I’m guessing from Lyra’s question, she didn’t request for her brother to bring extra food for me, so now I don’t know what to think. I was under the impression yesterday that he was a bit of a hateful brute. If he brought me something of his own accord, out of the kindness of his heart, that kind of challenges my initial perspective. It might be a small act of kindness, insignificant to some even, but to me it means a lot. So, he’s sinfully sexy AND thoughtful?
“Uh, wow. Thank you. I was really dreading this,” I reply, holding up my smashed peanut butter sandwich. He takes it from my hand and examines it in scrutiny, before tossing it in the nearby wastebasket.
“That’s horseshit. You’re going to love that Portobello Mushroom sandwich though. Lyra told me yesterday that you’d never tried one,” he explains before turning to his sister. “Yours is a Chef salad. Didn’t think you’d want the same thing two days in a row,” he tells her.
She begins dressing her salad as they jump straight into a discussion centered around an upcoming doctor’s appointment for their father. Not interested in eavesdropping on their dad’s health issues, I open my sandwich wrapper, taking a huge bite. The Portobello Mushroom is so deliciously juicy that some tasty goodness oozes out and mixes with the honey mustard dressing, dripping down my chin. Normally I’m careful to eat in a restrained and refined manner, Mom’s taught me to be that way, but the sandwich is so dang good I don’t even care.
Half of it is devoured before I even realize how barbaric and out of hand my eating habits have gotten. Embarrassed, I steal a glance about to investigate whether either of them have caught on to my lapse in etiquette. Lyra is too wrapped up in eating her own food, but wouldn’t you just know Gray is standing there, eyes on me, as if he’s watching a show. He grins a wolfish grin and I quickly fish out a napkin to take care of the mess all over my face.
“Obviously, this is really delicious. Good choice,” I compliment. “And, thank you. How much was this so I can reimburse you?” I ask earnestly, reaching for my wallet inside my purse.
“Nothing. Consider us even for last night’s meal. Although,” he pauses thoughtfully, “this may not even cover it. I might still owe you,” he teases, and I beam up at him for the compliment.
Yesterday morning, I never would have believed that the same asshole from the hallway would be bringing me lunch today. Life’s funny like that.
“Well, I should be going before one of the school bureaucrats flip out on us and charge me with trespassing. Enjoy that,” he smiles mischievously in my direction, as if he’s still envisioning my embarrassing mishap of losing myself in the throes of passionate eating.
He must think I was raised in a barn, I think to myself as I try to withhold the tiny sliver of pale blush creeping across my cheeks.
“Bye sis, I’ll catch you when you get out of school. Just remember, if I hadn’t caught you driving without a seatbelt this weekend, you could have driven yourself today,” he dutifully chastises, as he turns and strides back toward his ride.
Those blue jeans of his, there are no words.
Lyra huffs and then mutters, “Asshole.” It’s got to be frustrating being a high-school girl who lives with two grown men who have no other woman around to soften their demeanor. Poor girl’s probably under lock-and-key, but in this day and age, it’s never a bad idea to have someone else watching your back.
Using the snippets of information provided here and there, I’ve come up with a theory. Charles, their father, is still reeling over the injuries sustained during the accident. With trying to rehabilitate his injuries on top of a messed up sleeping schedule stemming from his medication, it’s nearly impossible for him to be the involved parent his teenage daughter needs. Gray’s probably just stepping into the role of parental authority to let his sister understand someone cares for her, and that she should endeavor to do her best academically and morally or there will be consequences. Much like my mom does for me.
“He just loves you, girl,” I speak up to reassure her, but it only causes her to roll her eyes in contempt.
“Apparently, he’s loving the fact I’m not a loner anymore, he brought you lunch to bribe you into sticking around to keep me company,” she remarks in a slightly bitter way that leads me to believe she’s upset with me.
What did I do? Could I have handled the situation incorrectly? Should I have refused lunch from him to make her happy? I’m not up to par with social niceties and expectations of behavior, so I could be doing a lot of things wrong for all I know.
