“A, uh … strawberry margarita, please. On the rocks.”
The waitress looked to Grayson.
“I think I’ll have the same. Switch it up a bit.” He smiled, and then peered back to his menu.
“Sure thing,” the waitress said.
His gaze followed after her as she made her way to the bar and whispered something into the bartender’s ear. “Just wait. I’m sure the manager will make their way over before the night is through, asking for a picture. I can never …” He let out a sigh with a small shake of his head. “I can never just be out … like a normal person.”
“What’s normal anyway?” I said, messing with my napkin. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll get a free meal out of it. One can’t complain when the tacos are free.”
He seemed to breathe in my words, ingesting them, and then leaned in. “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s exactly why I got in this business—for the free tacos.”
As my laughter simmered into a slow giggle, I found his gaze studying me with honest curiosity and looked away.
Another round of heat swarmed behind my cheeks.
“Here you go,” the waitress said as she placed our drinks in front of us. “You ready to order?”
I glanced at the unopened menu in front of me. “Can I get one of every meat?” I looked at him. “I figured I might as well try them all.”
He chuckled. “She’s right. Why not try them all? Same for me,” he said to the waitress.
“Sure thing.”
Grayson was still studying me, his arms folded across the table.
I lifted my glass and pulled hard through the straw. It was already sweating. I’d need liquid courage if I was going to make it through tonight. “When I was fourteen, my sister tricked me into trying this,” I said, thinking about the night Sarah, the eldest, had come home drunk off her ass. Anything to keep my thoughts off the inky depth to his gaze. “She told me it was a smoothie. I took one sip and gagged. It was during her rebellious phase. I had to sneak her into my room to keep my parents from hearing her drunken babble.”
“You have a sister.”
“Sisters. Plural. Four of them.”
His syrupy eyes widened.
“Yeah. I feel the same. I’m in the middle of them. Learned early on to hide anything sacred.” I picked at the bent corner of the menu. “How about you?”
I knew the answer. He was an only child. But it felt odd, admitting that. Strange, treating him like an open book I’d already read.
“Only child.” There was a note of sadness buried deep beneath his words. “So …” he said with an inhale. “What do you do?”
“I, um …” I tucked my hair behind my ear, keeping my eyes on the table. “I’m actually in the process of landing a job.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was good enough. “What about you?” I tossed the hot potato of a question back at him before he asked for details.
He smirked, his gaze never leaving mine. “This feels weird, doesn’t it?”
“Just a smidgen.”
He waited a beat. Leaned his weight on his elbows. “By now, after being given my whole life’s story, I’d have been asked a zillion questions to all the theories out there about me while on a date. Yet here you sit, kind enough to attempt to make this normal for us.”
“Oh, believe me, I have a bazillion questions, but”—I shrugged—“you’re human, Grayson. Just like me. Treating you as anything else just feels … wrong. Fake. Cruel. Especially when you’ve already been given a world of cruelty and judgment.”
Something softened in his eyes, rearranging. “How much …” He scooted closer. “How much do you know about me? Well, the tabloid version of me?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “You really want to know?”
His head gave a swift nod.
The journalist in me pulled out her handy book of notes and began, “Okay. I’ll start with the obvious stuff first. You work at Stud.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a reformed serial dater, and you also can’t go anywhere without being noticed.” He started to laugh, but I kept going, “But you don’t like the fame, do you? You’re tired of it all. You crave normalcy, and everywhere you turn, you find yourself looking for something real. Something true. Just one small moment of honesty.”
He shifted in his seat, the humor on his face bleeding into emotion, and I felt myself slipping. Tripping over the pain in his eyes.
“You can’t escape your past, though you desperately wish you could,” I continued, softening to him. “You were seventeen when your modeling career took off and twenty-two when it plummeted due to your bad-boy persona. A persona you were forced to wear, even after you were released from jail and removed from the suspect list. To the world, you’re the fallen bad boy. But that isn’t what I see.”
His gaze deepened. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because, right now, I see you.” I blushed hotly and gave a slight shrug, the merest lift of my shoulders, before continuing, “And I might or might not have memoir. Comparing that with what I’ve gathered between this morning and this afternoon, I just … I just see it.”
He leaned back in his seat, tossing the wad of straw wrapper he’d been crushing between his fingers. “All it takes is one false article to ruin a person’s life. After the fire, I swore I was done with everything. Harry, my boss, he was the one who found me and talked me into writing it. That one book gave me more than seeing a therapist ever did.”
I pinched the straw between my lips to keep them occupied while I tried desperately to gather my emotions and thoughts into a much-needed huddle. I liked this version of Grayson in front of me. Peeled open and relatable.
The real Grayson.
And that was bad. Very, very bad.
He watched me for a moment, his eyes piercing through every layer, right down to the very heart of me. “Have you ever …” He broke off. “Never mind.”
“What?” I wanted to know what he was thinking. What he felt.
His head tilted to the side a little. “This might sound ridiculous, but I feel like I know you. Like I can really talk to you. Have you ever … do you feel that way?”
