Page 107 of Really Truly Yours

What if I choose something Gray recognizes as his sister-in-law’s hand-me-down.

How likely is that? They haven’t known each other long. He lives hours away, and given her present condition, these are clothes she wouldn’t have worn in some time.

I hoist the bag and empty it onto the bed.

Piece after quality piece, I comb through the items. Try on a few. Sigh time and again.

They’re perfect. Every. Single. Thing.

Avery has stellar taste, the kind I’d have if I had real money.

“Sydnee Carson! Your life is fine. You have enough. No pity parties allowed!”

The dress I choose is casual, as instructed, but oh-so pretty, or will be once I work some magic with the iron. It fits like a glove, flowing out from the waist and hitting right above the knee. The autumn green shade fits both the season and my personal color palette.

Avery neglected to mention the giant grab-bag contained several pairs of shoes, but one of them fits both me and the dress as if they were made for this moment.

With Grayson Smith. Will he tell me I’m pretty?

Exactly how long have I been this pathetic? Sometimes I rise to the occasion.

Don’t I? I own my own palace. Um, house. I work hard. I haven’t devolved into drugs or hooked myself to a louse of a man out of needy insecurity. I retain a dream or two tucked away for the future.

Yes. I’ll remember these things for later…in case. In case my glimpse at how the other half lives, at their shiny bells and whistles, drags discontent from its cave to prowl about for more. In case all this out-of-character socializing accentuates the solitude.

Most of all, in case Gray. Lest Gray, with his mesmerizing eyes and his sculpted shoulders that look amazing and hint at the gift of sharing heavy loads, tempts me to think I can have things I know can never be mine. I can’t fathom why he’s chosen to spend even a snippet of his precious time with me. His world must teem with beautiful, fascinating women.

The only thing that makes any kind of sense is that he’s bored while shut out of the game and stressed from Donny’s upheaval of his steady existence.

∞∞∞

Out of my league, indeed.

One look at Gray on my doorstep, one whiff of his cologne, and I accept that I have been outmaneuvered. If he decides to turn the full force of his charm on me, I’m a goner. His existence alone is persuasive. If he weaponizes his smile, I’m doomed.

My knees shake with realization. I’m as vulnerable, weak, and susceptible as any woman I’ve shaken my head or rolled my eyes at.

His hair has been trimmed, but the rich waves have only been tamed, not eliminated. The absence of stubble is bittersweet. A black, three-quarter-zip sweater stretches across his chest, molding itself to every lousy muscle.

I have been lying to myself for what, two weeks, now? Three?

I can’t even think straight.

Maybe, if I were smart, I’d take what I could have so at least someday, down the road, I could remember when. Except, that’s not what I want. It isn’t what I believe in. Lord, make me strong.

He’s so big and tough and…masculine. The word isn’t comprehensive enough.

My preformed assumptions about Gray—about me and Gray—stutter and stammer in my chest. Fine, sincere creases wrinkle around his eyes as they skim over me, lingering on my face. “You’re beautiful, Sydnee.”

“Thanks.”

Did I tack a question mark onto that? Not a good start.

I lift my finger. “Hold on a sec. I need to get something.”

I retreat to within the four walls of my bedroom and sag against the closet door. You’re so pretty, Syd. Dad told me that once, during a happy period when he was clean and sober. I cried then, too.

In the interest of mascara, I snag a tissue, collect myself, and come out smiling. “Okay. Ready.”

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