Rm w/a Vu

by A. D. Ryan

  Oh, who am I kidding? Rash or not, Greyston still has that effect on me.

  Leaning in, he places a gentle kiss on my jaw, just below my ear, before running his finger faintly along the length of my neck. “It’s really not so bad,” he tells me, reaching for my right arm and pushing the sleeve of my shirt up to my elbow. “See?”

  It takes a minute, but I’m finally able to tear my eyes away from the line of his jaw—where I’d been intently focused since the minute he started checking out my neck. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he’s right; the rash isn’t too bad. It’s still worse than I’d prefer—because I’d prefer no rash—but it’s not quite as inflamed as it has been in the past.

  “Go take care of yourself. I’ll be down here when you finish up.” He stands up straight, after giving me one final peck on the lips, and turns me toward the stairs.

  “Okay. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  Once upstairs, I close myself in my washroom and start the shower. I pull my shirt off and lean in toward the mirror to get a closer look at my neck. Thankfully, it’s barely noticeable, which means I’ll be able to walk around with it barely covered in order to help clear it up. If it had been any worse, there would have been little to no chance I’d leave my room for as long as it took.

  As I strip down, I notice that the rash is mainly on my arms and neck with just a few very faint pink splotches on my chest. It’s so minimal that I’m confident I should be able to clear it up within a few days.

  I test the water to make sure it’s not too hot, because the last thing I want to do is exacerbate the problem, and step inside, closing the glass door behind me. The cool water feels even better on my skin, so I pull my hair off my neck and let the water wash over it for a few minutes before I lather up.

  After my shower, I pull on a tank top and my jean shorts before I take a couple of antihistamines and apply some cream to my arms and neck. I’m just finishing up and putting my lotion away when I realize that this day has done a total one-eighty since I woke up this morning.

  Even though I had felt pretty miserable that I had potentially ruined my relationship with Greyston, it was like we had actually opened a door to an entire world of possibilities. Then, when we stepped through that door together, everything else just fell into place. Sure, it took a minute to step around all of the crazy misconceptions we’d both formed about each other, but we eventually found our way.

  And then I ate strawberry-tainted crepes.

  “Stupid allergies,” I mutter, turning off my bathroom light and heading downstairs. The minute my bare feet hit the cool tile at the foot of the stairs, I call out for Greyston.

  “I’m in the living room, Juliette.”

  The TV’s not on as I wander into the living room, and there’s no music playing, either. It isn’t until I enter the room completely and look down from behind the couch that I see he’s laying on it. “What are you doing?”

  “Contemplating a nap, actually,” he replies, looking up at me with that crooked smirk.

  “Oh yeah?” I inquire, leaning on the couch back and staring down at him.

  He nods, raising his arm and offering me his hand. “Care to join me?”

  I don’t have to think about it long before I’m completely on board, because I’m still feeling pretty exhausted. “Now,” I say, placing my hand in his, “by nap, do you actually mean sleep?”

  Catching me completely off-guard, Greyston sits up quickly and pulls me over the back of the couch until I’m lying on top of him, laughing. “How are you feeling?” he asks, running his hands over my upper arms soothingly.

  “It’s not so bad,” I reply, pushing my wet hair back over my shoulder and overlapping my hands on his chest before resting my chin on them. “I’m just lucky it wasn’t more than trace amounts. This should clear up in a couple of days.”

  “That’s good.” Greyston’s hands move down my ribs, his thumbs grazing the sides of my breasts, before they glide over my back and come to a full stop on my ass. The right side of his mouth quirks up, as does his eyebrow. “I should probably tell you that these shorts are just plain cruel.” His fingers do a familiar little dance along the frayed edge of the denim, making me quiver.

  “Oh?” I inquire, and he simply nods, his fingers still trailing along the back of my thigh. “Well, I can go change if they’re going to pose a problem.” I’m only teasing, but Greyston reacts as though I might actually follow through.

  His hands grip my ass firmly, trying to hold me in place, but only making me think about taking him on the couch right now. “Don’t even think about it.”

