Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
GRAYSON
I do everything but look at Abby as she slowly removes her shirt, not wanting her to feel self-conscious.
Even though I really want to fucking look.
I shuffle the cards. Move my seat closer to the table. Drain the last of my now tepid tea.
I’ve been trying to make her comfortable throughout the game, lightening the mood despite it being her idea. But as my gaze sweeps up to check if she’s ready for the next round, it gets stuck on her cleavage.
I’ve never seen anything remotely close to cleavage on Abby, who’s usually wearing a shirt that covers even her collarbone. Nothing like this creamy expanse of porcelain skin, the bra lifting her breasts to create a valley between them, delicate lace skimming the edges of the cups. She’s not big-chested—maybe a B-cup—but I’ve never cared about cup size.
And why the fuck am I thinking about Abby’s cup size? Abby is my friend . She’s doing me a favor by agreeing to be my fake date to Owen’s wedding. I shouldn’t be considering her in a sexual way.
But hasn’t she been flirting with me tonight? Or is my brain so addled from all the strange thoughts of her today that I’m interpreting normal conversation as flirting? Abby and I have never been interested in one another. And she could have her pick of guys in town. She’s smart and funny and caring and beautiful and…
How have I never noticed that before?
“Are you going to deal?” she murmurs, her arms crossed over her chest now. Unfortunately, the action only serves to push her breasts together more. Damn, she looks good like that.
No. I’m dealing cards, not salivating over my sister’s best friend.
But she was the one who suggested we play strip poker to begin with. And was definitely checking me out when I took off my shirt…
Fuck. I need to stop.
I deal and stare at my two cards—the nine and queen of spades. Let’s see if the rest turn out to be anything.
I flip over the first three community cards without looking at Abby to gauge her reaction. It’s been fun trying to figure out her tells tonight, but now that her shirt is off, it doesn’t feel that way anymore. It feels… serious.
It’s been years since I’ve played strip poker—college would have been the last time. And even with all those teenage hormones raging in me, I don’t remember it feeling this weighty. Maybe I wasn’t as attracted to those girls.
Wait. Am I attracted to Abby?
I’d thought to myself she was beautiful the other day, but attraction is different.
My face is downcast toward my cards, but I peek up at her, past her chest to the graceful fall of her hair around her shoulders, the warmth of her honey-brown eyes, the softness of her lips. She’s not the kind of girl that grabs your attention right away, but once you look at her, really look at her…
She’s breathtaking.
Ah, shit.
I turn over the next card without seeing it, then the next, my mind turning over this revelation.
“I have a straight,” Abby says excitedly, laying down the four of hearts and six of diamonds to match the three, five, and seven of spades on the table.
It takes me a moment to focus back on the game. “Wow, that’s great. Your best hand tonight.” I finally take stock of my hand and the community cards. “I have a flush. All spades.”
I lay my cards down, not registering what it means until her jaw drops. I won.
“What are the chances we both have our best hands during the same round?”
A nervous chuckle escapes me. “Yeah,” I agree lamely, not sure what else to say.
I know what I should say. I should be a gentleman and tell her we can stop the game right now. That neither of us should undress any further. That this might change the dynamic between us.
But I keep quiet instead, waiting to see what she does.
“Guess I have to strip,” she says, toying with one of her bra straps.
My gaze zeroes in on where her fingers flirt with the satin material, inching down her shoulder and upper arm. The cup loosens, folding down, and if she does it much more, her nipple will show.
My dick twitches, excited for what comes next.
She pauses, then stands, one hand still on her loose bra strap, the other hooking into the waistband of her panties. “Actually, which do you think I should take off?”
I stare at her, my tongue going thick in my mouth, the blood rushing from my head down to my dick. This is beyond flirting. This is… intimate. Seductive. I didn’t know Abby was capable of this.
Or that I would like it so much.
I have the insane urge to tell her to take off both. To tell her to come over here and climb on my lap so she can feel exactly what she’s doing to me.
But this is Abby. Abby . Kristen’s best friend. I can’t mess around with her like that.
A phone rings, breaking the charged moment, and Abby lets go of her underwear, blinking at me like she’s free from a spell she was under. She turns, digging in her purse on the counter until she finds her phone.
