Grey: The Encounter (Spectrum Series Book 1)

by Allison White

  He narrows his eyes; he doesn’t believe me, and he yanks at my wrist. “How. Drunk. Are. You?” he reiterates. I want to lie and say I’m not drunk, but the look in his eyes and his fingers around my skin say not to.

  I shrug nonchalantly. “Just bit a little.” I giggle at my mistake and try again. “I mean a bittle lit. I—I mean a…b, c, d, e, f, g—”

  He covers my mouth and sighs. “I’m taking you to bed.”

  “Aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?” I joke. He looks at me as I laugh, and then suddenly I’m over his shoulder. My face is near his butt. I blush and pick my head up and push my hair to the side and yell, “This is kidnapping, you know!”

  “It isn’t if I’m taking you home,” he replies in a sing-song tone.

  “It is if you’re taking me anywhere without my consent!” I exclaim. He’s quiet because he knows I’m right. I smile knowing that he knows it.

  He stops walking after a while and places me in the passenger seat of his car. He leans in with a wicked smile that is quickly replaced by a menacing glare. “Just be lucky I feel sorry for you. So shut up and sit back, m’kay?” I hold up a finger, about to quip back a response, but he shuts the door. I frown and lean against the cold glass. He gets in on his side and peels out of the parking spot and onto the road.

  He turns on the radio, and I cringe at the same music he blasted when he took me to the cliff. I lean forward to turn it off, but he slaps my hand away, and I gasp. I sit back and glare at him.

  “What? Mad I stole your move?” He smiles at me. I roll my eyes and sit back.

  “I didn’t need your saving, you know,” I say with an irritated smile.

  I struggle but successfully pull off the black boots that have been making it a pain to walk and throw them in the backseat. Grey curses before glaring at me.

  “What? Don’t like me making messes?” I snort in laughter and place my sore feet on his lap. He stiffens, and I hum and close my eyes.

  “No, no, I do not like it.” I open my eyes to find him gripping the steering wheel. I guess he really is a neat freak, when it comes to his car, of course.

  “I’m tired,” I tell him in a soft voice.

  “Here, I’ll give you a blanket,” he says sweetly. He reaches behind my seat in the back. I smile but scream when he throws a sweaty black shirt on my face.

  “Grey!” I moan and chuck it back at him.

  He smiles. “Teaches you to not mess with me.”

  ***

  “Careful now,” Grey murmurs, gently sitting me on my bed.

  I hold my stomach and lay on my side. “Everything hurts,” I tell him, and he snickers. I kick him in his leg, and he curses. I laugh and turn around to find him smirking down at me. He picks up a pillow that fell on the ground and throws it at me. “Jerk!” I toss it back at him and laugh as he smiles and chucks it onto Julia’s bed.

  He falls on my feet. “Prude…but not so much tonight.” He winks at me, and I roll my eyes and yank my feet from under his butt. “I have to say I am impressed. Also, you have some wicked dance moves.” He scoots back onto the bed and leans against the wall.

  “Oh, shut up.” I bring my knees up and lean against the wall. “I am never drinking again.”

  He laughs. “Literally everyone says that after drinking and then they do it again.” He puts a hand on my knee. “You’re finally human, Princess.”

  I push his hand off and watch him watch me. I watch the way one side of his lips curl upward in a smile that makes me feel like he knows my secrets before I do. How is this possible? A few hours ago, I was screaming at him and yearning to scream some more at him in rage, and now I’m smiling at him and admiring the way he looks so cute when he smiles. His mood swings are going to be the death of me. And so are mine…I have him to blame.

  “You know, you used to be sweet…well, as sweet as you can be.” I smile, and so does he. But then he sighs and places a hand on the back of his neck.

  “I had to push away from you. You just really reminded me of someone, a little too much…” Why is he telling me this?

  “You mean Rose…?” I guess, and by the sudden stiffness of his body, I know I’m right. “I’m sorry, but who was she?”

  “None of your business,” he snaps.

  Nice. Now we’re back to square one with him being nice one minute and pissy the next. Is he ever going to warn me when his mood’s going to change? Or am I forever not going to be in the loop, but outside watching, confused?

