27. Aspen
Chapter 27
Aspen
G rey was right—I do love this. Of course, I’ll never tell him that. But he honestly picked the best time of year for this ride—it’s still pleasantly warm out, but the PCH isn’t filled with tourists like it would be during the height of the summer. And the combination of the beautiful views out over the pacific, the wind running its briny fingers through my hair, and the freedom of this never-ending, winding road ahead of us is simply idyllic.
For the first time in months, I feel completely myself. Not Aspen Jordan, the famous actress, or the daughter of Isabelle and Robert, or even the sister of Willow. Just Aspen, the girl who adores cozy nights in with friends, knitting sweaters for her cat, and visiting flower shops. I feel like me .
“I’m guessing by the lack of your complaints that you’re liking this,” Grey says, interrupting my thoughts.
“So what if I am?”
“A ‘you were right, per usual, Grey,’ would be nice.”
I bark a laugh. “You wish.”
“I do.”
“You weren’t wrong. That’s all I’m giving you.”
“I’ll take it.”
He veers off at a small lookout point and we slowly come to a stop. Grey hits the kickstand as he rises from his seat and holds a hand out to me.
“You coming?”
“Where?” I question, confused why we stopped.
“I thought we could stretch our legs for a minute. Plus, it’s sort of a tradition for me to stop here on my rides. I stopped the first time I ever made this drive and have continued ever since.”
I shrug and accept his hand, gingerly stepping off the bike. Grey slides his helmet off and quickly locks up the bike. I follow suit and take my helmet off as well, but don’t know where to put it. Do motorcycles have trunks? Is that a stupid thing to be wondering?
“Just hold onto it,” Grey says, sensing my implicit question. “We’re going to walk a few yards away and I don’t want anyone to steal these.”
“You can’t afford to lose them?” I tease, knowing damn well that Grey—like most other A-listers—is rolling in cash.
“On second thought, leave yours here. Hopefully someone will steal it and I won’t have to listen to you on the drive back.”
“Oh, shut up, Grey. Get a sense of humor.”
He looks nonplussed, but rather than respond, he just turns in the direction of a small footpath snaking down the cliff’s shrubbery and out of sight. There’s one other group of people here, a family with three small kids. They create a wide berth as we pass them. I genuinely don’t even think they recognize us; they’re just intimidated by Grey. I can’t say I blame them. Tall, broad, muscular Grey in jeans, a leather jacket, and carrying a motorcycle helmet is certainly a sight to behold.
“I like this catsuit thing,” I comment after we pass the family. I don’t know if I offended him with the whole “shut up” thing or not, but either way this is my attempt to smooth things over.
Grey leads the way down the path, which isn’t nearly as steep as it looked from the side of the road. “Does that mean you’ll go on more rides with me?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s not a no, I’ll take it.”
The path gets less and less perceivable as Grey leads me around a curve. Then I see where he’s taking me. It’s a hidden shelf of land with an unimpeded view of the water and privacy on all sides. It’s too low to be seen from the main path and too deep in the brush to be seen from the road or the official lookout point. The only problem is it’s about a four foot jump down from a flattened boulder to the little piece of land.
Naturally, Grey hops down like it’s nothing. I take a second to figure out the best angle to jump from and Grey reads this as hesitation.
“Come on,” he says, holding out his arm to me to hold onto for support. I take it and jump, and as I do his other hand finds my waist and eases my landing.
“Thanks,” I reply breathlessly. “This is gorgeous,” I say, holding a hand to my forehead to block some of the evening sun’s brilliance.
“I knew you’d like it.”
I plop down on the hard-packed earth and Grey sits next to me.
“How did you find this place?”
“Do you want the romantic answer or the real answer?”
“Both.”
“The romantic answer is that it was a stroke of luck, as though the spirit California herself guided me here.”
“Very romantic. Now what’s the real answer?”
“I was looking for somewhere private to take a piss.”
I laugh. “Please tell me you aren’t going to piss here this time.”
He chuckles too, angling his body slightly closer to mine. “Nope, I think I’m good for now.”
“Thank God.”
We stare out at the rows of cobalt waves headed toward the shore hundreds of feet below us in comfortable silence for a few beats.
I break the quiet. “I think you scared those people up there.”
“What? How?”
“Nothing. You’re just forgetting how tall and bulky you are. Plus, you were wearing a leather jacket and carrying a motorcycle helmet. And you always have that intense look on your face.”
He crinkles his brows together. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” I insist. “This face.” I scooch a little closer to him and try my best to imitate Grey’s strong brow bone and assessing eyes, as well as his straight mouth and firm set of the jaw.
He barks a laugh. “Jesus, I hope I don’t look like that.”
“You do.”
“You look constipated.”
I roll my eyes and pull out my phone. “Grey, relax your face.”
“Should I pretend you’re a child for full-effect? They get my best glares.”
I hold back a smile. “No, just relax it. Pretend you’re just sitting here alone.”
“Well then I’d probably be sad.”
“Grey.”
“Fine,” he says, attempting to neutralize his expression. But just as he almost has it, he breaks into a smile. “I’m sorry,” he insists, trying and failing again. “You’re putting too much pressure on me, I can’t do a blank face on the spot.”
“You’re an actor.”
“So what?”
“Act.”
“Okay. Here’s you,” he says, opening his eyes and looking up in an innocent way. He purses his lips slightly and angles his jaw slightly downward, demurely. Then he bats his lashes.
I cackle. “That’s not what I look like.”
“Yes, it is.” Then he looks me up and down and gives a slight roll of his eyes. “And that’s how you look at me.”
“That’s probably true,” I admit, grinning.
“Nothing like a look of contempt to convince the public you’re falling for me,” he teases.
“What about this one?” I ask. I release any tension in my face and soften my gaze. I meld my mouth into a warm smile and tilt my head slightly, looking longingly from his left eye to his mouth, back up to his right eye.
“That’s dangerous,” Grey answers, completely smitten. The triangle method never fails.
“I think this face looks like I like you, right?” I ask, smirking.
“Definitely,” he says, angling his body further toward mine and resting a hand on my knee.
“Good thing I’m a great actress,” I say, moving my head an inch or so closer to his, looking again at his lips, this time just for fun.
“Good thing,” he echoes, leaning his head in as well. “Now, be a good fake girlfriend and kiss me.”
And so I do.
Everything else melts away as his lips move against mine until it’s just me and Grey and the rumbling sound of the Pacific crashing against the shore far below us. His lips are warm and firm against mine, contrasted by the rugged feel of his stubble against my face. He tastes like the wind and the waves, and everything powerful and natural in this world.
After what feels like only seconds but is realistically a couple of minutes, we break apart. Grey’s onyx eyes meet mine and for a second I can see the same longing I feel for him reflected back toward me. Like our relationship isn’t completely fake. Then it's gone.
“We should probably head back so we can get you home before dark,” Grey says, motioning to the deepening sky. “I’ve tortured you enough with the motorcycle, I don’t need to make it any worse by driving you around in the dark.”
“Okay,” I agree.
Grey stands and brushes the dirt off his jeans.
“Grey?” I ask, standing too.
“Yeah?” he turns to look at me with the full intensity of his stare.
“I really liked this one.”
He smiles, eyes crinkling. “Good.”
It’s not until my drive home that night that I wonder how Grey expected anyone to recognize us. We had helmets on pretty much the entire time we were in public. Being spotted was the purpose of the date, wasn’t it?