Page 105 of Really Truly Yours

I won’t nag him about it. It’s not my place. “How is your shoulder?” He hasn’t mentioned his injury in a while. A realization latches on. He never talks about himself.

“Hurts.” He palms and rolls it. “We’ll see.”

Seriously. Almost never. “When is the first game?”

“Not until next week. Our opponent hasn’t been decided yet.”

We start walking again. “Will you go to the games?”

He rubs his neck, his hand getting lost in the waves there. The muscles at the tops of his shoulders—what are those called? Trapezoids? They bunch.

I blink the unhelpful-for-my-contentment-with-solitude image away.

I gain no ground, because I notice his jaw would be prickly to the touch of my fingers. An added complication for my intentions is the irregular green shape on his bicep that peeks from the sleeve of his shirt and stirs my curiosity.

My feet speed ahead, spurred by thoughts that are entirely not okay. I came tonight for Donny. After this, Gray and I are done. I probably have more in common with his brother than him, and despite his very early years in a home similar to mine, Gray could never understand.

I would never want him to.

I’m think-talking crazy again. So he wanted to kiss me Saturday. He’s a man.

“Is there a fire somewhere?” His fingers crook lightly around my arm. “Slow up, Sydnee Lou.”

Sydnee Lou? I melt every time he says it.

His squinting contains a hint of sparkle. “You’re thinking something.”

“No. I’m tired, Grayson. It’s late.”

“Grayson again, is it?

That was a slip, albeit a timely one. “It is your name. Look, I need to get home. I’m exhausted.”

He lifts his palms. “Hey, nobody’s stopping you. You’re the one pumping me with questions about games and stuff.”

“I was not pumping…” I shake my head. “Thank you for inviting me tonight, for letting me be part of their reunion.”

Gray scratches his jaw, a habit that makes it easy to see when he’s mulling something significant, often uncomfortable. “Nobody got killed.”

“No, but I think we were never more than one Donny-comment away from the big boom.”

He laughs. “You’re funny, Sydnee.”

I’m startled into a blink. Funny? That’s not something I’ve ever been accused of.

I’ve got to get out of here. I’m not myself around Gray. I turn to my ugly car, little escape hatch that it is, and unluck the door. At my side, he steps off the curb.

“Go on a date with me.”

Key in the lock, I freeze. A swallow comes hard and fast. “No.”

On a rumbling groan, he tosses his face to the stars. “How did I know you’d say that?”

“Because you’re smarter than you look?” I open the door and throw my purse across the narrow console.

Gray’s lack of response registers. I sneak a peak. The kicked puppy look does not become him—other than the fact that it makes him heartbreakingly adorable and makes me want to throw my arms around him and kiss his sad little face.

Hurt face. I close my eyes. Did my flippant remark hit a deeper note? Or is this manipulation, pure and simple?

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