  “Sorry I asked…” I trail off and look away from him. He is so weird and infuriating. The bed buzzes, and my heart drops into my stomach. Why is it that whenever he and I are alone, he manages to get a booty call from that redheaded she-devil? It’s like she can sense when he’s near me.

  “Let me guess, Diana’s calling?” I mumble.

  “No, actually. It’s your phone,” he says.

  A weight I hadn’t known was even there lifts off my shoulders, and my heart soars back into its place. “Oh.” I smile and turn around. He’s staring at my phone with a frown. What could he possibly be frowning at? And why didn’t he immediately give me the phone if he knew it was mine?

  He looks up and exclaims, “What the fuck is this?”

  “I don’t know because I can’t see.” Duh.

  He flips the phone around. Mason texted me asking how the party was going and if I made it home all right. I smile at how sweet he is. Unlike someone else I know.

  I take it from his hands and send him a reply. I tell him how I had some fun before I had to leave and that I’m going to sleep, so I’ll talk to him tomorrow morning when I’m in my right mind. I put the phone beside me on the night table and sit back up. Grey is still looking at me with an enraged expression.

  “What?” I squirm uncomfortably.

  “He gets to call you that?” he says, referring to the text.

  “What’s that?”

  “Liv.” I cringe when he says it. I fall back onto my pillow and shake my head. “Why does he get to call you that but not me? I don’t want to bring up racial discrimination or anything, but I feel pretty damn discriminated against.”

  “Depends, what’s your race?”

  “Hispanic.”

  “Were you born here or—”

  “Don’t try to change the subject. Tell me the truth.” He nudges my knee, and I sigh.

  I sit up and lean against the wall. “It’s because it feels different when you say it. I love the Mason kid and all, but when you call me that…it just feels…different, you know? It makes my heart hurt.” I can’t believe I’m telling him this, but then again, I can’t walk five feet without falling on my face in my current condition.

  “How am I different?” he asks with a frown.

  “I don’t know, you just are,” I say, toying with my charm bracelet. “My heart goes extremely fast when you’re around too. Like a hummingbird. Like…this.”

  I take his hand and place it on my chest. He looks at me with dark eyes. I ignore the heat flushed in my cheeks and push his jacket back, and he doesn’t stop me.

  “It goes like boom, boom…boom, boom…over and over again,” I say, my voice a bare whisper in the electric wall between us. I tap over his heart in a rhythm, my lips pursed and eyes half closed. I feel lightheaded.

  He reaches up and touches my cheek and pushes my head up before I can fall over. His eyes take in mine, and soon enough, a smile makes its way onto my face and lingers on his.

  “I didn’t know I had that effect on you,” he says, his voice low.

  “Well, you do, so stop it.” My words are lost into his large, rough palm. “Do you think I’m pretty?” The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. I’m too heavy under the alcohol influence to stop anything that he can later taunt me with.

  “Why would you ask me that?” He frowns like I’ve upset him.

  “Answer the question,” I whine, stretching my leg out and kicking his butt.

  He laughs and nods. I like
his laugh. I like the little dimples that crease in his cheeks. “Yes, I think you’re very pretty.”

  I raise an eyebrow and fiddle with my charm bracelet out of nerves. “Prettier than Diana?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  I beam up at him as if his approval was all I lived for. “Good.” I scrunch up my face and shake my head. “My hair hurts.” And my head feels like lead. I am going to go unconscious pretty soon too. I can just feel it. Alcohol really does suck.

  “Here, let me help.” He reaches around my head and pulls the band that held up my ponytail out of my hair. My hair falls loose and surrounds my face like I’m standing in the middle of a waterfall pouring down on me.

  “Gracias,” I sing-song.

  He chuckles, and I watch those dimples of his. “There, now you’re even prettier.”

  “Hey…” I pout. My lips stretch as a yawn leaves me. I scratch my scalp, feeling my eyes flutter shut. I wonder if I’m sleepy because of the alcohol or because of everything that’s happened tonight.

  “You’re tired. You should get some rest,” he says and stands.