I toyed with the straw as another wave of heat struck my cheeks. “Yeah,” I admitted, the stirring in my stomach increasing. Meeting his eyes, I finished, “I really do.”
We spent the next hour deep in conversation. I managed to suck down another drink before devouring a plate of the most delicious tacos. Grayson laughed when I spilled some of the salsa onto my blouse.
Classic Prim.
I learned he liked the ocean, but he’d only been twice, which I found odd, considering all the globe-trotting he’d done. He hated sports, except for the Olympics. His best friend owned a bar, and his idea of a perfect date was watching movies and sharing a pizza. The more I learned, the more I realized how in trouble I was because I liked him. And the more I was grateful for the alcohol swimming in my veins, dulling my guilt. Pushing all thoughts to the back of my mind.
I would enjoy the moment. Enjoy him.
And when it came time to leave, I found myself glaring at the minute hand on my watch, wishing it would slow. “I need to use the restroom,” I announced when we stood. “Give me a minute?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
After I rounded the corner, I pushed open the door to the ladies’ room, and I went straight for a stall. Pressed my head against the back of the door covered in stickers and Sharpied words. My feet felt detached from the rest of my body. My brain buzzed with excitement and garbled thoughts. Grayson wasn’t at all what I’d thought he’d be. He seemed real. Honest.
I was way out of my league but for an entirely new reason.
With a sigh, I washed my hands and then left the restroom, determined to keep my game face on. I wasn’t paying attention when I came barreling around the corner, only to trip over my own feet.
Strong arms righted me, hands gripping my waist, setting my nerv
es on fire.
Grayson’s chuckle worked its way straight between my legs. “Whoa there. Tequila has a way of sneaking up on you.”
My lashes batted with a syrupy sensuality. “You can say that again.”
“I paid the check and figured I’d make a pit stop as well before we left.”
He held tight, longer than he should have, but my hormones didn’t protest. Especially not with my front row seat to every curve of his mouth. The way his velvet tongue slid over his bottom lip, leaving a glassy trail. I was close enough … possibly even brave enough to …
Don’t like him. Don’t like him. Don’t like him.
He stepped closer, and the noise around us fell away. “You’re cute.”
“And you’re beautiful.” My hand shot to my mouth once again, this time trying to hide the shock of what I’d said out loud. “Jesus, what do they put in the drinks here? Truth serum?”
I was hyperaware of his proximity, and it made me uncomfortable in a way I’d never felt before. An inexperienced way. An intimate way. I backed up, but there was nowhere to go. Just my back against the wall, brass notes from a jazz song dancing between us.
His lips inched closer.
I smelled the fruit on his breath.
Is this really happening? Is Grayson Pierce actually moving in for a kiss? My lids fluttered shut. My lips braced themselves for impact.
But the delusional moment lasted all of maybe one second when he pulled back and said, “Sorry. I, uh … you, uh … can I walk you to the subway?”
It took me a moment to pick up my scattered thoughts, but when I finally did, I smirked at him and said, “I’d really like that.” He started to turn when I added, “And, Grayson?”
“Hmm?”
“You shouldn’t say sorry so much.” I tried for a wink but ended up with an awkward squint.
Grayson chuckled. He took my hand, and like in a 1920s movie, he pulled my arm into the crook of his and guided us toward the exit. “Now, where have I heard that before?”
Serendipity
Grayson
PRIM SANK UNDER MY SKIN like a drug.
I was lucid in her presence. Disarmed by her wide blue eyes and the empathy that lived in her sincere smile. She didn’t want a piece of me like everyone else. Her energy was fresh and sweet. Endearing.
All night, I’d been putting small moves on her. A brush of the knuckles here. A bump of a thigh there. Every time, I’d revel in the dusty-rose blush that seemed to live beneath her pale skin. And there was a moment when I knew I had her right where I wanted her. When I could have taken advantage of those luscious lips I’d been dying to taste all night.
But I hadn’t.
And I couldn’t understand why.
“This is me,” she said as we stopped in front of the subway entrance, a gust of warm, stale air blowing past us.
The sun had already set behind the New York skyline, rousing the city lights awake. This was my favorite part of the day—watching the city wake from its midday slumber. The buzzing hum in the streets and on the sidewalks, driving everyone forward.
“I haven’t felt this relaxed around someone in a long time,” I said, wishing the night could continue. I thought about asking her to go for a coffee, but something inside me told me to be cautious with her. Take things slow.
Her smile deepened as she adjusted the strap to her tote. “Same.”
“You have your Kindle all safe and secure?”
“Yep.”
A few people began to stop and peer in our direction.
“And you still have my number, right?”
“Yep,” she said, laughing a little.
Small talk had always come easy. It was a vital part of my career. But around her …
“I don’t date.” Where the fuck did that come from?
Her eyes narrowed, a whisper of a grin on the edge of her mouth. “I never said I did either.”
Damn, she was quick.
“I didn’t mean … shit. What I meant to say was, the rumors about me … they’re true to an extent. If you date enough women who are only in it for the fame … you kind of become numb to it all. You know, like … what’s the word …”
Those narrowed eyes of hers pulled tighter. “Jaded?”
