“Come on, Jace, pleeease?” She makes this pouty face but all I can think about is how much I love when she says my name. I laugh to try and stop my mind from wandering places it shouldn’t go, and then I toss her the iPad.
She gives me this grateful little smile and then she attacks the screen as if logging into her page is the most important thing in the world. I go back to poking at the fire with my stick to give her some privacy. I head back into the kitchen to get us sodas and when I return, she doesn’t even seem to notice I’m back. Slowly, I walk up to the back of her chair, and then I lean down and get really close to her. She doesn’t even notice, or if she does, she ignores it.
I hover my lips over her hair, just next to her neck. I want to brush her hair away and kiss her neck, find out of the skin as is soft as it looks. Instead, I exhale. She jumps and squeals and I realize she really didn’t know I was standing here. She must have been very absorbed in her Facebook page.
“Dammit Jace, you scared me!” she says, swatting me away.
I laugh. “I’ve been standing here a while, but you were so damn immersed in writing to your boy toy that you didn’t notice.”
“He’s not my boy toy,” she murmurs under her breath.
I fall back into my chair, my heart still pounding from being so close to her. “Whatever you say, Bayleigh. You should forget that dude. You’re better than him.”
She narrows her eyes. “You should forget that girl, then.”
I’m about to tell her exactly how much I hate her, but Bayleigh interrupts me. “You’ve been texting her all night. So maybe you shouldn’t be the one lecturing.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “You’re right. I won’t text her again. It’s not worth it. All we’re doing is reminding each other how much we don’t get along.”
Bayleigh smiles, and this time it’s a real smile that makes me all warm inside. “I’m glad you’re here,” I say, handing her the soda I got from the kitchen. “I came here to take my mind off things but it’s hard when I’m all alone.”
“Glad I could be of service,” she says, winking.
And that wink—it kills me. I want to get up and lift her off the chair and into my arms. I want to carry her inside and throw her on my bed. But I can’t do that, not this soon after meeting the girl. I close my eyes and lean back in my chair and tell myself to slow down. If it’s meant to be, it will happen on its own time.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t daydream about her in the meantime.
Chapter 11
Maybe I’m being a total gentleman and this is a story that will go down in the history books as the most romantic event in history. Or maybe it’ll go down as the stupidest thing a guy has ever done. I take a deep breath and press the doorbell. I guess I’m about to find out.
Bayleigh’s grandmother opens the door, a curious expression on her face. “Oh, hello,” she says, sounding a little confused.
“Hello,” I say, smiling to cover how nervous I am. “Can I speak with your husband for a few minutes, please?”
She looks me up and down, her lips wrinkling into a fine line. “One minute,” she says, closing the door. I wait for what feels like a hell of a lot longer than a minute and then when the door opens again, Bayleigh’s grandfather appears. He’s holding a cup of coffee that smells like he’s not a fan of sugar or medium roast.
I stand a little straighter. “Good afternoon, Sir.”
He stares at me for a moment, and then closes the door and takes a long sip of his coffee. “What can I do for you?” he asks.
“I’m here to apologize,” I say, trying to remember all the things I rehearsed this morning before I came over. Of course now that I’m standing in the presence of this man who loves Bayleigh and hates me, I forget all of it, so I have to make it up as I go along. “I know I arrived very suddenly after a long time of my house being abandoned,” I say. “I should have definitely introduced myself first before I brought in a tractor and got to work. I’m Jace Adams, and I’m a professional motocross racer. I came here this summer to get some practice for my career—”
“Aren’t there places to do that kind of thing?” he says. “Professional tracks that you can go to?”
“Yes, sir. I just wanted to be alone so I could focus.”
He doesn’t look like he believes that, but I don’t want to go into more details.
“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat. “I understand you and my late grandfather were friends?”
“Yes, Richard and I were very close,” he says, his eyebrows wrinkling in the first show of emotion since he stepped out on the porch. “I was sad when he passed away.”
“His house is still full of his things.” I glance next door. “If you’d like to come over, I’d be happy to let you take any of his stuff that was meaningful to you. I didn’t really know him and he has no one else to leave his things to.”
“That would be very nice of you,” he says with a slight nod.
I can tell I’m starting to win him over and it’s the greatest feeling ever. I ask him to tell me about Richard, my late grandfather. He brightens a little—well, as much as a grouchy old man can brighten—and he tells me stories about the man I didn’t know. I learn about how they loved fishing together and how my grandfather kept going to church after my grandmother passed away even though he hated it and had only gone to make her happy.
