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I grab onto my boxers and my slacks, pulling them up around my waist. The zipper, the button, and the belt are done up hastily. I’m not thinking. It’s like this total blank spot in the back of my head – as though someone’s grabbed the remote and hit the MUTE button.
Ashley frowns. She lets go of me and takes a step back. One hand tries to straighten her dress and the other one wipes at her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just—it wasn’t what I planned, but I can’t help it, Grant. The longer that I’m around you, the more I know that it’s true. You’re something special to me, and I think… Iknowthat I’ve fallen in love with you. For real.”
My stomach twists itself into knots. I still can’t think. All I can do is stare at her. When I try to open my mouth to say something in protest, nothing comes out. The words are gone, my voice is gone, the whole world seems to have been frozen.
Except for Ashley, who just stands there, staring at me. Her expression sinks. She takes another step backwards, so that her shoulders press against the wall. “I’m sorry.”
“I—I need to think,” I tell her, holding up my hands.
What does that even mean?
I don’t know.
The room suddenly seems too tight, the walls too closed in. The only thing that I know is that I can’t be in this room any longer. Without saying anything else to Ashley—or thinking about the fact that I didn’t get her off—I turn and head for the door.
“Grant,” she calls after me. Ashley reaches to grab onto my wrist as I go past her, but she misses. “Wait! Please, let me just—just stay here and talk to me, okay?”
She follows me across the room, to the door.
“I’m sorry.” I tell her, feeling tongue-tied. I don’t know if I’m apologizing for running out of the room or for something else. All I know is that having her look at me with those bright blue eyes of hers is too much.
I hurry out of the room, barely remembering to grab my keys and my wallet on the way. Rather than take the elevator, I head down to the lobby using the stairs. I’ve hardly hit the first-floor landing when it hits me what’s wrong: I’m scared.
God dammit, I am more like Charlie than I have ever wanted to admit. Just like my brother I have spent my whole adult life not letting women get close to me. I take them on a date, we fuck, and I feed them. Maybe I’ll see the same girl twice, but never three times. It’s my tried-and-true formula. I have always been more focused on work and the success of the company than my own love life. The only difference between me and Charlie is that I don’t flaunt it. I keep a low profile, and I’m less erratic about it all. And after Thomas died something inside of me broke. He wasn’t just my brother; he was my best friend. When he died a piece of me did too, the piece that could even consider letting new love in.
Yep, I’m scared.
I broke from the formula.
Chapter twenty
Ashley
Grantdidn’tcomebackto the hotel room last night.
I get dressed in silence and make myself a cup of coffee. I barely got any sleep. The balcony is our spot, a place that has become a comfort between Grant and me. It’s where I spend the mornings with him.
I can’t bring myself to go out there without him.
I have my coffee on the bed, instead, and then I make my way out of the room and down to the hotel restaurant. On the one hand, I’m terrified to see Grant, terrified of what he’s going to say, but on the other, I’m praying he’s already sitting at the table with his parents. To my horror, Grant’s not there.
Charlie is, and Cheryl, and Don.
They seem surprised when I show up alone.
Cheryl asks, “Is Grant feeling alright?”
“He’s on the phone,” I lie, not wanting to let his parents know that something’s up. “He told me to come down without him.”
Cheryl clucks her tongue. “That’s your fault, Don. You taught them bad habits.”
Don corrects, “I taught them good business practices. Sometimes, those don’t match up with your typical table manners.”
Charlie says, “Whatever, I’m not going to let this make my breakfast cold. He’ll show up when he shows up, or else he can get breakfast elsewhere.”
With that, Charlie digs into his scramble of eggs. Cheryl gives a low sigh. “You two…”
Don tells her, “It’s good that they’re competitive.”
