Grayson: A Bad Boy Romance

by Love, Amy

  He’d been the first boy to tell her that she was beautiful and that she could do anything, be anyone. He was the one who had planted the seed in her mind to get out of Philly, to leave the old neighborhood and pursue her dreams, whatever they might be. In the short time they spent together, he had gotten to know her more than anyone. It was a feeling that she missed, that feeling of being totally and completely on the same page. She’d dated men since and no one compared, no one made her feel anything even close to the way that he had, and she’d grown to hate him for it. She hated him for ruining her for anyone else and for leaving her wanting, needing him.

  They’d shared exactly one kiss, and now, ten years later, it was still burned into her memory. He had held her face between his hands and kissed her so tenderly that she felt like she might cry. It was the best kiss she’d ever had before or since. When they’d finally said goodnight, he had looked at her as if he were desperate to say something more, but he held back, afraid of something. She had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right, that something had changed, but her knees were so weak from the kiss that she wasn’t really thinking straight. She should have asked him how he felt about her, if he was alright, if there was something he wanted to tell her. But the only thing that came to her mind was her own desperate need to see him again, to be near him again, to kiss him again.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Months later she would obsess over the desperate way she had asked the question, wondering if that was the reason things had gone so wrong. She had overanalyzed that night so many times, it was hard to remember what was real and what she had just wanted to believe. But there was one thing that she was sure of…he hadn’t answered her question. He’d just smiled at her, a little sadly, and walked away from her. She hadn’t seen him again. He hadn’t even turned up to his own graduation.

  GRAYSON

  Boredom isn’t an emotion that most men would feel in a club like this, surrounded by hot women and pumping music. But that’s exactly how Grayson feels. The place has a great vibe, but it’s no different from any number of other clubs he’s been in a hundred times before. The girls that have flooded their part of the VIP area are the typical hangers-on; bottle blondes with tight little gym-honed, surgically-enhanced bodies.

  One particular blonde had been hanging around him all night, making any excuse to touch him, letting her hand linger with the promise of more. Her lips are oversized with that collagen-pumped look, but there was no denying she was cute.

  “That girl is eye-ball fucking you like there’s no tomorrow, man.” Tommy’s voice in his ear is a little slurred, as he nods towards the blonde on the other side of the couch. He has a girl draped over him like a bad suit, and the other guys are similarly engaged.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Grayson stands up slowly, motioning for the girl to follow him. What was her name? She’d told him earlier. Stacie? Candy? It didn’t really matter.

  “That’s my man!” Tommy nods in approval, as Grayson leads the blonde to a cordoned off section of the VIP area. It’s empty and dark and perfect for what he’s planning.

  He settles himself on the white leather couch and the bimbo takes a seat beside him, sitting so close she’s almost on top of him. “So, what are we doing back here, G?” She bats her eyelashes at him coquettishly, as her manicured hands start stroking from his chest down over his abs. She almost purrs as her hand skims his muscular torso.

  “What do you want to do?” He looks at her with one eyebrow raised.

  “How about you take me back to your place, and I’ll show you exactly what I want to do with you?” She flips her hair, looking at him with eyes full of lust.

  She wants him badly; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. But Grayson has no intention of taking her home; it’s something he avoids whenever possible. It’s always too much of a hassle to kick them out the next morning. They always give him that expectant look, like they’re waiting for him to ask them to stay, as if he hadn’t made it clear that it was just a one-night thing. It always makes him feel like a jerk, but he also always manages to reason with himself that he has never made these girls any promises, whatever they have expected to happen is on them.

  “Maybe some other time.” Grayson moves to get up, but she pushes him gently back onto the couch.

  “Hey baby, don’t be that way. You know how I feel about you, Grayson.” She looks at him with intent, as she maneuvers herself to sit on top of him.

  Her skirt has ridden up enough for him to see the little black panties she’s wearing. He feels a stirring in his groin, as she moves her ass over his lap. As he gets harder, she smiles knowingly at him, proud that she’s had this effect on him. He doesn’t want to spoil her buzz by telling her that getting him hard isn’t exactly mission impossible, especially when it’s been a couple of weeks since he last got laid. He’s been so focused on training for the fight, everything else has gone on the back burner, even sex.

  “You like that, baby? You like what Tammy does to you?” She paws at him through his pants, feeling his hardening shaft.

  Tammy, that’s what her name was! At least he didn’t have to make it up anymore. “What else you got, Tammy?” He looks at her with that lop-sided grin of his that he knows from experience sends women a little crazy.

  She smiles at him, looking around her to make sure no one can see them and giggles naughtily. “You’re a bad boy, G.” She rubs her body along his, as she slides down to the floor kneeling between his legs. But she’s not kidding anyone. He knows that this isn’t her first time giving a guy head in a public place; it’s written all over her face. As she unzips him and reaches into his pants to take hold of his shaft, she positions herself expertly so that they’re blocked from the view of any prying gazes.

  Her eyes go wide as she sees how big he is. It’s a reaction he’s used to. She looks a little uncertain, but the way that she licks her lips and wriggles her ass tells him that she’s on board.

