25. TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-FIVE
Alex: Calling off again?
I glance over my shoulder while lying precariously over the edge of the hotel bed.
Gray is still asleep.
After what could only be described as an intimate viewing of what lies beyond the steel wall Gray hides behind, I barely slept a wink.
The way he opened up to me rattled my insides, gave me some much-needed perspective on what I was doing here, and solidified what I had hoped to be true—this isn’t a mistake.
Like a calling, I know I was meant to be right where I am…with him.
I want to be here, too.
This resilience that Gray wears around like a naturally occurring second skin fuels the need to be rebellious, even if only slightly.
Ever since I became COO, I didn’t bother taking days off.
I wouldn’t say I’m a workaholic or anything; I simply don’t have anywhere better to be.
My evening trysts over the years never required something like calling in a sick day.
Turning back to my phone, I quickly type a response to my assistant.
Yes. Push back my meetings until tomorrow, and if anything urgent needs my attention, email me. I have my laptop.
Alex: Will do, sir.
Alex: Are you sick?
Something like that.
Clicking the power button so the screen goes dark, I roll over onto my back, content on listening to Gray’s light breaths.
After all he’s gone through, I expected him to have consistent nightmares. Oddly enough, besides that one time, the guy sleeps with a deathly stillness that a person achieves after endless exhaustion. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.
Not that our situations are comparable, but I’d think he would be the sleepless one out of the two of us.
But I’ve always struggled with shutting off my brain. I could be dead on my feet, and the second I hit the bed, every suppressed stressor of the day would push forward, playing on a loop behind my eyelids until my heart raced and I jumped out of bed.
My usual method for easing out of that frustrated panic hasn’t been feasible as of late. I wonder if Gray would think I’m weird for doing it.
I roll on my side, one hand wedged between the mattress and the pillow, and watch him. Creepy is one word for it, but I’ve never done this before. Not even in school.
My dad didn’t want anyone to come over for more than an hour or two, so I ended up sneaking in a few people whenever he was away on a business trip or conference. Even still, no one ever spent the night with me. I never realized until right this moment how strange that is.
Don’t people need that shit? Like some fundamental rite of passage?
Sleepovers with friends in preparation for a lifetime partner sharing your space?
My thoughts are interrupted when Gray shifts, those dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks.
The brown roots are slowly overtaking the bleached locks on his head.
I wonder what he’d look like with his natural hair color.
Icy blues appear, capturing my gaze, and the smallest smile forms on his lips.
I admire him. How fearless he is in the face of change.
If the tables were reversed, I don’t know if I’d be so quick to offer eye contact, let alone a smile.
But damn, if it isn't beautiful to witness.
“Good morning.”
He arches his spine like a cat, one arm shooting above his head before wincing. “Morning,” he rasps, then squints at me. “You aren’t grumpy.”
My eyebrow hitches. “Grumpy?”
Rising on his elbow, he scans the room, spotting the coffee pot. I already had two cups. “That explains it,” he says through a yawn and sits up.
“Do you want a cup?” I offer, too ashamed to admit I didn’t sleep at all. The only reason I’m functioning is that I snuck out to grab an espresso from Starbucks before suffering through the terrible Folgers.
“Sure. Thanks.”
I’m on my feet, feeling his eyes on my back while I fix him a cup. It’s a shame I can’t take him home; my coffee selection is far superior.
The rustle of his blankets moving has me looking back. It’s like I’m unable to take my damn eyes off him, worried some monster will appear from under the bed and drag him into the shadows.
He doesn’t notice me looking at first, so when he adjusts his morning wood, my cheeks flame. I hurry to look back at the coffee pot, fumbling with the damn sugar packets.
His lithe body passes in a blur, disappearing into the bathroom.
Hanging my head, I hold onto the countertop in the kitchenette and take a deep breath. I’m so far out of my element when it comes to Gray, and I’m noticing things I shouldn’t—feeling things that far surpass treacherous.
I shouldn’t have looked at his crotch.
What the hell was that? Morbid curiosity?
This illusion of control I’ve managed to fool myself into believing I have is slipping through my fingers at lightspeed.
The best course of action is to ignore his beauty and focus on the end goal: helping him get back on his feet.
If I keep that as my sole purpose, he and I will come out of this unscathed.
My minor obsession with him can still be justified.
There’s nothing to obscure it as of right now.
But if I start letting myself enjoy his company and keep pushing to get to know him, I don’t think it’ll go well.
In fact, it might already be too fucking late.
The toilet flushes in the bathroom, followed by the sink running.
I wait with Gray’s coffee in my hand, staring at the door like I can mentally pull it open.
Thunderous and uneven, my heart kicks against my chest as the seconds tick by.
I even resort to holding my breath. My anticipation and unrelenting need to get my eyes on him again have my lungs in an iron grip.
When the door finally opens, and he steps through the threshold, I scan his entire body without restraint.
“You good?” he asks, taking the cup from me as I continue my perusal.
“Fine.” I have to force myself to look away.
While I busy myself with taking out some clothes from my overnight bag, Gray sips his coffee. The noise is loud—distracting. I want to watch him drink it. I want to watch him fucking breathe.
This is ridiculous.
I gather my outfit and fresh underwear, ready to shower, and get dressed for the day when he clears his throat. My eyes find him instantly.
“So what happens now?”