Our blooming friendship is like a weak and under-developed seedling. There are hardly any established roots, but with the right environment, nutrients, and TLC, it’ll flourish. However, in the early stages, any wrong choice will crush it. Lyra comes to terms with something of the same nature surprisingly quick, realizing her biting tone holds the potential of hurting my feelings.
“God, I’m sorry, Sloane. You must think I’m an awful person, being rude when you haven’t done anything. It’s just, you have no idea how they smother me, like, all the time! Dad has Gray to do his bidding. He just sits there, pointing a finger like ‘Gray do this,’ and ‘Gray make sure your sister doesn’t misbehave and—while you’re at it how about making sure she doesn’t have any fun,’” she says in exasperation.
What she’ll never know, is just how closely I can relate to having to deal with someone who controls everything you do, while everyone else does their bidding. “Having to deal” would be the incorrect phrase now that I think about it… there was no dealing with the situation at all but rather just accepting what was.
My father harnesses the power of the dozens of men he commands, and he yields that power when and how he deems fit. They say with the right man in your life, you’ll flourish and become a better version of yourself. All my dad every did for my mom, was keep her caged like a beautiful exotic bird, her beauty and spirit dimming with each passing day because of it. One of my proofs that love is a lie.
“It’s cool. You have no idea how much my Mom does the same thing to me,” I attempt to be sympathetic. “Oh, Miss Laurent was inquiring about you today, making sure you were doing okay. Apparently, your brother and her… they grew up together?” I probe.
“Awe, I love her. She’s the sweetest,” she gushes before answering my question. “Yeah, she and Gray grew up together and were really good friends. I almost think they had some unrequited love thing going on, but that might have just been me wishing she could be my sister. Anyhow, Gray has never been serious about any girl that I know of,” she sighs, focusing on something from her past before her eyes spark with mischief.
“Oh my GOD! You’ve given me the BEST idea!” she exclaims exuberantly. “Why don’t I try to push Gray and Miss Laurent at each other, not only because they’d be an adorable couple, but also because he’ll be busy with her and not looming over me all the time. Grace and Gray sounds like the perfect couple name. We could call them Grayce. You have to help me, Sloane.”
Grayce? Seriously?
Gray and Grace sound more like the names of a set of twins.
“Um, sure. Yeah. Okay,” I bleakly reply, unsure how our conversation had veered so drastically off course. What the FUCK was I thinking? Mine and Lyra’s friendship is making great progress and I have no desire to do anything to hinder that. She is, after all, my first and only friend. The idea of messing that up is unsettling.
But the thought of actively attempting to set up Gray with Miss Laurent, for some curious reason, goes from making me feel queasy to feeling like I’ve just undergone a punch to the gut.
Chapter Seven
At the end of the day Lyra and I accompany each other out to the senior parking lot. On the way, we chat about typical topics discussed among teenage girls (although I’m not your typical girl, so this is new to me). I find out Lyra has a crush on someone, but she refuses to tell me who. The conversation is all of about two sentences long.
“Are they that embarrassing?” I question earnestly.
“No, but it just doesn’t make sense. Not to mention, my family wouldn’t approve.”
And that’s the end of that subject. As we near my Rav4, I spy her brother’s jeep, parked about 10 spaces down. We bid each other goodbye with a promise of texting later this evening, and I happily slide into the driver’s side of the SUV. All I can think about at this point in the day is how nice it’s going to be on the drive home. Time to think, decompress, and enjoy the only alone time I’ll get this evening.
I stick the key in the ignition, turning it over, only it doesn’t start up. The usual purring of the engine that would be expected has been replaced with an incessant clicking.
This cannot be happening.
I check over the interior lights, and vanity lights but they’re all fine. When I inspect the headlight switch, I find the problem. My dumbass left them on, a rookie mistake that I’ll never hear the end of.
I’ve just created the possibility of a worse-case scenario where Mom and I are stranded in different locations and unable to flee at a moment’s notice should she get word that our location or identities have been compromised.
