Page 166 of Built to Fall
“Really?” From what he made it sound like, Grant was the only one who regularly visited the lake house. “What for?”
He stalls immediately, leaning down to kiss my neck and my collarbone. Clearly, it’s a question he doesn’t want to answer. The motion of him moving to hover over me, rolling me on my back in the same movement, dizzies me a bit.
Grant’s hand slips beneath my tank top, his hand splaying across my ribs. There’s no real intent behind it. It’s just natural.
I know I shouldn’t let him avoid this, but I also wonder if this is the distraction he needs. All my logic is telling me thatdistracting yourself as a form of avoidance isn’t healthy. Yet, my fingers still get lost in his hair, kissing him back feverishly. As if it’s not ridiculously early in the morning. As if we’re both not holding things back.
But my lapse of judgment only lasts a moment. My brain kicks back into overdrive right as his hands continue trailing down my torso, leaving trails of goosebumps.
“Grant.” I press a firm hand to his bare chest, ignoring the ripples of muscles in favor of keeping my composure. “Stop.”
He rears back, his molasses-thick, brown eyes immediately boring into mine.
It’s my turn to ask, “What’s going on?”
His hair is a mess from my fingers. His mouth is still parted like he hasn’t figured out how to stop kissing me even though I’ve asked him to. He doesn’t touch me now, doesn’t move closer. Just looks at me.
Then Grant deflates and flops onto his back beside me, staring up at the ceiling without a word.
“Grant,” I say again.
“Abby’s friends planned her baby shower for this weekend. I guess they didn’t know…” He stops himself, and I reach out to grab his bicep. He’s as rigid as a brick wall.
“Didn’t know what?”
“They planned it for the same weekend as the anniversary of our mom’s death.” His voice stays steady, but I’m not naive to the weight behind it.
“Oh,” I breathe, moving my hand closer to his collar.
“She almost didn’t even realize because she was so excited, and then when she did, she felt awful.” His face sinks with remembrance. I know how much he cares about his sisters, and this is definitely hurting him more than he’s letting on.
The dynamic between Grant and me is hilariously lopsided when it comes to emotions. He grew up with two sisters who made him an emotional compass.
Whereas, I rely on rationality and facts. I was raised by my mother, who was so carefree that emotions were too much of a burden for her exuberant view of life. It was nothing she didwrong.It had to do with the fact that she preferred spending her time having fun.
Coupled with my photographic memory, I grew up cataloging information rather than dissecting emotions. Emotions aren’t something I can memorize or study, and I’m smart enough to recognize my weaknesses.
A photographic memory is good for many things. Emotional fluency? Not one of them.
Grant feels instinctively. I study.
He swims in it. I dip a toe in and panic.
“So, why the lake house?”
“Claire and I convinced Abby not to reschedule the entire baby shower. Eventually she agreed, but she wanted to include Mom somehow, and that’s how she landed on the lake house.”
“That’s really sweet.” The lake house was their mom’s favorite place. It makes sense to have it there in her honor. “But aren’t men not allowed at baby showers?”
He grins. “I’m an exception, of course.”
“Youarethe third sister they always wanted,” I joke.
“That, and I may have resorted to bribery.”
I roll onto my stomach, keeping my eyes on him while I lay my cheek against the same pillow his elbow is propped on. Grant’s hand automatically reaches for the small of my back that’s been exposed.
“What’d you offer?” I ask.
