Rubbing my hand down my face frustratedly, I join the small queue of students praying the line goes down fast because God knows I needed caffeine coursing through my veins just as much as I did before, if not more.
Chapter 7
Lilly
I’ve been living on this earth for almosttwenty-one years, and in all that time not once has anyone called me a “good girl” the way Greyson just done.
My ex boyfriend refused to call me anything other than my name because he believed using words of endearment was pathetic, but I personally think he’s pathetic.
But the thing is, Greyson saying those two words to me shouldn’t have such an effect on me.It shouldn’t. And I don’t know why it does. And more importantly, I don’t know why I want him to repeat those words…it’s stupid, silly even. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex in months that hearing him say “good girl” made me want to submit to him, to allow him to do whatever he wanted to me.
I don’t even know him.
Anxiously picking the skin on my nails, Greyson appears at the booth with our drinks in hand. Placing my mocha down in front of me, he takes a seat himself and surprises me by grabbing hold of my hand, stopping me from creating a blood bath if I continued to tear my skin.
I stare down at the mocha, the smell invading my nose. I don’t even know why I chose this drink, I usually go for an iced coffee—in winter too—but my mind frazzled when he asked me what I wanted, and I blurted out the first thing I saw on the board.
I’m also not used to anyone buying me a drink without asking for the money. Anytime Kyle would offer to buy me something, he’d always send an invoice a few days later and demand the money to be in his account by the end of that day. With him being like that, it ultimately led to me having to keep cash on me so I could just hand over the money and not feel guilty that I owed money.
It’s shitty, really, your own boyfriend demanding that you pay for your own things.
What kind of boyfriend does that?
“You’re gonna rip your whole finger off if you keep doing that,” Greyson says, rubbing a thumb smoothly over the ripped skin as his eyes lock on mine. “You, okay?”
I nod pulling my hand from his, and when I look down, I see blood.Fuck. He must see the panic in my eyes because when he looks down, he curses.
“I’ll go get some napkins.”
Watching as he leaves, I quickly fumble for my wallet and bring out a five before leaning over the table and shoving it into the side pocket of his backpack. I know he said he was buying, but I’ve been down this road before. He’ll ask for the cash back eventually, so it’s better to give it to himnow rather than later.
Leaning back into the booth, my eyes dart to Greyson as he walks back toward me with a handful of napkins in his palm. Taking a seat, he leans forward and grabs my hand causing electricity to shoot up it as he begins dabbing at the blood.
“I can do that.” I fumbled, trying to take the napkin from him.
He pulls it away from my reach. “It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, dabbing a little more until the blood is completely gone.
“Thank you.” I whisper.
“It’s nothing.” He repeats.
But the thing is, it may seem like nothing to him, but it’s not to me.
After he’s finished dabbing the blood from my finger, he scrunches up the napkin and places it on top of some others. Picking my mocha up, I take a small sip, instantly moaning as the taste of both caffeine and chocolate hits my tongue.
I haven’t had an ounce of caffeine all day, and this is very much needed. “Thank you, for the drink.” I say, placing the mug down onto the table.
“It’s nothing.” There’s that word again.
On instinct, my fingers reach across to start picking at my nail again, but I have to physically restrain myself from doing so. Sighing, I pull my hands into the sleeves of my cardigan and clamp them down, no doubt carving half-moons into my palms. Greyson glances down at my hands, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but before he does, I speak.
“I’m petrified of moths.” I blurt out.
What the fuck?
Greyson raises a browas he glances at me. “You’re afraid of moths?”
“Uh-huh,” I nod, grabbing my mocha and taking a sip. “I was ten, Elizabeth—my mom—forced me to go camping with her then boyfriend and his two kids.”
