Chapter 4
TJ
RAINBOW
Judging by the look on her face, Grace is clearly not amused by me interrupting her conversation with her grandparents.
I can see her chest rise and fall with irritated breaths, her nostrils flaring each time.
Her normally soft evergreen eyes are narrowed on me with annoyance.
No one looks at me with this much open hostility, except maybe Sutton because he's always a shit-starter.
But I like seeing her like this.
I’ve spent most of my adult life having people not act like themselves around me.
Some fawn over me, some ask the same dumb questions about being the famous frontman for Teal Tigers, while others just freeze, not knowing what to do in my presence.
But I couldn’t care less, I’m just a guy from Seattle that grew up in foster care.
I’ve never wanted the attention of being a celebrity and that's what makes Grace special. Ever since that day we met, she’s treated me like just another guy, the same way her brothers did when I hired Tanner as my property manager and then Clay to design one of my houses.
She dragged me on stage to sing karaoke at a shitty dive bar all night.
It wasn’t because she wanted to see Tommy Jacob from Teal Tigers perform.
She was just having fun and wanted others to enjoy themselves too.
She wouldn’t even let me sing anything rock, it was girl anthem after girl anthem.
She toyed with me every morning on that trip while I was trying to fish, doing her morning cold plunges, making me watch the cold water glisten on her body in the sunrise.
She joked and laughed, both with me and at me, flashing that glowing, kind smile that still haunts my dreams. Nothing about the way she treated me said awestruck or fangirl.
People like that are… rare — the kind I want to surround myself with.
Looking across the small table at her, I would do anything to make that smile appear again. I start to work through every idea in my head to lighten the mood when her eyes meet mine again. She glares for just a moment before dropping her head into her hands with a long sigh.
Yep. She’s annoyed with me.
Maybe it's for the best, like Sutton said. She should be off limits and if she’s pissed at me, maybe that’ll make it easier to stay away.
But I saw her body language. She was floundering in that conversation with her grandparents.
I don’t know what they were talking about, but I could tell from across the bar she wanted to be anywhere else than answering whatever they were asking her.
At least now she’s just annoyed, with fire in her eyes, instead of looking miserable on a day she should be anything but.
Unaware of my intentions, her unrelenting glare returns. I take the opportunity to look at those freckles, highlighted by her tanned cheeks. If I had the time, I would count each and every one of those little dots.
“Seriously, what do you want? I’m not exactly in the mood for karaoke tonight."
I snort a laugh and take another sip of my beer, feeling the corner of my mouth pull up into a smirk.
“You looked miserable. I figured I'd come over and lighten the mood.” Honestly, that’s all I want.
I want her to feel half as good as she makes me feel just by being near her.
Anytime I’ve ever been near her, it feels like nothing else in the world matters.
She rolls her eyes, throwing her head back with an exaggerated groan.
The move exposes the column of her neck and for a moment, my mind drifts to what it would feel like to run my fingertips along it.
Or what it would be like to leave a trail of kisses along it, dragging my lips along her neck, working my way down to…
Holy shit, I need to get myself in check.
She drops her head forward, finally looking back at me. Thankfully, I don’t think she caught me staring at her, again.
“Lighten the mood?” she finally responds, setting her drink down. “You definitely did something to my grandma’s mood.” She shakes her head and huffs a laugh. “I think you’ve got yourself a new admirer.”
She raises her eyes to mine and some of that annoyance has worn off, but now I see something else…
what I saw at the ceremony. Her smile is there, but there’s something else lurking just under the surface.
I’m determined to know what could make someone so bright and vibrant feel that way on a day like this.
“Now, do you want to tell me why you were dying for that conversation to end?” I raise my pierced eyebrow in question.
She sighs and rolls her head back and forth like she’s internally debating if she should humor me or rightfully tell me to fuck off.
Finally, she turns to face me straight on, looking down her thin straight nose.
Even with her brow furrowed and the obvious tension on her face, she’s still striking.
Her green, feline eyes peeking out from under her bangs are breathtaking and right now, they're burning a hole into me.
“No, not particularly.”
I shake my head, laughing. That's better than fuck off, so I’ll take it.
