Cassie #3
Tiptoeing up the stairs with my heart thundering under my ribs, my mind races with what—or rather, whom—I’ll find in my bedroom. If Ashlei had to sneak them in, it’s definitely a guy, but the only question is… which one?
The fact that I even have to ask myself that sends a surge of guilt through me.
As pissed as I am at Adam for making an already tense situation worse earlier at the game, part of me wants to thank him.
He finally said what I had yet to fully express to Grayson — he wasn’t there for me when I needed him.
All week I had looked forward to that date, and when it had all went up in flames, Adam had been the one there putting out the fire.
But Adam isn’t mine, either.
Even if I had chosen him over Grayson last semester, if I had given him the chance he’d begged for at formal, I would have ended up with the same disappointment.
He’s drowning in his new responsibilities as president, just like he thought he would be.
I knew he wouldn’t have time for me, for us, and Grayson had given me every part of himself last semester.
So, was it fair of me to be upset with him now? He’s chasing a dream he’s had his entire life. Shouldn’t I support that? I know he cares about me, and I care about him. So what if it’s not always easy?
With my hand on the doorknob to my bedroom, I realize I don’t want to see either one of them on the other side. I’m still mad at the way they acted. And I still have absolutely zero grip on how I’m feeling.
But it doesn’t matter, because one of them is waiting. So, with a deep breath, I twist the knob and push through.
And then my breath catches.
My entire room is covered in small candles, bathing my bed in a soft golden light. And as the door closes behind me and I gently drop my longboard and backpack to the ground, my eyes find Grayson’s.
He’s sitting on my desk chair beside my bed, in only his boxer briefs, hair damp like he’s freshly showered and guitar strapped across his chest. He plucks a few chords as he watches me, brows bent inward, tail between his legs.
“Cassie,” he starts, the chords finding more of a melody as he speaks. “I am so, so sorry. Not just for being a sore loser earlier and causing a scene at your event, but for making you feel like our time together doesn’t matter to me. I should have been there for our date.”
I shake my head, opening my mouth to tell him I understand and that he couldn’t have missed that show, but he cuts me off.
“No. No excuses, no bullshit about a show or my agent or whatever. I should have been there. And this is my promise to you that from here on out, I will be.”
He motions for me to sit on the bed and I do, hands folded together and squeezed between my knees as he keeps his eyes on me and strums out a beautiful song.
It’s an original, one that feels like he just wrote it — just for me — and I hang on to every word as he sings to me. It’s a song about being scared, about falling in love, about finding who he is in a time when he’s not even sure which way is up. And, finally, I get it.
It’s not about his music, or about me — it’s about him.
Grayson is growing into himself, and with that comes figuring out how to balance it all.
He’s finally getting everything he’s worked for and now he’s not sure how to handle it.
But he tells me with his music how much he cares, and how he’s sorry, and he promises to do better, though I realize in that moment it doesn’t get much better than him.
When he thumbs out the last note of the song, I reach for him, sliding his guitar strap up and over his head and placing it gently beside the chair before straddling him. I thread my hands behind his neck, fingers playing with the soft tendrils of hair there as my eyes search his.
“That was beautiful.”
He swallows, framing my face with one large hand, his thumb running the length of my jaw. “Not as beautiful as you.”
Grayson’s eyes flick to my lips, and slowly, as if he doesn’t think he deserves to, he pulls me into him until his lips are pressed against my own.
He kisses me patiently at first, soft and hesitantly, but when I roll my hips against him and tug on his hair, he groans, kissing me harder, with more need, more passion.
And for the rest of the night, that’s how he apologizes — with a kiss, a lick, a suck, a touch. And I accept with a sigh, a moan, an arch, a yes. He promises me more with his hands on my waist, and I remind him he’s always enough with my mouth on his skin.
I still want to wait to go all the way, and Grayson respects it, bringing me to ecstasy without taking me past my comfort zone. He shows me how much he wants me with every single movement and I show him, too, touching him in new ways, tasting him for the first time.
When we’re both spent, holding each other as our breaths even out and the dawn begins to break, a light feather of realization floats down slowly in my heart.
I’m falling in love with Grayson Anderson.
I only hope he’s there to catch me when I do.