18. Then
EIGHTEEN
then
No more running , I vowed to myself.
If I had any prayer of salvaging my chances with Gray, I had to convince him I could get through a whole date without panicking or trying to bolt. Even if that meant keeping my hands to myself.
After all, he invited me out in public, to a party his friends were attending. I had to make a good impression and prove I was capable of holding my own at upscale events.
Surely we could go one night without jumping each other.
That way, I would make it through the whole evening without an episode. Gray would see that I wasn’t completely psycho. And then, the next time we were alone, I could try the trigger-avoidance stuff.
Simple.
Or not.
Because dear Lord .
Always beautiful beyond compare in slacks and a button-down, Gray was otherworldly in a suit.
He stood at the mouth of the subway station, checking the gold watch on his left wrist while the streetlight above shone off his slicked black hair and polished leather shoes. His light gray suit complimented both. And the crisp white dress shirt underneath highlighted the golden warmth of his skin.
He’d shaved, baring the perfect lines of his jaw and cheeks. My gaze instantly flew to his lips, sculpted to perfection, even when he quirked them into a concerned frown.
“Gray?”
He turned and saw me, the shadows instantly fleeing his face. He started to smile, then froze. His eyes widened into big green vats.
“Ella. Hi.”
He looked down at the sidewalk between us while dread chilled my stomach.
Oh no , I thought, it’s the dress. It’s too much .
“I’m so sorry if this outfit is wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a gallery opening before. I can go home and change, but it will probably take me a while…”
I expected one of his wry grins or maybe an eye roll. Instead, he looked off to the street and adjusted his gold cufflink. “Your outfit’s great,” he said unconvincingly.
He checked his watch again, staring for a second too long. “We should go,” he concluded.
I’d Googled the gallery, so I knew it was two big blocks away, on the other side of the High Line. I turned to the west and started walking, pulling my red-and-black velvet shawl tighter around my body .
It was cold, considering it was only the first weekend in October. Looking at Gray didn’t help. In fact, every time I glanced at him, a chill ran down my back.
He was as distant as I’d ever seen him, his gorgeous face set in remote lines. With both hands in the pockets of his pants, he stared straight ahead and strode on in silence.
“So, um,” I started, trying to make conversation. “This is a friend of yours?”
He shrugged a shoulder and kept his eyes forward. “I guess so. Architecture is a small program at Columbia, so we all know each other. This guy is also an Art major. I guess these pictures are supposed to be ‘revolutionary’.” He made air quotes and shook his head. “I’m not sure what that means , but.”
“It sounds nice,” I commented, feeling lame. “Who else will be there?”
With another evasive lift of his shoulders, he grunted, “Not sure. Probably a bunch of artsy types and the guys who follow them around. My old roommate is usually one of those. Shithead.”
Gray normally had a dry sense of humor, but now he just sounded… cynical. My annoyance accidentally bled into my tone. “Well, if you don’t want to go, why are we here?”
For the first time since I arrived, he actually looked at me. A flash of amusement moved through his eyes. “I have to go to lots of stuff like this. I never want to. And, like I said, I figured we should try a date where we can’t make out. The other kind hasn’t gone my way lately.”
I couldn’t tell if he was angry or just making a point. “Well, it hasn’t been easy for me either,” I retorted, tossing my hair over my shoulder.
He smiled sardonically and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, casting me a sideways glance. “So you agree we shouldn’t hook up, but you thought you’d torture me with that little black dress? ”
I gave an indignant huff. “As if you don’t know that suit makes you the sexiest man alive.”
His grin instantly melted all of my pique. “It’s Armani,” he said, giving his sleeves an amused once-over before cocking an eyebrow at me. “Who knew you had such expensive taste?”
That made me giggle. Maybe I do . After all, Grayson Stryker wasn’t just any guy. If men were chocolates, he would’ve been the most decadent, expensive truffle in the case. Ironic, considering I would’ve been a pudding cup.
“It’s less about the suit and more about who’s in it,” I teased, pointedly eyeing his broad shoulders and tapered hips.
Gray’s gaze warmed at my compliment. He extended his hand. A peace offering. “Think we can manage this?”
His voice sounded teasing, but his face didn’t match. Concern filled the space between his brows until I reached over and slid our palms together with a reassuring smile. “Yes.”
Tension leeched out of his body, and my heart swelled. He was clearly nervous that I would hurt him by running again. It only strengthened my resolve.
No more running.
Hoping to relax him further, I squeezed his hand while we walked. He flashed me the Prince Charming smile that made my knees wobble. “Fair warning, this will be a bunch of privileged Columbia students convincing ourselves we’re cool by standing around and acting like we know anything about art.”
“Insufferable,” I laughed. “It will be easy to keep my hands to myself while you’re being a pretentious poser.”
He chuckled. “See? My plan is working already.”