  “I’m fiiiiiine.” I yawn.

  He rolls his eyes with a smile. “Yeah right.” I watch with a lazy smile as he puts his hands on my shoulders and lays me down. He reaches for the comforter and adjusts it over me, letting it fall on my face. I giggle and push it back, and he laughs and rests it just under my chin. The smile falls off my face and drips onto the floor. Darkness fills up before my eyelids, and my breathing slows down as fatigue pokes at me, pulling me under.

  The feeling of his soft lips touching my forehead and him fading off into a light whisper are the last things that I remember before I fall into a world of nothing and an explosion of memories.

  “Me haces daño también a mi corazón…” (You hurt my heart too.)

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Help! Someone help us!” I scramble out of the brushes and stand in the middle of the road. My heart is beating like a hummingbird. I can hear the blood clogging my ears. “Someone, please! I need your help!” I scream into the crisp air of the night. The chilly air invades my lungs, creating a white cloud every time I exhale. I turn in circles and scream and scream and scream until my voice is raw and hoarse.

  I fall to my knees and let the tears fall. One by one, they drop onto the dark road and create a sad puddle. My little brother is going to die if I don’t get up and get help, but no one is around. If someone were to come, they would be here already. We’re in the middle of nowhere because Dad thought he’d take a special backroad that would get us home quicker. I wish he’d never taken it, because look at where we are now. Jonah is dying, and they’re unconscious and probably dying too. It’s up to me to find help, and I won’t find any if I just sit here and cry.

  The moment I stand up, I hear the distinct sound of a car. A smile spreads across my face, and I swivel around on my bare feet. A pitch-black car that almost camouflages into the night is hurtling toward me. I wave my arms and yell, “Stop! Please, stop and help! I need your help!” I think the car is going to stop, but it picks up speed. I step back with a faltering smile. “Wait, no. I said stop!” My smile joins the puddle of tears beneath my feet. “Stop!”

  Closer.

  I try to run, but I am rooted to the ground.

  “N-no! Y-you have to stop!” I’m screaming for dear life now.

  Closer.

  Why won’t they listen to me?

  “Stop! You’re going to hit me! Please!”

  Black eyes and a malicious smile are the last things I see.

  “No!” I scream at the top of my lungs and hold my arms out. My hands meet a leather fabric, and I’m pulled into something warm. Sobs leave my lips, and tears form a puddle on my comforter.

  Why would they kill me? Why wouldn’t they stop? Who would be so cruel as to do something like that?

  “I—I couldn’t stop them. They…they just went right through me.” I shake my head and wrap my arms around the person.

  “Shhh, shhh, you’re okay now. You’re safe.” The person gently runs their hand down my hair while the other rubs a spot on my lower back. My body contorts into their comforting embrace, and I lean my head back to see who it is. Grey. His lips are slanted in his usual devil-may-care smirk, and his voice is raspy yet soft when he says, “Good morning, Princess.”

  “Good morning, Grey.” I stifle a smile and look around. I flinch and close my eyes when they meet a single beam of sunlight pouring into the room between the blinds. I sit back against the wall behind me and close my eyes and rub the closed lids. “How did I get here?”

  The last thing I remember from last night is drinking a shot. After that…nothing. I rub my head, which feels like pricks and needles have settled in, and yawn.

  “And why are you here?” I question, glancing at him as he watches me with a peculiar expression. I stop mid-yawn and look around anxiously.

  “What? Did I…did we…” I discreetly lift up the covers, praying I didn’t do anything like give him my virginity or my first kiss.

  His large hands stop me from checking, and he tilts his head and slightly narrows his black eyes. He says, “Don’t worry, I didn’t take anything from that rusty chastity belt.” He winks, and my cheeks warm up. I smack his arm away, and he laughs.

  “Okay, but do you mind telling me what happened?” A singing bell makes me groan. Did his laugh just do that?

  “Oh, nothing,” he says. “You drank a lot of liquor, danced on a table; I saved you from grimy hands, and you proposed to me.” He shows me a glimmering ring on his ring finger with a bat of his eyelashes.

