Once I’m a few feet from the truck, he hops out, knowing I’ll need help to get into the passenger seat. Grayson quickly scans the grounds as I do the same. He doesn’t say anything and instead rounds the car to the passenger side. My nerves are frayed by the confusion of his actions. He’s probably doing it because we’re in an open space. Not that my getting into a professor’s car is any better.
Grayson is leaning against the door, wearing dark jeans and black boots that complete his outfit. I bite my bottom lip, stopping myself from saying anything embarrassing.
When I reach him, I look into his eyes that lean more toward green than blue today.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” he responds, and his eyes soften. “Come on, let’s get you inside so I can give you a proper hello off campus grounds.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes, please.” A low chuckle leaves him as he places his hands at the bottom of my waist and guides me the same way he has twice before.
“Locked Out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars plays as I bob my head to the song by one of my favorite musicians and start singing it while I wait for Grayson to get into the driver’s seat.
I don’t stop singing when he gets in. I’m not someone who’s shy about singing in front of others, and if a song I love is playing, I don’t hesitate to do what I enjoy in my free time.
The car doesn’t move when I set my purse down by my feet, and I look over to Grayson, who’s staring at me with an expression I’ve never seen.
“What is it? Do I have something on my face?”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and his hair sways when he shakeshis head. “Why aren’t you a music major?” I laugh softly. That isn’t the first time someone has asked me that. In fact, Stevie, who’s a theater major, has asked me the same thing multiple times. “I’m serious, Emma. Your voice is beautiful.”
I feel the sudden urge to clear my throat. “Thank you, but journalism and writing are where my heart lies. Singing is something I do for fun whenever I get the chance.”
Grayson turns away and scoffs. “If you ever decide to switch career paths, may I suggest becoming a professional singer, specifically a pop star? You have the look and voice, Princess.”
The car starts moving, and we’re on the road in two minutes. I squirm in my seat and rub my hands up and down my thighs, before asking, “Where are we going, and when are you going to give me a proper hello?”
We reach a stoplight, and Grayson takes one hand off the wheel, rubbing his chin while smirking. “Galway Girl” by Ed Sheeran plays, and he turns up the volume, bobbing his head to the song. That’s when my eyes widen to where the music app lies.
“This is your playlist?”
“Yes.”
“But I thought you only listened to the radio.”
“Fuck no.” He cringes. “My account got deleted, and I kept forgetting to make a new one because I play music from somewhere else at home.”
Thank the Lord he has decent taste in music. “Are we going to your house?”
“No.”
That’s something.
“Are—”
I’m cut off when Grayson pulls into a dark, empty block full of houses that probably belong to locals rather than students.
“Why did you stop?”
Grayson leaves the car on as he grabs the back of my head and crashes his lips to mine.
My reaction isn’t one of surprise, I knew something along the lines of this was going to be the proper hello he told me about. What surprises me is the passion and slowness of it all.
We both sigh at the tentative kiss, opening our mouths at the same time until our tongues intertwine slowly. He swallows my moan. This kiss feels different from our others. It’s more passionate and tender, yet sensual. Fireworks, like the ones I felt the night we met, go off, and the feeling makes me grip his sweater to pull him closer.
Grayson grunts and bites my lip, tugging it through his teeth. Our eyes lock on his action, and for a moment, the air shifts as both of us breathe harder, as if we’ve just run a marathon.
“Hi,” he whispers.
