I’m acting before I can overthink it. I scoop her plate out from under her and grab mine, too.
“Hey, what are you?—”
“Come on, Boston. Eat while you play.”
7
ELIZA
“Boston?Did you just try to give me a nickname?”
I don’t care if neighboring tables can hear me. Grayson Gold just took my burger hostage and gave me a nickname like we’re good ol’ pals.
“Don’t forget your drink,” he says over his shoulder as he gives me his broad back and saunters away.
With myburger.
I stare at him, trying to decipher what is actually happening. First, the apology. Then the getting-to-know-you questions. Now a label and an invitation to join his little crew for a round of pool.
Maybe this is his way of trying to make things right, or maybe he’s finally accepting that no amount of terrible behavior is going to push me out of this job, because I’m planted on that boat until my contract is complete.
Or maybe he feels bad that I’ve been sitting over here alone like a loser when everyone else in this place is grouped in conversations or laughing together.
All these possibilities suggest Grayson isn’t the completely heartless ass he’s made himself out to be. ButI’m not allowing one small moment of grace to change my impression.
I down the rest of my wine before shoving my laptop in my bag and following my food. He sets it on a high-top and slides right back into conversation, and I can’t help the self-consciousness that floods me as I make my way across the room.
It doesn’t matter that I’m an adult. There are few things more intimidating than inserting yourself into a group you’ve been outcast from. And I’m not sure Grayson’s kindness will extend as far as an introduction to his locals clique.
Get the burger and leave.
But Amanda’s familiar face appears in the crowd, and Grayson turns to track me with those golden eyes and a smile I know isn’t attributed to me. It’s the energy of this space and his friends. The kid I recognized from the farm and a few other guys turn with him.
“Social Media girl!” the kid exclaims with a goofy grin. He’s cute, with shaggy blonde hair and a face holding on to its boyishness. His flushed cheeks tell me the water in his hands has recently replaced something stronger. “Hey, Boss, this mean we can talk?—"
“Kenny, shut the fuck up.” Amanda skirts a few people to join them, telling Grayson, “And, yes, I kept him away from his beer, so don’t blame me.”
“This is Eliza,” Grayson cuts in before Kenny can fire back. “Steve, Amanda, Kenny from the farm,” he introduces, nodding at each of them. “And this is Darian and Bob.”
The two new men tip their heads in a greeting. One of them, Bob, wears a ring, but Darian’s finger is free, and his face is…nota sore sight.
His blue eyes are bright and curious as he asks, “Youvacationing here for the summer?” He reminds me of Grayson in his build, though he’s a little shorter, his hair closely cropped like his beard.
“No. I’m working on the farm for the summer. Social media marketing.”
Recognition sparks across his face. “Oh, is that, like, the little dances people do? People go viral from that stuff, right?”
I laugh. The assumption usually annoys me, because it’s typically spoken by men trying to belittle me. But Darian’s questions seem genuine.
“This isn’t that type of social media. It’s more strategic marketing via short-form content.”
He looks perplexed. “So no dances?”
“For certain businesses, a trending dance or two might work, based on brands and audiences. But I’ve never used them.”
Beer in hand, he nudges Grayson’s chest. “Man, oyster dances. Think about it.”
“No oyster dances,” Grayson and I say at the same exact time.