  I choke on air. “I did what?” I exclaim, feeling my heart skip a beat. I knew drinking could make you do foolish things, but I didn’t think it could make you do something as foolish as this. I wonder if the divorce court is open early…

  He erupts in fits of laughter and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, that was way too easy. Jaimie left that.” He wiggles the silver band off his finger and tosses it onto Julia’s bed. He kicks up his foot on the bed and shows me his teeth in a nefarious smile. “But you have to admit, I got you pretty damn good.”

  I pounce on him, smacking his arm repeatedly, which he responds to with joyous laughter; I immediately regret it. “Why does everything hurt?” I fall back into my spot and clutch my head. It feels like someone’s pounding a hammer against my head.

  “You, my lovely princess, are experiencing your very first hangover,” he says, and I moan and shake my head. “Unless this isn’t the first time. Then I’d have to be such a douche for misjudging you.”

  I glare at him shortly before attempting to stand. “This is the first time, trust me.” I wrap my arms around my stomach. “Is it normal to taste bile?” The metallic, bright taste of bile lingers on my tongue. The moment my feet touch the ground and I’m upright, my stomach rumbles and I feel my head split into two. “I think I’m going to vomit.”

  “You mean like last night?” He nods to a bucket on my right. The sickness in my chest bubbles even more, and I glare at him. He rubs the back of his neck. “Might’ve been a bad idea to show the vomit-ee the actual vomit, huh?”

  “You think?” I sit back on the bed and pull the bucket in front of me. “What exactly did I do last night?” I groan, words echoing throughout the metal bucket.

  I know I do not look attractive and probably borderline gross, but I couldn’t care less. It’s not like he’s of any importance to me. What I can’t figure out, though, is why I would get so messed up. I would never put a bottle of any kind of alcohol to my lips. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember why I did it last night.

  “Can’t tell you all of it,” is his lame response.

  I look at him and find him chewing on his bottom lip with a twitch of a smirk. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know why I drank in the first place? Or…how I got here?” I lift my head and look around. Something happened here last night. I don’t know how, but I can
feel it in my bones. And his hesitance to tell me exactly what makes me more than a little nervous.

  “Nothing,” he says, a smile on his lips. “I saved you from a douche bag, brought you here, and stayed because I knew that would happen.” His eyes are a tell-tale sign that he’s lying.

  “You’re lying to me.”

  He lets out a winded breath and stands. “And you look like shit.” He holds out a hand. “Are we done stating facts, or are you going to take my hand?”

  “Depends,” I say, eyeing his hand then looking him square in the eyes. “Where are you taking me?”

  “To sponge bathe you, of course,” he says like I’m insane for not thinking that, when really, he’s the insane one. Not me.

  I slap his hand away, and he laughs. “You will do no such thing. I can shower myself, thank you very much.” I push to my feet and instantly regret it.

  My stomach lurches forward, and so does my body. He catches me, while inside my head, tiny fragments of my mind swirl around within my skull. The pain is indescribable, and a blinding headache is formulating its wicked plan to invade my brain.

  I let out an agonizing groan and squeeze his forearms. “My head,” is all I can get out.

  “I know, I know. A possible concussion and gallons of liquor can do that to a person.” Before I can protest, his hands meet with my bare thighs, and I’m in his arms—bridal style. All I can do is cradle my head and grip his leather jacket with my small hands.

  “Why is there a sock around my head? Better question, whose sock is this exactly?” I question as he exits the room and starts for the bathroom. When I pull my hand back, there’s a slight trace of blood. My eyes widen, and I look at him, ready to ask question after question, but he talks before I can get any words out.

  “You were dancing pretty hardcore on a table, I mentioned that, right?” He draws his eyebrows together as he looks down at me. I lift an eyebrow while my heart pounds, because one, I was dancing at a party—who am I becoming?—and two, he saw me. He shakes his head and shrugs. “Anyway, you’re there shaking your ass and proposing your undying love for me and yada, yada. Before you can seal the deal after your proposal of marriage, you hit your head and, well, yeah. That’s about it.” He says it like that sort of stuff happens every day. In his world, maybe, but definitely not in mine.