Page 118 of Built to Fall
“Okay, you don’t have to say it like it’s something I should be euthanized for,” I try to joke, but it comes out stale.
“It’s just irritating to me,” Grant says. “If a guy wants to be inside you, he should at least be interested in what your body likes.”
I can practicallyseewhere this conversation is headed. “I get it, Grant. You’re God’s gift to women, I remember.”
“I know campus likes to give me some kind of asshole-playboy status, and sure, I might have more sex than the average individual, but I’m a real gentleman in bed. I like getting girls off,” he retorts quickly. “That’s not knight-in-shining-armor-type shit. It’s basic decency.”
“Maybe they were all faking it,” I tease, but I don’t make it obvious.
We both know he wouldn’t have the reputation he does if he were a horrible lay. Even Savannah told me outright how good he is. None of that leaves me any room to doubt his ability.
He exhales with a quiet laugh, like I have no idea what I’m talking about. “Trust me,” he says, leaning back against the couch, his smirk deepening, “they weren’t faking it.”
I grab another Scrabble tile, pretending to study the board.
“Mm. Sounds like something a guy who’s never actually made a girl come would say.”
“Lina,” he says, his voice dropping lower, “if a guy says hecan’t tellwhen a girl’s coming, he’s either an idiot, or he’s lying. It’s not exactly subtle when it’s real.”
My shoulders hitch, and I can feel my collarbone jutting out from my tank top with how rigid my body has become. This is definitely not the conversation I thought Grant and I would be having during our game of Scrabble.
But neither of us addresses whether it’s weird. We simply go back to silently playing. The air feels like it’s constricting around us.
It makes me feel the need to say, “You’re actually a nice guy, you know.” I kick his shin from under the coffee table. “You could be a good boyfriend.”
He stiffens. “I’m not sure that’s in the cards for me, pretty girl.”
“You never know,” I muse, tapping my fingers along the coffee table.
Grant barely reacts.
“Are we going to play, or are you going to keep interrogating me?” He grabs a Scrabble tile, his fingers brushing mine briefly as he does.
I look at him, at the way he’s pulling away again, and I know there’s more behind those walls of his. But I can’t decide if I want to know or if I’m afraid of what I’ll find.
“Your turn,” I mutter, my voice a little quieter now, the playful tone from earlier gone.
His eyes linger on me for a moment longer than necessary before he goes back to the game.
But neither of us is really playing anymore. Not really.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
LINA
Later that night, after too many rounds of Scrabble, Grant tosses a pillow at me.
“Come on, pretty girl. You’re crashing hard.” His voice softens, though, when I don’t immediately move. “I know you've gotta be exhausted. I can see it in your face.”
I bite my lip, tucking my legs under me on the couch. Everything feels tight, stretched thin, like if I make one wrong move the whole night will crack wide open.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice betrays me, thin and raspy with nerves.
He leans forward, reaching out like he’s going to help pull me up, but he hesitates. His hand hovers in the air for a second before dropping to his side. “Pretty girl,” he says again, but this time it’s almost a whisper.
Finally, I push myself up, standing way too close to him. Our bodies brush lightly, and I swear the room tilts. Neither of us moves. Not really.
“Why do you call me that?”
