“Say what,Gray?” I ask, my breath labored. I know exactly what he’s asking about, because it’s the very thing that had both of us running in opposite directions last time.
His smile takes over his entire face. “Perfect,” he mutters under his breath. “Just like your eyes. I think golden is my new favorite color.”
I’m done for.
He slouches against me, his lashes fluttering shut. He needs to rest and heal. I slip from behind him and hoist him up. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He helps me stand him, leaning on me for support. His eyes are still closed, but he follows my steps into his room before I deposit him in the leather chair next to his bed in search of some fresh clothes.
“Bottom drawer,” he calls. I find him inspecting me curiously, leaning back in the chair. I slide the dresser open, finding clean boxer briefs folded inside. My cheeks heat, but I ignore it,grabbing a pair and tossing them his way. I’m about to rifle through his other drawers, when his words halt me.
“That’s all I need, honey.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense.” I nervously laugh, shoving the drawer closed. When I face him, chills wrack my body at how deeply he’s watching me back. He seems more himself now. Maybe the shower helped sober him up, or maybe he’s going into full shock. Who knows?
“Are you planning on watching me change, or…”
Oh God. My face pales. I’m standing here, watching him like a cheerleader watching a jock from the school bleachers. He shoots me a half smirk, but it’s tired looking.
“I’m not opposed either way, but I wanted you to know what you were in for.” The words sound like him, but his face is missing the classic mischief.
“Sorry,” I rush out, turning my back to him.
I hear the leather chair groan under him as he slides his wet boxers off, replacing them with the new ones. My foot taps anxiously against the floor as I wait. He’s slow, but he eventually gets the new ones on, groaning when he leans back in the chair.
“Top drawer.”
My eyebrows furrow, but I do as he says. There are freshly folded T-shirts inside, and now, I’m even more confused. “I thought you only wanted boxers?” I ask him over my shoulder.
He’s dressed in his new boxers, casually leaning back in the chair, slowly dragging his eyes down my body. “It’s not for me. You’re soaked. You need something dry to put on, or you’re going to freeze to death.”
“Oh…I’m—I’m fine. Really, Grayson, I don’t want to be a bother.”
His face pinches, and I’m scared he’s in pain. “Gray, not Grayson, and I’m not asking. I can see you shaking. I insist, and I won’t take no for an answer. It should be big enough to wear like a dress, but if you really want some sweats, they are in the middle drawer. I’m not sure they will stay up on you though.”
I nod, nibbling my lip and trying to process his words.Gray, not Grayson.He’s acknowledging whatever this is between us. Maybe he’s influenced by all the alcohol, but I hate to admit how good it feels, that he wants me warm inhisclothes. We may have both run away that night, but I still want him to choose me.
I grab the biggest shirt I can find. It’s an old rock T-shirt, thoroughly loved to the point the fabric is buttery soft. I love it. Gray watches me with rapt attention.
My pulse thumps in my neck as his eyes eat me alive, dilating ever so slightly in the dim lighting. He licks his lip, sitting up a little taller in the chair. His voice is raspy. “I can’t turn around?—”
“Do…do you want to? Turn around, I mean.”
He gulps, shaking his head side to side. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
My pulse hammers when I slowly slide off my wet pants, letting them slap against the floor. I hesitate only for a second before grabbing the hem of my oversized hoodie and pulling it over my head. I’m left in only my black lace matching set that clings to my wet skin. My nipples pebble when the cold air brushes over them. I’ve yet to have the courage to look up at Grayson, scared to see what’s reflected on his face.
His slow breath has my eyes sliding up to find his. His face is pinched in pain, and I want to rub my thumb over the worry indented between his eyes. He isn’t looking up at me, instead down at my leg. I follow his line of sight and flinch when I find what he’s looking at.
“Did I do that?” he asks, his voice barely restrained. Seeing me injured has sobered him instantly.
“It’s nothing. Just a small cut,” I assure him. My knee is bloody and has a couple small shards of glass protruding from it from when I knelt next to him in the kitchen.
“You’re hurt because ofme. Anything that has to do with you is the opposite of nothing, Maisie. When will you learn that?” His chest is heaving while he continues to stare at my knee.
I slip his shirt on, and it engulfs me like a dress, just as he said it would. It brings me instant comfort, and I let out a sigh. “It looks worse than it really is.” I throw his exact words back at him.
“I’ll be the judge of that. There’s a first-aid kit under the bathroom sink. Can you grab it for me, please?”
I know he will just try and do it himself if I refuse, so I run into the bathroom, finding the little kit stashed away. How many of these does he have hidden around his house? I don’t want to look into why that is. I’m getting a firsthand look at it right now.
