Page 106 of Built to Fall
“Can you at least turn around?”
He rolls his eyes but turns towards the wall anyway. “There. Happy?”
I slide my sweatshirt off as I say, “Very.”
I try to make quick time when changing, in case Grant has wandering eyes. But every time I glance back at him, I only get a view of his back, his eyes still trained on the wall in front of him.
“Okay, you’re good,” I say, already heading for the door. Grant turns and follows close behind.
“So…” I trail off, looking behind me and then slowing down so I’m walking next to Grant. “Where exactly are you taking me?”
He runs a hand through his hair before making eye contact with me.
I have never been considered short, but standing next to Grant, I might as well be. He’s almost an entire head-length taller than me, and with me being 5'7, that probably makes him somewhere close to 6'4.
“Stop being so nosy.” He pokes me near my rib, making me jump.
We make it to the bottom of the stairs without another word, but when I step off the last step and into the living room, it feels like all the air has been knocked out of my lungs.
Sitting in the corner of the living room near the fireplace is the giant, glistening Christmas tree that I have been avoiding all morning. The only presents left underneath it are the ones with my name on them.
My eyes start to sting as we walk by, making our way towards the front door. Aunt Carrie is sitting on the chair near the entryway, waiting to say goodbye.
She stands when she sees us, immediately opening her arms for me. I gladly accept the offer. “I love you so much, Evangelina Grace.” She sounds upset as she holds onto me even tighter.
I pull away slightly to ask, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t have to go.”
“No, no. Don’t you dare.” Her voice sounds like a threat as she shoves my purse into my arms. “Worry about yourself. You need this.”
“Are you su?—”
“Evangelina, you’ve been handed some of the most sour lemons in the past year and have been told to make lemonade.” She grabs my shoulders tightly. “I know it’s not easy for you to be here, surrounded by people who remind you of your mother, which is why I’m telling you to go with Grant. Go with Grant, and make lemonade.”
My eyes are still welling with tears, my whole body so overcome with emotion. All I can do is nod.
“Don’t let me ruin your mood!” Carrie wipes the single fallen tear off my cheek before pushing me further toward the door. “Now go have fun!”
I’m mid-laugh when I accidentally turn into Grant’s chest, about a millimeter away from my face.
I jump in surprise, trying to back away as quickly as possible. And of course, in my attempt to get away from Grant, I trip over the rug behind me.
A screech leaps from my throat as I begin to brace myself for the impact of the hardwood floor. Bracing for my tailbone to hurt and my ass to bruise.
Instead of hitting the floor, though, I feel a large warm hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me back to my feet quickly.
Grant’s hand doesn’t move once I’m standing upright, though. It stays wrapped around my wrist.
God, why does this always happen to me?How do I always end up relying on Grant to catch me when I’m falling?
“You alright?” Grant asks as I try to pull away from his grip.
All I can think about is the possibility that Grant can feel my pulse rapidly increasing by the second—like the blood in my veins is trying to escape.
When I lock eyes with Grant again, he raises his eyebrows in suspicion. I clear my throat. “Y-yeah, fine.”
“She’s fine!” My aunt speaks from behind me. I forgot she was still standing there. “You two need to leave, I’m sure!”
She opens the front door, basically kicking us out by our asses. There’s a black Mercedes in the driveway.