I take the opportunity to breathe in deeply, grateful that something put a stop to it. We were getting too carried away. What would have happened, otherwise? How would I have responded to her?
“Mom, slow down,” Abby’s saying, worry in her voice. “What’s wrong?”
Wait, what’s going on?
“He fell?” A long pause. “I’ll be right over.”
She makes eye contact with me as she hangs up, and there’s nothing of the seductress in her anymore. There’s distress and fear and an exhaustion I haven’t seen in her this week.
The lust that had been rising within me evaporates. “What is it?”
“My dad fell and Mom can’t get him up.” She sets her phone down and picks her shirt up to put it on, but it’s inside out. She tries to flip it right side out, but somehow tangles it up more, the fabric twisting.
I approach her slowly, gently taking it from her shaking hands. “Let me help you with that.”
She nods, then turns to pick her jeans up off the floor, but not before I catch her wiping under her eye.
“I’m sorry, I—” She clears her throat. “I have to go. I can drop you at—”
“I’ll go with you,” I say, untwisting her shirt. “If you need help.” She clearly does.
She shakes her head, but I stop her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Let me help you,” I murmur.
She takes her shirt from me and puts it on. “Okay,” she finally whispers. She looks up at me, a hint of moisture in her eyes. “Thank you.”
Warmth fizzles in my chest, hot and unexpected, but I don’t examine too closely what it means.
A small smile breaks through the distress on her face. “But you’ll have to put on some clothes.”
Right, of course.
I jump into action, dressing quickly, and follow her out the door. She struggles to lock the front door, her hands still shaking, and I take the keys from her to do it myself.
“How about I drive?” I ask, and she nods gratefully.
Once we’re in her car, she tells me how to get her to parents’ place, which is only about five minutes away. There’s a thick silence in the air, neither of us mentioning what happened in the house, how what was supposed to be a fun, teasing game turned into something different. Something more.
At least, it did for me. And from the look in her eye, I’m fairly sure it did for her, too.
When we make the last turn, she says, “Dad gets confused sometimes. He might not recognize you. Actually, he probably won’t. It’s been at least a decade since you’ve seen him.”
“Yeah, no worries.” Even without dementia, I’d be surprised if he remembers me.
“It’s the yellow house up here on the left.”
I park behind a beige sedan, and Abby is unbuckled before the car’s even stopped, then rushing up the driveway to the front door. She rings the doorbell twice and paces, wringing her hands in front of her.
A slight woman answers the door, probably in her mid-sixties, relief filling her face when her gaze lands on Abby.
“Come on,” Abby says, forgoing any kind of greeting as she speeds past her mother.
The woman’s eyes widen as she spots me, and I give her an apologetic smile as I pass by her, following Abby into the house.
“He’s usually in the living—” She pauses as she enters the threshold of another room. “Oh, Dad.”
She rushes over to where a man is sprawled face-down on the carpet and attempts to pick him up, but can’t. He’s a big man, and I honestly don’t know if the two women could lift him together.
It’s awkward with him being deadweight, but I manage to get him up and into the recliner nearby.
He blinks up at me, like he just became aware someone was helping him, and there’s something childlike about it, especially paired with his striped pajamas and bare feet.
His blinks turn into a squint. “Frank?”
I go still, my father’s name punching me square in the chest.
He turns next to Abby. “And Nancy? What are you doing here?”
Abby smiles patiently, but doesn’t bother correcting him. “Let’s get you ready for bed,” she says, guiding him out of the chair and toward the hallway.
His steps are careful at first, as if he’s afraid of falling again, then more sure.
“You used to babysit little Frankie, remember?”
She makes a noncommittal noise and looks over her shoulder at me before disappearing down the hall. Sorry , she mouths.
I nod, not that she needs to apologize. She said he gets confused and wouldn’t recognize me.
I rub at the dull ache in the center of my chest. Even though it’s been five years since Dad died, the loss never really goes away. Just lessens with time.
“Who did he call you?”
I glance over at Abby’s mom at the edge of the hallway, huddled in a pink fleece robe and matching slippers, her gray hair in a loose braid down her back. I can’t for the life of me remember her name.
“Frank. My dad.”
Her head tilts to the side, then recognition hits. “You’re Cheryl’s oldest. Kristen’s other brother.”