  “Such a big boy.” She looks up at him to make sure he’s watching her as she dips her head down to take him into her mouth.

  Grayson watches, as she goes to work on him, licking, sucking, and teasing his cock. She’s good; she knows how to work his shaft as she suckles on his tip like a popsicle. She moans, as he raises his hips slightly, inviting her to take even more of him into her mouth. He puts his hand on her head, guiding her as she bobs up and down on his cock. It doesn’t take long before he feels the tingling sensation in his balls, and he knows he’s close.

  “I’m gonna come.” He gets the words out through gritted teeth, and Tammy pulls back, releasing his cock from her mouth and working his shaft with her hands as he spurts his load.

  It had been quick, but it had been what he needed. He takes a few deep breaths, laying his head back, eyes closed, trying to bask a little in the after-effect of his orgasm. He can hear Tammy rifling through her bag, probably looking for some Kleenex to clean herself off.

  “So are we going back to your place or what? I’ve never been to a pro-fighter’s home.” Tammy’s nasal voice pierces through his peace and reminds him that there’s no way he’s taking her home. He knows her type, she isn’t interested in him, she is interested in the status that comes with fucking a quasi-celebrity. His name is about to explode on the MMA scene, and that means there are more and more wannabes trying to take what they can from him. He can spot a taker a mile away, he just has to compare them to his dad.

  Tammy would probably be disappointed if she sees his house anyway; it isn’t anywhere near as flashy as she is imagining. Most of his money goes to paying off an old debt, and another chunk goes to help out his mom and his sister, who he is supporting through college. What is left he spends on trying to forget—be that fast cars, women, or whatever he needs to fill that gaping hole inside of him.

  He opens his eyes and looks down at her, still kneeling between his legs. He tucks himself back in and zips up his pants—suddenly feeling disgusted at what he’s
just done. It’s sordid and seedy; he’s used her as glorified masturbation. She doesn’t mean anything to him; she’s only a means to an end.

  “Not tonight, Tammy. I’ve got training early in the morning.” He smiles winningly at her, trying to take the sting out of his brush-off.

  “I just had your dick in my mouth, Grayson, and you’re not even going to ask for my number?” She looks at him in shock, as if he’s broken some unwritten rule.

  “You don’t want my number, Tammy. Trust me, you don’t want to get involved with a guy like me.” It is probably the only true thing that he has said to her all night. “Tommy, on the other hand, he’s a good guy.” Grayson nods towards his friend who is reveling in all the attention he’s getting. “How about you go buy him a birthday drink?” He peels off a hundred dollar bill and holds it out to her.

  She only hesitates for a moment before taking it and stuffing it into her cleavage. “I’m not a whore, you know. You don’t gotta pay me for the blow job.” She stands up, adjusting her tiny dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.

  He could point out that she doesn’t seem to have any problem with taking the cash, but what would be the point? He’s treated her like she’s there purely for his pleasure. The least he can do is buy her a drink and encourage her to transfer her attention onto Tommy, someone who will appreciate it at the very least.

  Grayson doesn’t respond. In truth, he’s already put her out of his mind. All he wants to do now is to get out of here. His gaze travels over the dance-floor below him, filled with bodies moving to the heavy hip-hop beat. But there’s one body in particular that catches his attention; a girl with long, dark, curly hair that shines like silk under the lights. He can only see her back, but there’s no escaping the fact that she’s got a killer body, a petite little hourglass that just begs you to touch her. The way she dances is fluid and effortlessly sexy, but completely natural. She’s not putting on a show for anyone, unlike most of the other girls in this place who are looking around to see who’s looking at them. He gets a little hypnotized by the way her dark hair sways as she moves. She reminds him of someone, someone long gone.

  Tammy’s eyes follow the direction of his stare, zeroing in on the girl that he’s blatantly focused on, and she feels herself needing that drink. “Asshole.” She says the word under her breath, clearly hoping to get a rise out of him, but Grayson couldn’t be any less interested in what she has to say. He’s vaguely aware that she makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and storms off towards the bar, heels clattering noisily along the floor.

  For a moment, he thinks about going after her, apologizing for behaving like such a heel, but what would be the point? He doesn’t want to give her any false hope; he’s not what you would call boyfriend material. He wonders when he’d become so cold, but he already knows the answer. It was after that night. He’d taken a life, and there was no going back from that. Besides, he can’t seem to pull his eyes away from the girl on the dancefloor. He’s grateful that from his vantage point he can see what’s going on beneath him, but he can’t be seen. He feels like a peeping tom. Speaking of which…

  “You alright, man?” Tommy collapses on the couch beside him. “Never seen a guy look so down after a few minutes in a dark corner with a chick like that.” He looks ruefully at his friend.

  “Not my type,” Grayson says and shrugs, forcibly pulling his focus away from the dancing girl.