She’ll probably not ever let me use the car on my own again.
I’ve got to think fast and buy myself some time. Glancing in Lyra’s direction, I’m relieved to find she’s just climbing into the jeep. Frantically pulling out my cell, I go through my contacts which doesn’t take long considering ‘Lyra’ and ‘Mother’ are the only ones existing as of yet. I hit ‘send’ as I grab my purse and spring from the vehicle, making sure to hit the lock button as I go.
My sneakers smack against the pavement as I sprint in the direction of Gray’s jeep, phone pressed to my ear, and purse flapping behind me. I’m sure I’m an interesting scene to the other students nearby, but I could care less. My independence depends on if the Knightley’s can help me out of this mess. And Gray is definitely a southern manly-man, so surely he would have some jumper cables in his vehicle, right?
That’s my theory anyway.
Just as the Jeep begins to pull away, causing my steps to falter and all hope to subside, brake lights illuminate. The vehicle slams to a stop before being thrown in park in the middle of the lot. Breathless, I slowly jog up to Lyra’s window, as she begins rolling it down with an alarmed look on her face.
“Please tell me your brother has jumper cables. My mom is going to literally kill me. I’ll never get to drive myself anywhere again,” I plead.
Lyra looks over to her brother for his answer, making it evident she hasn’t the slightest clue what her brother has stocked in his vehicle.
“I should, yeah, but let me check and be sure. I moved a bunch of stuff around trying to detail and clean the other day,” he replies gruffly as he steps out. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but to admire the straight-shot view from the other side of the passenger window.
Those same dark wash jeans from earlier fit perfectly. Not too snug, but just enough to showcase his muscular thighs, and the fact the man is definitely in shape.
Walking to the rear of the Jeep with purpose, he opens it up, slinging items around as he searches for the cables. A minute or two later, he slams the door, returning to the driver’s side.
“Hop in,” he orders me, before explaining “I’m going to have to ride home and get it, then come back up here and jump it off for you.”
Humiliation gnaws at my conscience. He’s going to have to go through all this trouble for me because I was too stupid to make sure the lights were turned off. Now I’ve messed with not only my own schedule and plans, but someone else’s too.
“Thanks for doing this, and I’m sorry to take up so much of your time,” I sincerely express as I climb into the backseat. He meets my gaze in the rearview, and simply nods.
“Yeah, thanks for helping her out, bro. Just don’t forget to drop me off at work before you head to the house. My shift starts at 3:30, and I don’t want to be late,” Lyra reminds him.
Wait, what?
“We’ll get you there in time, don’t worry,” he promises as he shifts into gear, taking off. “Not that Mrs. Harrison would fire you.”
Holy mother of hotness. I’m going to be stuck with Gray by myself, for at least half an hour, probably more. Sweat seeps over my palms at the thought of spending alone time with the most good-looking male I’ve ever laid eyes on. This is going to be completely awkward. I can sense it already. I’m socially awkward as it is, unable to hold a conversation to save my life. With someone of his stature, I’m doomed.
“What do you do up at the supermarket?” I inquire, as we head in that direction.
“Mostly just side-work like stocking, cashiering, cleaning, or whatever else Mrs. Harrison needs,” Lyra explains, touching up her make-up in the mirror in preparation for her shift.
So, that explains the air of familiarity the old lady projected during our conversation yesterday.
“Text me or I’ll die of boredom,” Lyra decrees, smearing another layer of lipstick on as Gray pulls up to the front of the store.
“Oh, you can bet on that. We have a conversation to pick up on. The one before we parted ways in the school parking lot…” I hint. I’m curious to find out who this mysterious subject is that she’s crushing on. I witness the widening of her eyes in an adorable way, as she opens the door and gets out, leaving it open for me.
Not wanting to feel like I’m being chauffeured around and completely helpless, I take her place. Gray remains silent, pretending I don’t exist as I throw one last retort to his sister before she walks in to work.
