“Thanks, Ry,” I mumble, opening the door to exit the closet.
I’m not upset with her for telling me. It’s right of her to say something, and after all, she’s only trying to protect me. But that doesn’t stop my heart from aching a little at the thought of what won’t be.
As Rylee and I walk back to where Grayson and the rest of the band stand talking, I brace myself for interacting with him again.
“Hey,” Grayson smiles as I approach him. “I’d love to get a moment with you, away from all of this. There’s a spot I love not far from here. You down?”
I should say no. I should say that I just want to go back to whatever hotel Rylee and I are staying at and sleep because it’s late anyway. But what ends up coming out of my mouth is, “I might be.”
I already hate myself for enabling another interaction with Grayson that will only lead to more feelings—feelings I’m not allowed to have.
That’s thelastthing I need.
Not to mention, we’ll be completely alone. I’ll be there wondering what it would be like if I bit that lip I’ve been eyeing all night. I’d found myself jealous of a microphone, and it’s definitely not helpful.
He chuckles and walks towards Rylee and the guys to tell them our plan. They were planning on going out for drinks with the other bands. Before we leave, Rylee takes a break from her conversation with Brandon to give me a look that clearly says, “be careful.”
Looking back at her with a quick nod of acknowledgement as Grayson and I walk away, I truly have every intention of notletting things get out of hand, no matter how hard it might be—for me, at least.
He leads me to his car—a black 1969 Camaro SS.
Of course.
He opens the door for me, moving what appears to be a journal shoved full of papers with song lyrics scribbled all over them and his sunglasses, almost like we’re going on a date.
That’s not what this is, I tell myself as he walks around to the drivers’ side.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to a cozy, retro diner. It looks like something out of a cheesy 80’s movie with the way the neon lights are glowing in the windows.
“I hope this is okay,” Grayson says as he pulls into a parking space. “This is one of my favorite places to go after a show.”
I nod and attempt to get out of the passenger door, but he stops me before I can so he can get the door for me.
I remind myself for the millionth time that we are absolutelynoton a date.
We walk inside and a waft of batter, syrup, and coffee hits us in the face. There’s a jukebox in the corner playingTake It Easyby the Eagles, and the flooring is that classic diner black-and-white checkered tile. Framed records cover the walls and the waitresses all wear their hair in curly updos with frilly uniforms topped with a white apron. It feels like we walked straight into a time warp, and I kind of love that this is one of Grayson’s favorite places.
He leads me into one of the red vinyl booths and slides into the seat, and I do the same. His stare is almost too much as I adjust my jeans that are now stuck to the clingy material of the booth. Looking up at him to meet his eyes, I realize I have no idea what to say to him.
“You’ve been quiet,” he says finally.
I shrug, trying my best to play it off.
“Just… thinking.”
About how badly I want to lean across the table, kiss you, and tell you how obsessed I am with you.
“You okay?” he asks, voice dipping lower with concern.
I nod, barely. “Yeah. Just tired.”
A waitress approaches the table and pours each of us a cup of coffee, which I don’t like but can’t form the words to stop her. Grayson continues to look me directly in the eye. I don’t take my eyes off of him either. The feelings I have now are… strange.
Guilty pleasure.
As I’m lost in thoughts of how the hell I’m going to get through the rest of this interaction without saying something stupid, Grayson orders and gestures to me.
“The same,” I say, not hearing what he asked for or knowing if I’d even like it, breaking eye contact and finally meeting the dazed gaze of the waitress.
