Page 182 of Things I Wish I Said
“Show it to me?”
The second the words leave my lips, Grayson pulls me out of the living room and down the stairs.
I laugh, filling the quiet as we clomp down them like a herd of buffalo.
We pass two closed doors before he yanks me into the third, revealing a spacious bedroom with a door leading outside to a porch overlooking the ocean.
He closes the door, backing me up toward the bed, a dark glint in his eyes as his gaze trails my body. “Fuck, Sinclair, you know I love it when you wear that skirt.”
One hand settles over my thigh, sliding up to cup my ass at the same time his mouth finds mine.
I moan against his lips, dipping my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, loving the way his muscles clench in response.
His body before college was already incredible, but after a year as a college athlete, it’s insane—honed and chiseled to perfection.
His mouth shifts to my ear, his teeth grazing my earlobe before moving south, licking and nipping his way toward my neck while my breathing grows ragged.
We’ve been together probably a hundred times since that day in November I paid him a visit at George Mason. Living only a short drive from each other has been every bit the dream I hoped it would be. Date nights, time out with friends, and the chance to attend all his home games. We got to do it all together, and any time we’re alone, I still can’t get enough of him.
I gasp when he leans me back on the bed, pushing my shirt up so he can cup my breasts, then bring his mouth back to mine.
I want to tell him about my scan results. I should tell him now, but I know the moment will be interrupted and forgotten with the news, and right now, all I want is him.
Always him.
After dinner with Victoria, me and Grayson opt to take a walk on the beach.
The evening air is surprisingly cool, tempered by the breeze coming off the water. We took a quick swim earlier, so I know just how cold it is.
The salty scent of brine fills my nose as we walk, a hint of cinnamon in the air from the man beside me.
Grayson reaches down and takes my hand, tugging me toward him as our gazes soak in the sights. Whitecaps dot the dark water as waves crash and lap against the shore in a soothing rhythm, the ocean seemingly an endless blanket of blue in the fading sun.
Somewhere above us, a seagull caws. A child screams in delight along the shoreline.
We’re not the only ones out tonight. More than a dozen families and couples stroll along, milking the last of the daylight.
I pause, and I can feel Grayson’s eyes on me as I stare out at the ocean, a soft smile playing on the corners of my mouth as I remember the last time we did this. The memory of LA is bittersweet—painful but necessary. I’m not sure we’d be here without it.
When I glance up at him, there’s a question in his eyes, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he presses a soft kiss to my hair, which is in that awkward stage between short and a chin-length bob.
“A year ago, I stared out at the ocean, thinking it was for the last time,” I say.
Grayson stills beside me, sensing the direction I’m headed. “A year ago, I had no interest in coming back to this place. Until I met you.”
I nod, absorbing his words. “I forgot how much I love the East Coast.”
It’s not like Mom and I could afford many vacations growing up, but I don’t say that. This conversation isn’t about that.
“Last week, I had my scans done.”
I hear the air rush from his lungs even as his muscles stiffen.
I turn, glancing up at him, into eyes the color of storm clouds, and say, “They came back clean.”
He blinks. Sucks in a breath. His expression is wary, like he’s almost afraid to believe what I’m telling him. My eyes fill with tears as I think about how far I’ve come and the road I traveled to get here.
“What does that mean?” he finally asks, though I have no doubt he already knows; he just wants me to confirm it.