  I place a soft kiss on his lips and sigh contentedly. “This is nice. Why didn’t we see this for what it was earlier?”

  Greyston chuckles and brings a hand up to play with the length of my damp hair. “I’m kind of surprised you didn’t, actually. Especially when I came to your parents’ place for dinner. I was an absolute mess.” He pauses, looking contemplative for a moment before smirking. “God, when you licked that whipped cream off your finger, I thought I was done for.”

  Blushing, I give Greyston a little shrug. “Would it make you feel better if I admit that seeing you do the same thing almost made me pass out?” I pause briefly before continuing. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

  He sighs. “I wanted to—so many times—but you’d just gotten out of a relationship, and I didn’t want to complicate our situation any more than I knew it would already be due to how I was starting to feel about you.” He laughs lightly. “And then you kept talking about Toby, and I just assumed…well, you already know what I thought.”

  My body chooses that moment to remind me just how worn out it still is, and I yawn. “Oh, sorry,” I mumble through it.

  “Don’t be. You’re still exhausted, and I promised you a nap.” He strokes my hair, and the sensation of his fingers on my scalp lulls my eyes shut. I feel his lips on my forehead before he rolls us both over so we’re lying on our sides, facing each other.

  Even though the couch is more than wide enough for the two of us, I intertwine my legs with his and drape my arm over his waist to anchor me to him while we sleep. With his strong arms wrapped solidly around my upper body, I fall into the deepest sleep I’ve ever had.

  When I wake the next morning, I go to my ensuite to wash up before heading downstairs to start breakfast. I tie my hair back and inspect my rash, fortunately seeing that it’s already clearing up. The bigger splotches are mostly gone, and some small, upraised pink spots remain. It’s a relief.

  I take a couple more antihistamines and rub more cream on my neck and arms before washing my hands and brushing my teeth. Ready to start my day, I put my toothbrush back in its holder and head down to the kitchen to start breakfast.

  I dig through the fridge and pantry for a few minutes before ultimately deciding on pancakes. Once I’ve gathered all of the ingredients, I put a frying pan on the stovetop to warm while I start mixing the batter. I add a dash of cinnamon to them, because my mom always does, and pour the first two onto the pan.

  The sliding door opens as I pour the next couple of pancakes into the pan, and I turn to see Greyston walking in, drying his hair in his big fluffy towel. I may get a little distracted by the beads of water that are dripping from the ends of his hair and onto his shoulders. Of course, then they roll down his toned body in thin rivulets until they meet that sexy v-shaped muscle and disappear with it behind his trunks.

  “That smells amazing,” he says, coming up behind me. “Cinnamon?”

  “Yup. Mom makes them this way,” I explain, turning back to the pancakes.

  Greyston’s left hand comes to rest on my hip while the other trails over my neck and shoulder. “I can’t believe how much better this looks today.” I shiver when his hand continues down my arm and ensnares the other hip, and my hand clenches the spatula when his lips touch down just below my ear. “How was your sleep?” he asks in a gravelly voice, his warm breath fanning over my neck.

>   I sigh, letting my head fall to the side to allow him better access. “Good. Yours?”

  He kisses me again, just below the last spot. “Same,” he admits, turning me around to face him. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to fall asleep, knowing you are just across the hall?” His hands are now flat on my back, but his fingers are teasing the hemline of my shirt before they slip under.

  My brain goes a bit foggy as his fingers stroke the skin of my lower back, and I clear my throat. “I think I have a basic understanding about how hard it might have been.” It doesn’t dawn on me—what I’ve said, and moreover, how he took it—until Greyston smirks and his eyebrow arches suggestively. This is all it takes for me to push through the lusty haze. “You’re filthy,” I tease, poking his wet, naked chest. “That’s not what I meant.” With a laugh, I turn to flip the pancakes.

  Greyston chuckles, resting his chin on my shoulder so he can watch me. “How long do I have until breakfast, beautiful?”

