I ask in a bitter tone, eyeing a cigarette between his teeth.

  He doesn’t seem bothered. “But we haven’t even gotten started yet, Princess. And we have to learn to savor our time together…” His voice is smooth like velvet.

  He squints one eye then sends a purple ball into a pocket in the table. He smirks like he knew he would sink it in and looks up at me. Those black eyes of his pierce through me, shattering every bone in the way to my heart. I swallow and look away briefly. When I look back, he’s leaned against the table, watching me.

  “Well, I just want to finish this so we never have to see each other again,” I tell him truthfully.

  His annoying smirk doesn’t falter one bit. “You need to chill out. Mellow a bit. You’re too—”

  “Prudish?” I finish for him, rolling my eyes, grinding my teeth.

  He huffs out a laugh, his head nodding. “I was gonna say uptight, but prudish is good too, I guess.” I roll my eyes again. “Smoke? It’ll make you chill,” he jokes, offering the cancer stick.

  I almost smack it away but realize that may be a bit too harsh. Plus, it’d land on the table resulting in a fire and the end of my life as I know it. I don’t want to die in a room full of strange men with beards longer than my trust in Grey.

  “No. I would not like to smoke. Will you just please answer these questions I made so we can be done with this and each other?” I’m beginning to think I’m developing lung cancer just from standing in this polluted room. He looks at me for what seems like forever until he gives me a subtle nod. “Thank you—”

  “If you score this shot for me.” He walks around the table and holds the wooden stick out to me. “Then I’ll answer some of your silly questions.”

  “They are not silly,” I murmur and fidget anxiously, looking at the stick. “Plus, I don’t even know how to play this…game.”

  “Come here and I’ll show you.”

  “I don’t want to.” I don’t budge.

  “Are you scared?” He purses his lips, mocking me.

  “No.”

  I know I should demand he stop playing around and answer these questions I made, but something in me snaps, something that tells me I have to prove him wrong, like the night of the frat party.

  I walk over to him and grab the stick; he smirks and steps back. Rolling my eyes in irritation, I face the table and tug at my bottom lip. How exactly am I supposed to play this?

  “Don’t be so scared, Princess,” he chastises me.

  “I am not scared. And don’t call me that.” I whip my head to the side. He’s right behind me; I can feel his warm breath fanning on my neck. I scramble forward until I hit the table; I blush and turn to the table again.

  “Fine, Liv, you just direct the end of the cue at the white ball next to a colored ball, line it up, and shoot for a pocket. Easy peasy.” He steps closer, and I hold my breath.

  “Don’t call me that either,” I tell him, doing as he says. The cue is positioned behind the white ball, and I try to line it up with the red ball.

  “Then what do you want me to call you?” He’s taken another step forward; I can feel him grazing my behind, and I freeze, taking shallow breaths. “You have to curl your index finger over the stick…like this.” I have no time to react. He’s arching over me, his breath licking the hair on my neck that stands up high, his strong arms wrapped around me, his bruised right hand holding mine. Gently, he lifts my finger and laps it over the stick.

  “My name: Olivia…” My breathing is out of whack, my heart screaming for space. He’s too close. Way too close. I can’t breathe. He’s on me. His body is hard and—

  He pulls the stick back with his other hand and pushes it along. I listen to the distinct sound of my ragged breaths leaving my mouth as I watch the ball sink in the hole. His body constricts but loosens, putting pressure on my own.

  “Was that so hard?” he a
sks, shattering a silent barrier that prevented me from doing anything but feel him up against me.

  Compared to you…?

  “No,” I answer firmly.

  I nudge myself back, and he reluctantly backs off a bit. I wheel around on my heels and feel my breath lodge itself in my throat. His black eyes are like two scorching coals with a mission to make me combust. “W-we should get started on the questions now.”

  I smile and press my hands against his chest to push him back. Wrong move. His pecs are rock hard, and my hands nearly mold into them. He raises an eyebrow, and I side step out of his proximity and rush over to my bag. I can feel those eyes on me now.

  I am so embarrassed. I want to punch myself. My mind goes crazy with questions, like: what the heck was that? Why is my heart racing like a car around a track? And why the hell did I like whatever it was? I need to get a hold of myself, or I won’t be able to function and complete this assignment, which is not an option.

  I whirl around on my feet, and again my stupid heart spins out of control at the sight of him leaning against one of the mirrors, lean and tall and dark, and watching me. He gives the pool stick a slight twirl.

  I have the devil as my partner, and I don’t think I’ll make it out alive. At least, my heart won’t.

  Clicking the pen in my hand, I smile wide and say, “Question time.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Help me!” a small voice screams.

  I pivot on my feet, my body light as air, and feel my heart plummet to the pit of my stomach. He’s in there, and I can’t get to him. I try to run to him in the burning car, but my bare feet cannot move. They won’t move. It’s as if they’re mounted to the gravel.

  “Help me, Liv!” he screams again, voice trembling.

  “I’m coming!” I push against the steel clamping my feet to the ground and throw my arms out, fingers waving and stretching toward him. Every fiber in my body tightens, and my heart squeezes together.