  “You always say that. What exactly is your type then? It’s not like you don’t have your pick of them.” Tommy nods towards their section of the VIP area, which is filled with women, catering to all tastes. They dart looks over to Grayson, their eyes filled with longing. He knows that he wouldn’t need to make an effort to get any one of them into bed, but there was something vaguely depressing about that. He shrugs noncommittally, and Tommy shakes his head in confusion. “Yeah, it must totally suck to be Grayson Fletcher,” he jokes.

  There’s only a few years between them, but sometimes it feels like a lifetime. Tommy is his closest friend; his natural, youthful exuberance and sense of fun is a good antidote to Grayson’s serious, even dark, nature. There’s no doubt in Grayson’s mind that if Tommy knew what he’d done, what had happened in the ring all those years ago, and how he’d spent years after that as the pawn of a bookie—winning matches and losing them as he directed—that his friend would think less of him. It wouldn’t matter that Grayson had used the winnings to support his mom and his sister, throwing fights was still wrong. Plus, it went against everything they both loved about the sport. It was about two men meeting on equal terms and fighting as hard as they could to win. Throwing a match shouldn’t have been in his vocabulary. If Tommy knew about his past, he would cease to look up to him like he does, and the realization of that makes Grayson’s gut twist into a knot. He’s lost so much, he can’t lose his best friend, too.

  “Things aren’t always what they seem, Tommo,” Grayson gives his friend a conciliatory tap on the shoulder as he gets up. “I think I’ve had enough for one night, besides I’ve got a hot date with West and my running shoes in about,” he squints at his watch, “5 hours.”

  “You can’t leave now, G. The party’s just getting started!” Tommy nudges him hard, trying to distract him and goad him into a play fight.

  “G’dnight Tommy. Enjoy Tammy.” Grayson nods towards the girl who is fast approaching them with two drinks in her hand. He has no intention of sticking around for her to shoot him daggers as she tries to make him jealous with his best friend. He just wants Tommy to have a good time, you don’t turn twenty-five every day.

  He pushes his way through the inebriated crowd; the effect of the couple of beers he’s had already worn off. He’s being pushed in different directions by the dancing bodies, and he can feel his patience is wearing dangerously thin. Girls try to grind up against him as he passes, but he just brushes past them, heading towards the exit as fast as he can, suddenly desperate to get out of there. He hates the feeling of being trapped at the best of times, but that in combination with his anger at himself over the way he’d behaved with Tammy is proving to be a dangerous cocktail.

  He’s guiding a particularly drunk girl away from his crotch, as she’s trying to go all R Kelly on him, when he’s bumped from behind. He feels the telltale dampness through his t-shirt, telling him that someone has just spilled a drink on him. Grayson can feel his temper ratcheting up, his fists clench, as he tries to control his rage. He spins around, primed for action, ready to tell the asshole he should watch where he’s going or face the consequences. Then, every thought rushes out of his head, as he comes face to face with her, with the dark-haired girl who had caught his attention on the dance floor.

  ADRIANA

  Her mouth works but, for a few seconds, no sound comes out. She’s literally dumbstruck. It takes a few moments to pull herself together before she can speak the one word that she’d promised not to say out loud again. “Grayson?”

  Adriana can’t believe that the man in front of her is real. She’s spent so long thinking about him and then trying not to think about him that he’d become a dream rather than a real person. He’s still so tall she has to crane her neck up to look at him—despite wearing skyscraper heels. He has the same chestnut curly hair that she’d imagined running her fingers through a thousand times. His dark eyes still have a way of making you feel like you’re the only one in the room when he looks at you. There’s no doubt it’s him; the butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t deceive her even if her eyes might.

  He is the same Grayson, but oh so different. He’s broader, his whole body oozes muscular masculinity, and the tight t-shirt shows off some pretty impressive guns. His arms are snaked with tattoos; they run up from his wrist and disappear up his sleeve. Adriana has to resist the urge to think about what he looks like without his shirt on. His forehead seems to be locked into a frown that casts a shadow over his whole face, making him look far more serious than the rebellious boy she’d talked and laugh
ed with all those years ago. He is older, they both are, but it isn’t just in years. There is something about him she can’t quite put her finger on.

  Grayson stares at her silently; the angry expression on his face has disappeared, but in its place is blankness. Of course, she thinks, he’s forgotten who I am. It makes perfect sense; they’d known each other a long time ago after all. But it doesn’t make it any easier to accept that the man she has not been able to stop thinking about for close to a decade has no idea who she is.

  Adriana takes a deep breath and sticks her hand out for him to shake, as if they were in a business meeting, not in the middle of a trendy nightclub. “Adriana, from back in Philly. You used to walk me home sometimes.” She helpfully supplies an explanation of who she is, feeling more embarrassed by the second.

  Grayson’s expression is carefully unreadable, as he shakes her hand. She feels a jolt of recognition as soon as she touches him, the heat of him, reminding her of how he had made her feel a decade ago. She notices that all the women around her—and some of the men—have their attention trained on him. It’s not hard to see why. He’s like sex on a stick, and no one can take their eyes off of him. She feels like an idiot and breaks the shake, nervously tucking her long black hair behind her ear.