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I turn and look out the window of the Escalade, my neck starting to remind me that I just got in an accident, and my cheek is on fire. I feel like a dodgeball that got thrown against a barbed wire fence.
I realize there will be no “making light” with Grayson Hawke. No chit chat. No small talk. No conversation. I’d be smart to learn this now.
Stop trying so hard, Eloise. Not everyone has to like you.
“I still need to shop and pick up your dry cleaning,” I say.
He frowns, confused. “I’m capable of getting my own food. And I don’t have any dry cleaning.”
“Don’t you wear suits to away games?”
“My suits are already clean.”
I nod. “Okay, well, you’re on the road for the next three days, so maybe I could go to your apartment, stock the fridge and—”
“No.” He cuts me off. “I mean . . . it’s fine. You don’t have to do that.”
“Beverly said—”
“I don’t care what Beverly said,” he tells me. “You told me I could let you know which things on that list are fine, and that’s not fine.”
“I asked if you wanted to go over the list, and you never responded,” I counter.
“I just did.”
He’s so difficult. Ugh.
“I don’t need this kind of . . .” He seems to be searching for the right word. “Assistance.”
I eye him. “Won’t it make your life easier?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to worry about there being another person in my space.”
“Well, maybe just tell me what you would be okay with.” I wince when I turn too quickly. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but I could be really good at this if you let me.” I feel like I’m holding my hat in my hand.
Or like I’m on The Bachelor hoping the rose he’s holding is for me.
Either way, it’s vulnerable and slightly humiliating.
I need to succeed at something. Won’t you let me try?
He holds my gaze a fraction of a second too long, then says, “I know. I understand. But I don’t know how to have this kind of help. I’ve never . . .” He purses his lips together and shakes his head. “I’ll just have Gerard drive you home.”
I frown at the abrupt change of subject. “I can take the train.”
“No,” he says, firmly. “Gerard, can you take Eloise home?”
“Of course.” Gerard meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Still on Cupid Lane, Eloise?”
“That’s right.”
Gray looks at me, as if he hadn’t made the connection that Gerard is Dallas’s driver. And Dallas dates my sister. And unlike Gray, I like to go explore the world.
Gerard slowly pulls away from the curb.
Gray lets out a sigh. “And I don’t know what Beverly told you, but you don’t need to make a habit of staying for practice,” he says.
“I told you, I needed a key,” I say, and then add, “and I wanted to make sure you didn’t scare any small children.”