  It’s the first time he’s called me by anything other than my name, and I have to admit, it makes me a little weak-kneed. “About fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay, I’m going to go and hop in the shower,” he informs me, kissing my shoulder softly before heading toward the door. “I’ll be right down.”

  “Sounds good.”

  True to his word, Greyston returns fresh from his shower within the fifteen-minute timeframe I gave him, dressed in dark jeans and a Cardinals jersey. He looks pretty damn delicious, and I almost forget about breakfast entirely.

  Snapping out of it as Greyston opens the fridge and reaches for the OJ and maple syrup, I pull the last two pancakes from the pan and plate them while he takes his seat. Smiling, I place his food in front of him and sit down. “What time is the game today?” I ask, laying my napkin on my lap.

  “One,” he replies, pouring syrup on his pancakes. “Your parents will meet us there between twelve and twelve-thirty.”

  I laugh. “I bet my dad’s been up for hours. He’s probably stoked for today.”

  Greyston takes his first bite, and I wait to see what he thinks. His eyes close, and he moans while he chews. It probably shouldn’t, but his reaction to my cooking has a very visceral effect on me, and I’m right back to wading through a fog of lust. “This is amazing.”

  “Thanks,” I reply softly, turning to my own breakfast and trying to think of a topic of conversation that can help distract me. I decide to ask about Xander’s trip. It turns out that Greyston wants to show Xander the area, maybe invite him over for dinner.

  “That could be fun,” I tell him. Then I remember how Daphne was drooling over his picture the other day, and I smile. “Daphne will be excited to hear he might be moving to the area if he signs with the Diamondbacks.”

  Greyston laughs. “Well, let’s not overwhelm the poor guy. And if you have any ideas on some fun things we could do, feel free to suggest them.”

  “Fun?” I question, looking at him with an arched eyebrow. “You know who you’re talking to, right? I’m the polar opposite of fun, remember?”

  “Juliette, please,” he scoffs. “I may have only just met you, but I can tell you know how to have fun.”

  Smiling, I reach over and pat his jean-clad knee. “You’re so adorable when you think you’re right.” He chuckles. “I’ll try to think of something. Maybe tell me a bit about him.”

  “Well, he’s fresh out of college—but you already knew that. His dad served in the army, and up until about two years ago, he thought he wanted to enlist.” Greyston goes on to tell me what he knows about Xander, and I try to think of what we could do before it suddenly comes to me.

  “Paintballing,” I tell him. “You should go paintballing.”

  “You want me to take my baseball-playing client paintballing?” he asks.

  I nod excitedly; it’s been forever since I’ve been, and I kind of hope he’ll invite me. “Yeah. It’ll be fun! My dad knows a great place. We used to go all the time when I was younger.”

  “You,” Greyston starts, “used to go paintballing with your dad?”

  “Sure,” I tell him. “Come on, you said you wanted to do something fun.”

  Greyston thinks about my suggestion for a moment before finally nodding. “All right. I’ll talk to Toby and see what he thinks, but something tells me he’ll be all over it.” He pauses briefly. “You’ll join us, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him, standing up and grabbing our empty plates. “Who knows, maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”

  “Oh, I bet you can,” Greyston replies cheekily from his seat.

  Placing the plates in the sink and turning it on, I look back over my shoulder. “Behave yourself.”

  Greyston leans forward on the counter and shrugs. “Doubtful.”

  Once the dishes are done, and the kitchen is clean, I excuse myself to go and get dressed so we can head out for the game soon. I’m actually pretty psyched; it’s the first football game I’ve ever been to.

  “Dress a little warmer,” Greyston calls after me. “It’s not an open stadium, but you might still get a little chilly since it’s supposed to be a bit cooler today.”

  “Thanks.” Knowing this, I decide on a pair of light blue jeans, a white long-sleeved t-shirt, and my black Chucks.

  The drive to the stadium isn’t very long, and we’re early enough that we find decent parking right away. As I unbuckle my seatbelt, Greyston rushes around to open my door for me, making me smile. I place my hand in his outstretched one and let him help me out. “Thanks.”