“Don’t forget, you’re the only one who knows my last whereabouts and who I was with, if your brother decides to murder me,” I half-joke, glancing over at Gray who is sporting a stony expression. Lyra laughs.
At least someone thinks I’m funny.
“See ya,” she waves, still giggling as we pull away, watching her tiny retreating form shuffle slowly towards the store entrance as she messes with her phone. Moments later my phone pings with a text message from her.
Lyra: Don’t poke the bear too much. He was already in a foul mood for some reason when he picked me up. Although, he’s a big softy so don’t take any of his shit either. :)
Me: Point taken. Ceasing and desisting of all bear-poking. Scout’s honor.
I stifle a giggle, and glance over at Gray, and dammit if he isn’t cutting his eyes in my direction too. He probably suspects it’s his sister texting, and who else would we be talking about but him?
“Something amusing?” he asks, sounding irritated.
I try to hide my smile. “Nope.” Slipping my ballet flats off my tired and blistered feet, I lay them in the floorboard, pulling up my legs to sit cross-legged in the seat.
We ride wordlessly for a few more minutes before the silence becomes deafening, my frustrated ears begging for some tunes. My eyes land delightfully on his Sirius radio, so I reach over and begin quickly pressing buttons as I search for some tuneage. I peruse the content until I locate a station tailored for those who love 80’s hits, and I immediately begin jamming out.
As the current song fades away, the tune to “Crazy for You” by Madonna (which is my all-time favorite song by the Queen of Pop), begins to flow through the speakers and I can’t help but squeal. After a few moments I begin singing. Even though I suck at it, I’ve always loved singing. And this is Madonna. How can anyone resist?
“I’ve never wanted anyone like thiiiis… It’s sooo brand new,” I belt out the chorus, as my arm rides the wave of wind coming in through my window. For the first time in days I’m relaxed, my mood settling to a peaceful calm.
As the last words of the song begin, it hits me. I just sang the entire thing completely forgetting that the hottest guy in the world is sitting in the seat next to me.
Oh. My. God.
Can I do anything more humiliating? Don’t answer that Universe, I couldn’t handle one-upping my own self. Snapping my mouth shut abruptly, I do my best to feign ignorance.<
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“Enjoy that one, do you?” Gray’s teasing voice is like velvet, soothing me and winding me up tight at the same time.
I shrug in response, but can’t control my nervous tick. Twiddling the end of my ponytail, I attempt to focus on anything else.
“Well don’t be embarrassed, give us some more,” he taunts, his pale brown eyes dancing in amusement.
“Oh, screw you. It’s a good song. Anyone in their right mind loves Madonna,” I grate out.
“If you’re not going to sing, I’m just going to turn it off. Those are the stipulations, and you’ve already gotten away with more than you know. I don’t EVER let anyone mess with the radio,” he informs me with a wink.
Does he have any idea of the effect he has on women?
“Not an option,” I assert.
There’s no way he’s getting another free ticket to the comedy show. I might love to sing, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I can carry a tune.
When we finally reach the shared driveway leading to our homes, I feel like I’m about to spontaneously combust from nerves.
“Do you need to go talk to your mom?” he asks as we near the fork in the road.
“Um, no. The whole point was so that she doesn’t find out I did something so stupid as to run the battery dead. She’s never given me this much time with the car to myself.”
“But isn’t she going to expect you home at any time?”
He does have a point there. I motion in the direction of his house as I pick my phone up out of my lap and begin texting my mom, letting her know that I’m driving Lyra home. I buy extra time by informing her of our plans to stop by the grocery store for a few items Lyra needs before she goes home. Not totally misleading, but not quite true either. This is the first time I think I’ve ever fibbed to my mom, and I’m surprised it came so easily.
Mom: Okay, be careful. ILY.
Leave it to Mom to be on par with all today’s trends, including text-lingo.
Me: Ly2.
Gray pulls closer to the barn than the house, and throws the gear in park.
Love on the Run Page 8