Page 33 of Built to Fall
“You’re out here, alone, in the dark, with headphones in, and no clue who’s behind you.”
“I was aware of you.”
“Yeah? And what if I were someone else?”
“Then this would be a very different conversation.”
He lets out this half-scoff, half-laugh noise. “Jesus. No wonder Meredith has been so worried about you.”
I want to ask how he knows that. I’m shocked Meredith would talk to Grant about her concerns for me, but she does go over to his and Braxton’s apartment. It shocks me even more to think about Meredith being concerned at all.
She’s too indifferent to care. Too complacent.
“Thanks for the concern.”
He follows. Of course he does. Which is annoying but weirdlynotat the same time.
“I just don’t want to be the last person to see you alive before your missing person’s report is being shown all over the news.”
“You’re really bad at expressing basic decency.”
“And you’re really bad at staying alive, apparently. It stresses me out.”
I slow a little, just enough to side-eye him. “Why are you even out here?”
He cocks his head slightly, like the answer should be obvious, and it makes the fabric of his hoodie pull across his chest,showing off the outline of his ridiculously broad shoulders. “We have mandatory weightlifting before class. I’d rather get it done and over with.”
We fall into step together. A minute passes. Quiet enough that our quick footsteps sync, and it’s only then that I really think about the fact that he’s still running with me.
“Why are you following me?” I say.
Grant shoots me a sideways look. “Someone has to make sure you don’t go sprinting into oncoming traffic.”
“Wow. You really are God’s gift to women, aren’t you, Grant?” I say, feigning a dreamy sigh.
“I guess you could say I'm gifted in many areas. Especially when it comes to women.” He winks, and it shouldn’t work, but it does. Smug looks good on him. It’s infuriating.
“Gross.”
“You asked.”
“I really didn’t.”
“You’ve got a real smart mouth for someone willing to run by themselves in the dark.”
I snort. “You say that like you’re not doing the same exact thing.”
“Yeah, but I think I have a way better chance of holding my own against late-night serial killers,” he says, like that settles it.
“Impressive. Truly. Must be hard walking around with all that upper body strength weighing your brain cells down.”
“I think you’re forgetting I got into Yale just like you did.”
I would make a joke about how he doesn’t even believe I could get into Yale, but it feels a bit much. Like beating a dead horse. I go for something more original instead.
“Really?” I mock confusion. “Is that what the millions of dollars they’re paying you are for? Your big ole brain?”
He chuckles under his breath, eyes flicking over to me like I’ve surprised him. Maybe I have.