“You’re going to make this hard on me, aren't you?” I tease.
She lifts her champagne flute, tilting it back and finishing it in one, long swig. Suddenly, I’m jealous of a stupid glass with the way her full lips wrap around it.
Damn. I definitely don't have my shit in check.
“I’m not really in the mood to talk to anyone tonight, TJ. Not you, not my grandparents, not anyone.”
I lean forward, humming to myself. I’m not ready to give up just yet.
“How about we make it a game?”
“Aren’t you a little old for games?” she scoffs.
My shoulders rise with a hushed laugh. “Ouch. Is that a no then?”
She tilts her head, eyeing me curiously. This time, I can tell she’s taking my offer a bit more seriously. I find myself craving the feeling of her eyes on me, but equally afraid she might see how I really feel about her if she keeps looking.
She finally shrugs. “Whatever, OK. What are the rules?”
A sense of relief washes over me and a wide grin spreads across my face. Maybe I can make her night a little better. “Easy. Each time I ask a question and you answer, you get to ask me one.”
She sits up a bit straighter and one side of her lips start to show the slightest hint of that smile I want to see.
“I can ask you,” she points a finger at me, “any question I want and you’ll answer?”
I smirk and flick my eyebrows at her. I know what she’s implying. I'm notoriously private, especially since I retired from Teal Tigers and all but left the music scene. I don’t do interviews, I don't do appearances, I don’t do questions.
“Yes. Any question, but you have to answer mine first.”
“That doesn't sound like much of a game. What if I don’t answer?” she asks, knowing it can’t be that easy.
I tilt my head toward the bar. “If you don’t answer, you take a shot of tequila.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll answer anything you want to know. No shot needed. But if it makes you feel better, fine. Same rules for me.”
Her lips curl into a wide smile, exposing the slightest dimple, as she claps her hands in front, rubbing them together. “Alright, fire away.”
I tilt my head back across the bar toward her grandparents.
“You looked like you were in the middle of a root canal with that conversation. Figured you could use some rescuing.”
She juts her chin out at me with a questioning hum. “You know that's not a question, right?”
I nod, taking another sip of my beer. “I know. So why did you look like you would rather be anywhere else? It’s your brother's wedding and I know you’re happy for them. So why don’t you want to be here, all together, in Jackson?”
Her surprise is quickly replaced with irritation. She pulls her hands into her lap and huffs, looking up at the ceiling for a second. I watch while she tilts her head side to side like she's debating quitting my game already.
Finally, she lets out a long sigh, reaches across the table, and plucks my beer right from my hand.
“You know what, screw it.” She takes a long pull from my beer and I chuckle. Before I realize it, she stands up, drags her chair next to mine, and sits so close our thighs are touching.
There’s the woman I remember from before. It only took one long weekend with her and the rest of the Chapman gang to realize she gives no shits about personal space and seems to be comfortable around everyone.
The problem for me is that this level of closeness is clearly clouding my judgement, because I don’t move at all. In fact, for some stupid reason, I lean in closer and she doesn’t budge an inch.
She sets my beer back on the table and looks right at me. “My life’s kind of a mess.” The tone of her voice raises at the end, almost like a question.
I arch an eyebrow at her, beckoning her to continue.
She takes another sip of my beer and goes on.
“I got laid off last week, I don’t have a new job yet, and for once, I don't really have a plan. So yeah, a mess is a pretty accurate description right now.” She raises her hand in a fist and makes a train conductor gesture. “All aboard the Hot Mess Express.”
She takes another sip from my bottle. “Oh, and I’m too afraid or proud — I don’t know — to tell my family because if I do, I know they’ll smother me and treat me like ‘fragile, little Gracie’ again.”
What the hell? A million thoughts run through my head, but mostly I just feel a burning sense of rage I try to bury down.
I remember her gushing about how she had her dream job working at a non-profit.
Her eyes sparkled whenever she mentioned the place and anyone with a pulse could feel the passion she had for it.
So the idea that anyone would take that away from her makes my blood boil because I never want her to feel hurt.
“What happened? Why would they do that? They can’t—” My hands curl into fists when the questions all flood out of me in a rush.