“Grayson.” I hold out my hand and she shakes it, her thin fingers cold.
“I’m Brenda.”
Silence settles between us, the distant sound of water running coming from the bathroom. I glance around the living room, the furniture and decor outdated, but kept neat and tidy.
“Who’s Nancy?” I ask, just to make conversation.
“Oh, Abby’s aunt. Stephen’s late sister. Abby looks very similar to Nancy when she was younger, especially her hair. He… he sometimes gets them confused now.”
There’s apology and shame in her voice, and I want to tell her she doesn’t need to be sorry, but I don’t know her well enough and don’t want to call attention to it.
What a cruel fucking disease.
“Did Abby’s aunt really babysit my dad?” I ask instead, trying to shift the mood.
She laughs softly. “I suppose she did. She would have been about fifteen years older than him, probably. I might have even babysat him, now that I think about it.”
Wow. That’s so weird.
“Stephen and I are quite a bit older than your parents,” she continues. “I… I was there at his funeral. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” I never know exactly how to respond to people’s condolences, but I’ve found that a simple thanks works well enough.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first. I suppose I wasn’t expecting Abby to show up with anyone so late at night.”
She’s not nearly as bad as Mom is fishing for details, but there’s still an unspoken question of what the hell were you doing with my daughter?
I have no idea if Abby’s shared with her mother this clandestine arrangement we have going on, so I tell her, “We’re both in Owen and Harper’s wedding party. We were getting some things ready for the wedding when you called.”
Which is a complete lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She brightens with the simple explanation. “That’s right. Her new friend Harper. It’s so nice she has more friends. She’s only really ever had Kristen.”
I keep my grin to myself, knowing Abby’s cheeks would be burning red hearing her mom talk about her like this.
“Now, maybe you can explain something to me,” she says. “Harper and your brother are already married, but they’re having a wedding?”
I let loose my grin, knowing it doesn’t make any sense either. I explain how they got married in Vegas nearly six years ago, and by the time I’m done, Abby’s returned, weariness radiating off of her.
“Thank you, dear.” Brenda crosses the room to hug her daughter, and though Abby’s not particularly tall, she still seems to dwarf her mother as she enfolds her in her arms.
“Everything okay with your dad?” I ask her. We didn’t check to see if he’d hurt himself during the fall, though he seemed to be walking okay.
“Yeah, he’s in bed now.”
“I’m sorry I had to call you,” Brenda says. “But I couldn’t get him up on my own.”
“It’s fine, Mom. You can call me anytime.”
“You’re a good daughter,” she whispers. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Abby smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
Brenda pats her arm. “I’ll let you two get back to your wedding prep.” Abby sends a questioning look my way, but I shake my head slightly. “Thank you for your help, Grayson.”
“Yeah, of course.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her she can call me again if she needs help, but I stop myself in time. I’m leaving on Sunday. I can’t offer help I can’t give.
“I’ll come by tomorrow to help out,” Abby tells her mom before we leave. “Sorry I didn’t make it over this weekend.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that.” Brenda waves her off. “You enjoy your week off.”
In the driveway, I try to hand Abby her car keys, but she shakes her head tiredly. “Can you drive?”
“Yeah, I’ll, um, just drive to my mom’s place.”
She nods, staring out the window on our ride back.
I want to ask her how she’s doing, but she doesn’t seem like she wants to talk, back to the Abby I’m used to from before this week, who’s more of a silent observer than participant.
When we get to Mom’s, she thanks me again, and though it seems genuine, there’s also something perfunctory about it. As if she can’t give anything else today, all her energy spent.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, keeping things simple as I hand her the keys and get out of the car.
“Grayson, wait.”
I pause halfway up the drive, looking back at her.
She gets out of the passenger side of the car. “I’m sorry I’m not myself right now. It has nothing to do with you. That thing with my dad rattled me.”
I walk back over to her, taking in her somber expression, the red-rimmed eyes I didn’t catch before.
“Go home and get some sleep. We’ll talk about it more another time.”
The urge strikes me to lean forward and kiss her forehead in comfort, the impulse seeming natural even though we’ve never done anything remotely like it before.
But I don’t. So much has changed today, I can’t begin to process it.
And I have a feeling sleep will be a long time coming tonight.