Page 58 of Worth the Risk

“You and your fair bullshit. I’ll tell you the same thing I said before. No one said life’s fair.”

“I promised him I’d see his Minecraft—”

“Like you really care.”

“It doesn’t matter if I care or not, Grayson.” I grit the words out. “It only matters if he thinks I do, so—”

“Miss Sidney, are you ready to see all of them? There are tons,” Luke calls from behind Grayson, and his words are followed by the distinct sound of things being dumped all over what I can presume is the table.

I look at Grayson and shrug as I step past him and into the living room. At first glance, I’m surprised by how put together the house is. I know that sounds stupid, but maybe I expected a single dad to have a house that’s a mess, with clutter everywhere. Grayson’s house is the exact opposite. It’s dark wood with blues and grays. There’s a television on one wall and an inset den across from it with shelves lined with books. The kitchen is small but homey, a butcher-block island in its center. Luke is sitting at the dining room table and has a heap of miniature figures in front of him.

I take the seat next to him, my grin matching his as I say, “I have no clue what any of those are, but I have a feeling you’re about to teach me.”

And he does. For the next hour, Luke goes through each character, explaining their significance in the game. Figure after figure. There are so many that I wouldn’t even be able to remember the names if I tried (like I would want to), and yet, his nonstop enthusiastic chatter tells me whoever designed this game hit the nail on the head marketing to their demographic.

Grayson sits in a chair across the room, alternating between his iPad and a magazine. I catch him staring at us every so often, and I know he’s quietly enjoying this display of my complete incompetence with Luke. I forget the characters’ names immediately. I use the wrong terminology, which earns me Luke’s exasperated but secretly-happy-he-has-an-audience sighs. Regardless of my flaws in knowing how to relate to him, there is something about this little boy that captivates me. Maybe it’s his willingness to listen or his eagerness to share. Maybe it’s the subtle way he asks every so often if I’m sure I’m not here for his dad. Maybe it’s that shy little smile he gives me as he bumps his shoulder against mine when he shows me a character he deems as “really cool” that has me actually enjoying my time with him.

“C’mon, Luke-ster. That’s long enough. It’s time for bed.” Luke’s protests fill the room as Grayson rises from his chair and takes a few steps toward us. He meets my gaze, and I hate that I can’t read what his says, but it definitely says something.

“Aw, Dad. But I don’t have to go to school tomorrow. Can’t I stay up a little later?” Luke walks the few steps to face his dad, and I smile because they both have the same stance as they stare each other down.

“You don’t have to go to school tomorrow because you can’t. You were suspended for getting into a fight.”

“But I didn’t—”

“A fight is a fight, Luke. And staying up is a privilege, and privileges aren’t given when you use your fists to solve a problem.”

Luke huffs loudly and looks to me. “Are you going to the Harvest Festival?” he asks me, his eyebrows raised and hope in his voice that makes me say yes just so I don’t let him down again.

“Yes. Doesn’t everyone go?”

“See you there,” he says and then squeals as Grayson moves swiftly to pick him up and throw him over his shoulder.

“Let’s go, monster. Tell Miss Sidney good night,” Grayson says and already has a foot on the first step of the stairs.

“Good.” Luke giggles as Grayson tickles his ribs. “Night.” Another bout of laughter floats down the stairs.

I sit there and stare at where they just were, my mind frozen on how damn sexy the sight of Grayson carrying Luke off to bed is.

They must have spiked my bottle of water.

That can be the only reason those foreign thoughts are filling my head. Kids are not cute. Dads are not sexy. Up is not down. So why am I still sitting here, slowly swiping dozens of Minecraft figures into a big tub while the sounds of Grayson putting Luke to bed upstairs fill the space around me?

Why am I still here? Is it because my place is so quiet and here I was able to listen to Luke talk nonstop? Or is it because now that I’ve seen Grayson, I feel the need to prove to him I’m not who he thinks I am . . . even when I’m still struggling with proving that to myself.

The problem is now that we’re going to be alone, I have no clue what it is I need to say.

Goddammit.

I stand on the bottom step and watch her. Watch the woman who showed up looking nothing like the Sidney I know and exactly like the one I would want to know. She’s wearing blue jeans and a yellow tank top. Her hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail. She looks like she belongs in our neighborhood—in this house—drinking beer from a bottle instead of wine from crystal in the palace she comes from.

Even worse, I want her.

I’ve sat here all night long, begging myself to hate her, when all I can think about is how much I fucking want her.

Doesn’t that make me the asshole?

This is on her. Every single fucking part of it.