There’s a flicker of excitement in his icy blues, a slight flush to his cheeks. Those wild bleach-blond locks of his stick up in every direction, and my first thought is: adorably rumpled. Trying not to swallow, I manage to speak. “Well, I was thinking we could look into getting you an ID.”
He frowns. “Alright.”
“It’d be good to have one,” I say, wondering why his features are contorting so deeply.
“I had one before, but…well, I had access to my birth certificate and social security card. I don’t have those anymore.”
“We can get them.”
Taking a sip of his coffee, shoulders slumping, Gray nods once. “Okay.”
“Do you not want to get an ID?”
Shrugging, he puts the cup down on the counter and chews on his thumb.
I watch while he struggles to gather his thoughts.
His broad but thin shoulders hunch up, and one arm bands around his middle.
“So I get an ID, and then what? You get me hooked up with some shelter? A shrink? Maybe put in a good word for me at the local fast food joint?”
I blink, confused.
“Do you have some checklist? Things I need to do to get rid of Gray?” he snaps, popping the wet digit from his lips and completely encircling his body with his thin arms. “I mean, if that’s the plan, I get it. But you made it seem—last night and—never mind.”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, Gray,” I say gently, taking cautious steps closer. “Why do you think that?”
“It makes sense. You want to help me, right? Help me get out of your hair, maybe your guilty conscious or whatever.”
Emboldened and concerned with his line of thinking, I close the space between us and lay my hand on his shoulder.
He stiffens but doesn’t move away. Dazzling blues glance up at me, cautious but alert.
“Let me ask you this,” I start, and the bump in his throat bobs with a rough swallow, “what do you want to do?”
Those eyes of his never leave mine. His lips part, making the hoop in his nose wink in the light. When his tongue pokes out to swipe across his upper lip, revealing the silver barbell I’ve noticed before, I give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze.
“I want a day off.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “A day off?”
He nods fast. “From…everything. I want to…not worry for a day.”
My smile widens. “Honestly, that sounds wonderful.”
“Can we do that? Just…take a day off?”
“We can, and we are.”
When he beams up at me, little sparkles dancing in his irises, my stomach swoops aggressively.
There’s no way I can ignore anything about this man, and with one sweet little request, he’s derailed my entire plan. I’m just the sucker along for the ride.
My phone vibrates obnoxiously while I’m in the shower. The persistent buzz echoes off the walls, and I groan in frustration. Whipping the glass door open, I peer over to where it sits by the sink. My dad’s name flashes across the screen.
Being a company shareholder, he’s privy to my comings and goings, so I’m sure he’s calling to find out why I’m not at work again. Panic shoots through my system, forcing my legs to obey, and I jump out of the shower to answer the phone.
“Hello?”
“Are you aware that O’Connell is trying to blackball my candidacy?”
Why the hell would I know that? “No, I wasn’t. What happened?”
“He’s spreading lies! And I was just made aware that he’s doing everything in his power to slander my name, sully my chances, and demand I be impeached! I’m going to need you by my side, Hunter. We are scheduling press conferences. You are a young Democrat with a perfect track record.”
I swipe the water off my face, push my hair back, and grind my teeth. “When?”
“Candy is trying to get something going tonight if a spot opens on the six o'clock timeslot.”
No.
Today is my day off.
Gray and I’s day off.
I’m not rushing down to fucking Seattle for a conference to try and counteract the truths coming to light about my dad. I highly doubt anything O’Connell has said is anything but. “I won’t be able to make it tonight. It’ll have to be tomorrow.”
“What are you doing that is so important?” he growls. “I know you aren’t at work. I know you’ve been screwing off left and right. No. You will be here, or so help me, son .”
Thinking fast, I play on the one thing I know will get him off my back. “I…have a date.”
“What?” There’s genuine shock in his voice. “A date? Who?”
I swallow hard, scrambling to think of an unrecognizable name. “Brianna.”
“Brianna? Do we know her?”
Fuck. The urge to slap myself is strong. “No. But she’s…sweet,” I say through a locked jaw.
“Why didn’t you start with that!?” My dad is rarely excited about anything, and I’ve dug a very deep hole.
But at the same time, the child inside me is desperate to make him happy.
My chest pinches painfully, knowing it's a lie. “That’s fantastic, son. Alright. Here’s what we will do.
” There’s some muffled whispering, but Brianna's name is clear as day, followed by an excited squeal—he’s told my mom.
Great. “It’s about time you found yourself a decent woman.
I’ll handle this evening. First thing tomorrow, 8 am, be at the house, and we’ll go over the bullet points. ”
I want to tell him no. I want to tell him the truth—beg him to love me. Instead, I mumble, “Okay.”
“I expect to hear all about the date tomorrow. If you do this right, we might be throwing an engagement party and announcing your step into politics!”
“Dad—”
“Crap. I’ve got to run. 8 am, Hunter. Don’t be late,” he barks, then hangs up.
I get back into the shower, close the door gently, and stuff my face into the spray.
Of all the things to say, I chose to say that.
My mystery date is now going to be something I’ll have to prove. My parents will want to meet her, find out who her family is, and everything else. All the while, this woman doesn’t exist. I stand there, slowly drowning, until my lungs scream for air. Sputtering, I reel back and yank at my hair.
It’s alright. You can say the date went terribly and that she wasn’t the one.
And then my dad will remind me how much I need to ‘man up’ again.
My stomach sinks.
So much for a fucking day off.