Page 35 of Losing Forever
Probably.
But he seems so focused.
I glance at Caitlyn to see if she’s watching him, too. Nope. She’s staring out the window of the front door.
When I return my gaze to Grayson, his elbows are on the desk, his chin resting on his clasped hands. The dark-blue fabric of his shirt stretches across his back, showing off his muscles.
Damn. I blow out a breath, tempted to fan myself off. Next, I’m laughing at myself for the way I’m acting.
Grayson turns his head, his ear pointed toward me.
Did he hear me laugh? I was quiet.
His head turns more, and his eyes cast to the side like he’s about to glance my way.
Panic surges through me. I whirl toward my laptop, knocking a paper to the floor, and leave it while I pretend to work. What is wrong with me? I’m acting like a teenager with a crush.
I have more than enough work to keep me occupied. It’s Friday. I don’t want to bring any home, not that it would matter. My plans are the same as always: Netflix, Pinterest, Instagram, romance novels. I might change things up and chance a swim in the pool.
I’m sure it’s nothing compared to Grayson’s plans for the weekend. I shouldn’t care. I never cared about stuff like this before. I like keeping to myself and being alone. Only now I might want something more—and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.
13
Braylee
Iset my towel on the lounge chair and glance around the pool deck before taking off my cover-up. It's stupid. No one is home. No one will see me.
Even if Noah or Graysonwerehome, I shouldn't be embarrassed. They've seen the scars on my arm and my hairline. I don't hide those anymore, and really, it's too hot in Florida to cover myself up. But no one besides my doctor and Aunt Lina have seen the scars on my torso. I have two. Stretching from my armpit to my hip, the thick ribbons intertwine on my right side and curve onto my stomach and my back.
The sun hides behind a cloud and I sigh. The shadier the better. Less risk of my scars turning a brownish-red. Living in Florida, I don't like being pale, but tanning will make my scars darker. As of now, they're pink.
To be safe, I spray myself again with SPF 100 sunblock. Then I dip a foot into the pool. The temperature is cool and wonderful. I twist my long hair into a bun and ease into the water until I’m waist-deep. I haven't been in a pool since my family vacationed on Catalina Island a year before they died.
I gasp. I haven't referred to them as dead maybe ever. I always say or think “the accident,” but this time, I didn't. My thoughts went to a place I haven't been able to go, the place my previous therapist tried hard to get me to say.
The milestone doesn't bring me peace or pride. Instead, it draws guilt to the surface. How dare I disrespect their memory by referring to them as dead?
“It's not disrespect. It's a form of closure.”The voice of the therapist rings in my head.
Trying to drown her out, I dunk under the water and push off the bottom surface to swim toward the other side of the pool. When I come up, a person is standing near the edge.
I shriek and wipe the water from my face and eyes.
The shadowed form blocking the sun holds up his hands. “Braylee. It's me.”
“Grayson?” I tense.
“Yeah.” He lowers his hands to his sides.
“What are you doing here?” Please don’t say to swim.
“Well, I live here.”
“I mean, why are you home? I thought you were going out with Noah.” Is he here, too? I glance at the second-floor deck.
“We had a double date planned but mine canceled.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
I wish I could blow off the idea of him with another girl as easily as he can. I wish I could move past the jealousy I feel, too. It’s not like we have a relationship of any kind—because of Noah and his threat, which he said he’d remove.