“Yeah. That.” I laughed, the sound slippery and paper-thin. “I just know I don’t want to date again until I know she’s the right one.” There were a ton of things going on behind her gaze, none of which I could make out. She was like my kryptonite, impairing my ability to read her. “But then again, why would you want to date a tabloid mess like me anyway?”
Her head gave a slight tilt, and then the clouds in her eyes parted. “So then, let’s not label it. Let’s …” She peered past me, gaze zoning in on something.
I turned. There was a table stacked with books outside of a quaint bookstore.
When I turned back around, she was smiling. “Serendipity.”
My face screwed up. “Huh?”
Her cheeks were smudged with color again. “You know … like the movie? Have you seen it?”
My head shook.
She pulled in a breath and then let it out with a smirk that threatened to knock me off my feet. A smaller, more feminine version of my own.
I knew then that I was playing with fire.
“You’re missing out. Watch it.” With a moment of hesitation, she twisted a summery smile and then pulled out my business card from her tote. Pressed it to her lips, leaving a strawberry-hued stain on the back side before handing it to me. “Here. To remember this night by.” Another short pause. “And I have a feeling I’ll see you again. You’re Grayson Pierce after all.” She turned and faced the subway. “I should … I should really go. Don’t want to miss my train.”
“Okay. See ya.” She began her descent down the stairs when I called, “Prim?”
She turned. “Hmm?”
“Thank you for not being like all the others.”
With a smile, she waved and then continued down the steps. I watched as she disappeared, leaving me in a cloud of confusion and intrigue.
Serendipity? What does that even mean? Did she want to see me again?
My hand shuffled up the back of my neck in a moment of foreign uncertainty, but then I snorted a laugh. What the hell is wrong with me? Of course she wants to see me again.
After getting into an Uber, I leaned back and stared out the window, a loopy smile to my lips. Prim had the kind of innocence that lured men in. Yet she was somehow equally as strong as she was shy. The type of woman who knew who she was to her core and wasn’t afraid to be herself. The type of honest I didn’t have enough of in my life.
And her beauty … it was subtle yet entrancing, like raindrops on a windowpane. A crashing, breaking beauty, like a wave in a storm.
My phone buzzed in my hand. It was Harrison.
“Do you ever sleep?” I asked after I slid my earbud in.
“Ha! As old Benji famously said, ‘Sleep is for the dead.’ ” There was a small pause and then, “You get my emails?”
I scrolled through the hoard of emails bogging down my inbox and stopped on Harry’s latest.
“I heard back from The Times,” he continued as I skimmed over the email. “As expected, we’ll have full coverage for the gala next week.”
“As if they’d pass up the chance to see the infamous Harrison at work.”
He chuckled, satisfied with himself. “Sometimes, it’s just too easy. It’s almost unfair. If only I could be a fly on the wall when Quinny realizes her little plan didn’t work.”
My head shook.
About a year ago, Quinn had gone full-blown kamikaze on the blog. Throwing claims of sexism in the workplace. Putting a dent into his shiny gold reputation. It only fueled Harry. Drove him to work with a local women’s shelter, offering up starter positions for some of the women needing rehabilitation. She had to have known Harry would find a way to spin the press back in his favor.
At least someone would benef
it from the sick games they played.
“You two are twisted.”
“Like a pretzel.” A pause. “See you in the morning.”
“Good night, Harry.”
I hung up just as the car pulled alongside the sidewalk in front of my place.
“Thanks, man,” I told the driver before getting out.
I picked up a package addressed to Fin left by the door and then punched in the code. When the door swung open, I stepped to the side to avoid the ladder he’d left out. The metal beams he’d been working on cleaning up were coming along. We shared an old warehouse we’d converted into living space with an open-floor plan. A side piece we’d eventually sell and split the profits on.
If there was one thing to be said about Fin, it was that his wits for turning profits were enviable. But I guessed growing up, praying for your next meal, would do that to you.
Dropping my jacket on the arm of the brown leather lounge chair, I fell into it, staring through the large industrial windows that wrapped around the living room. The sparkling night skyline was what had sold me on the place. A sea of lights. A thousand stories playing out. All under the veil of stars.
Prim liked stars. There was a small cluster tattooed on the delicate curve of her wrist. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone out with someone and come away genuinely happy. But more so, pleasantly surprised.
“Serendipity,” she’d said.
Not a simple yes or no. But still an invitation. A chance left to fate.
I didn’t believe in fate, but I did believe in her.
I reached for the remote and then opened Netflix. Typed in the word Serendipity. Read the premise before clicking play. If watching this meant I’d figure out a way to get closer to her, then so be it.
“What kind of gay shit is this?” Fin’s voice boomed through the open space a little later.
“What’s up?” I slapped his hand in our familiar handshake.
He pointed to the TV. “A romcom? Should I get you a box of tampons?”
I brushed his comment off with a chuckle. “It’s for a project.”
“Does that project involve a certain doe-eyed Emilia Clarke lookalike?”
Love in the Headlines: A Star-Crossed Friends-To-Lovers Romance (Love in the Headlines Series Book 1) Page 5