  “Juliette!”

  I turn around to see Mom and Dad walking across the lot toward us, and wave. “Hey! How was your morning?” I hug them both before we walk together toward the entrance.

  “Your dad’s been pretty excited all morning. He was up before dawn,” Mom teases, nudging my dad with her elbow.

  “Give a guy a break,” Dad grumbles good-naturedly. “You’d be just as excited if this was Cirque du Soleil, Anne.”

  Mom loops her arm through my dad’s and leans in to kiss his cheek. They talk amongst themselves, nuzzling noses and whatnot while we walk, so I stop paying attention. Instead, I take Greyston’s hand and lace our fingers together, leaning on his shoulder as we pass through the doors.

  “They sure are passionate,” Greyston says, reaching into his back pocket for the tickets before handing them over to be scanned.

  “Yup,” I agree, trying not to think about their…passion. “It’s great, because I know they’re incredibly happy, but you have to be careful because they go from zero to kinky in seconds.” Greyston laughs loudly. “You laugh now, but you can’t un-see the things I’ve been subjected to.”

  “Should we grab a bite to eat before we find our seats?” Dad suggests.

  We all decide that’s a good idea and head toward the concession. My parents stand in front of us, Mom’s arm still looped through Dad’s, and wait their turn. I’m looking up at the menu, trying to decide what I feel like having, when I feel Greyston’s body press up against my back. His arms wrap around my body, and he rests his chin on my shoulder, kissing my cheek before reading the menu boards too.

  “I don’t know what I want,” I confess. “What’s good?”

  “I’m a fan of the hotdogs,” he responds.

  “Yeah?” He nods against my shoulder. “Okay then.”

  Mom and Dad step away from the concession with their food; Mom opted for a slice of pizza, and Dad got a hamburger. When they turn around and see Greyston’s arms wrapped around me as we wait in line, they smile—yes, even Dad.

  Greyston must notice too, because he gives me a gentle squeeze and kisses my cheek again before we step up to the cashier and order. We each get a hotdog and decide to share a soft drink. I flinch when I see the price of our food, but Greyston doesn’t, paying for it all with a smile before picking up our cardboard tray and leading the way to our seats.

  There are already tons of people in their seats, and Dad seems
like he’s losing his mind as we follow Greyston down the aisle. I can’t understand why; everything he says makes absolutely no sense to me because I don’t know a damn thing about football.

  “You didn’t say the tickets were on the fifty-yard line, Greyston,” he says.

  Chuckling, Greyston leads us down a row that’s about thirty rows back from the front one. “I had to keep a little mystery between us, Cam.”

  While we finish eating, Dad and Greyston start talking football, and Mom and I try to keep up. I’m picking up bits and pieces—touchdowns, kickoffs, four downs—but I’m still feeling beyond lost. I mean, I understand some of it, but until I see it happening in front of me, I don’t know that I’ll fully grasp it. And even then I know I’ll have questions.

  The game is set to start in less than a half-hour, and the crowd is simply buzzing. Looking around, I’m kind of astounded by the number of football jerseys in the stadium. It makes me want one.

  “Hey,” I say, placing my hand on Greyston’s knee. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He looks confused, standing when I stand and placing a hand on my waist. “Where are you going? Do you want me to come with you?”

  I laugh, pressing my palm to his chest. “No, That’s okay. I’ll be right back. If I get lost, I’ll text you to come find me.”

  Nodding, he leans in to give me a kiss and then lets me pass. On my way, I let my parents know I’ll be back and then head out of the seating area. I’m not sure where I have to go exactly, but there’s enough people milling about the area that I should be able to get directions.

  I stop the first couple I see, and they gladly point me in the right direction. Thankfully, it’s not too far from where I came from, so I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding my way back.

  When I reach the front of the line, I see that they have two different styles: one that’s mostly red, and another that’s mostly white with red sleeves. I mull it over for a couple of minutes before deciding on the white one. I thank the salesperson for basically robbing me blind, and then take my new jersey to the washroom so I can put it on.