Chapter 9
SELENA
“What a dick! Stupid asshole motherfucker! Pinche pendejo cabron! We should kick his ass!!”
I told Jess everything. About freshman year, about last night, and this morning. She’s upset, obviously.
How do I know this? Jess has been my best friend since I was six and she was five. I know that when she starts cursing in Spanish you better watch out.
“Baboso estupido! Ugh!! No wonder you hate him!! Does Sammy know?”
“No! And he’s not going to.”
“Okay, yeah, it’s better if he doesn’t.”
Jess is pacing back and forth in our living room. I actually feel better now that I told her what happened freshman year.
Once I explained everything out loud, it was easier for me to realize what I was doing. Obviously, I romanticized an experience I had because I haven’t had any others. There’s nothing I can compare it to, you know? He was just a somewhat attractive guy who made me feel wanted, and I liked that.
“It’s not a big deal, Jess.”
“Bitch, don’t even!”
The shocked look on her face makes me want to giggle, but I don’t. After all, I’ve had years to think about this and try to process. It’s all new information to her. If things were the other way around I’d also want to beat up whatever jerk hurt my best friend’s feelings too.
“I’m not defending him or anything, but when we almost…he changed his mind,” I shrug. “For some reason, he didn’t want to have sex anymore. That’s his right.”
“I guess,” Jess relents.
“And he doesn’t owe me anything, not a hello or a smile or anything like that.”
“But you’re awesome!” she argues, wrapping her arms around me. “How can some rando not like you? You’re super sweet and smart y estás bien chula! Eres chingona y cabrona!”
“So are you,” I laugh, feeling better. “Somos chingonas y cabronas!”
“That’s right!”
I lean back to look into her brown eyes. “Sometimes you just don’t like a person, you know?”
“Tienes razón,” she relents, letting me go. “Like that guy who makes the phone ads.”
“Yup.”
“Every time I hear his voice or see his face I want to punch him in the throat so he can shut the fuck up!”
“Exactly,” I laugh at Jess’s annoyed look. “Sometimes it happens,” I sigh and get up from the couch. “It’s not worth getting angry over.”
On my drive home from Gibson Place, I realized that after what happened freshman year, I was hurt and embarrassed. Being angry and hating him made me feel better about the whole thing.
But something really weird happened this morning. That seething rage I usually feel when I see him? It wasn’t there. It just…wasn’t.
Maybe a side effect of being hung over? Probably.
I guess I’ll wait and see how I feel next time I run into him. Simple.
Jess looks at me. “Hey, for real, you sure you’re okay?”
“I am. Te lo prometo.”
When she hugs me again I know she believes me.
When I promised Jess that I was okay, I meant it. But then Saturday happened.
I was working in the library. Grayson Rhodes came in and made his usual scowly face when he saw me.
Apparently for him nothing’s changed. And that’s fine. Or it’ll have to be.
But me? No rage. No ugh, him again. Nothing.
Anyway, I was behind the help desk but he chose to ask the guy reshelving books all the way in the back for assistance instead. It’s fine.
And Monday, when I was waiting for Sammy after practice so we could meet our primas Luz y Amelia for dinner since they were in town, Grayson was the first one out of the locker rooms again. When I saw him, I smiled. Me! I wasn’t planning on it, but that was my reaction.
His blue eyes met mine and not only was there no rage, hope bloomed in my heart thinking maybe he didn’t hate me as much anymore either.
When I waved hi, he proceeded to ignore me completely, like he’d never seen me in his life.
Humiliation washed over me as my hand dropped to my side.
Both my primas were too busy drooling after at him to see my reaction, but I felt so stupid.
Mamá always said I should be understanding because you never know what someone is going through, but I’m over it.
I thought maybe Grayson Rhodes could move past things, but he can’t.
He’s made that very clear and it’s time I got that through my head too.
Which is why on Wednesday, when I saw him outside the gym, I pretended I didn’t.
I didn’t smile or wave or anything. I walked right past him without acknowledging his presence like I used to do—rolling my eyes or making a face—and honestly, it felt terrible.
Thursday, he came into Roar Coffee alone, which he’s never done on my shift. I took my fifteen minute break so I wouldn’t have to take his order.
Doing stuff like that? It’s not me. It’s the opposite of me. I like helping people. I like talking to them and asking about their day. I like giving people a reason to smile when I make their favorite drink or help them find a particular book.
Life is so strange sometimes because suddenly I’m seeing Grayson Rhodes all over campus. Never in the last three and a half years at Tower Lake have I run into him so often. He’s just…everywhere. Tall, with a lean athletic build, and that dumb face of his? He’s kind of hard to miss.
Girls literally swoon when he walks by. People who follow baseball high-five him, then look at their hand like they’re never, ever going to wash it again.
He shows up at Roar Coffee the next day too. I’m alone at the register since Noah called in without finding someone to cover him. It’s so rude when people do that. Anyway, this time, I can’t use my break as an excuse.
All Grayson orders is a plain black coffee, hot. I make sure not to smile, not to wish him a good day, not to even look at him. It’s awful.
“Grayson,” I call out. My voice cracks and I know I’m blushing. I act like I don’t see him approaching when placing his drink on the counter. Quickly, I move on to the next customer.
I’m hoping he’ll leave, but he sits at the table near the corner.
Ignore him, I have to remind myself, which is a strange development. Before, ignoring him came naturally, like breathing. I’d roll my eyes and move on. Now I’m more aware of him than ever. It’s like I want to look at him. It’s so weird.
More students come in. I take more orders.
It turns out I’m really bad at ignoring him.
His presence makes it difficult to concentrate long enough to make people’s drinks.
Twice I need to look up the recipe. I haven’t done that since the first month I worked here.
It’s not like me to be easily distracted.
“Iced Matcha for Rose!”
I wonder how much longer he’ll be here. He’s been on his phone the whole time. I try to be discreet as I watch two girls approach his table.
Was he waiting for them? Is that why he’s here? Why else would he be here?
“Chai Latte for Javier!”
Whatever silly notions were dancing around my head about his maybe, possibly, perhaps being there to see me are gone when he puts his phone down to talk to the two girls. That’s when Cash Seavers walks in.
“Hey, Selena!” he smiles at me and I wave.
Okay, Selena, snap out of it! You know Grayson Rhodes hates you. Don’t let it bother you. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
I compose myself long enough to force a smile to my face.
“Hey, Cash! What can I get you?”
My cheeks are on fire. Not because of the guy who looks happy to see me, but because of the one still at the corner table, glaring at me even though there’s two really pretty girls sitting on either side of him.
It feels like his gaze is tracking every move I make. It’s making me nervous. A good nervous, which makes it a bad nervous.
“How you been?” Cash asks.
“Um, fine.” My voice is low, subdued. I don’t feel like myself. I try to shake the feeling away. Inhale. Exhale. Smile. “How about you?
Honestly, I figured after what happened, all the videos online of Grayson choking him because of me, Cash would stay away. But it hasn’t deterred him.
Over at the corner, Grayson Rhodes stands. So do the girls. I’m grateful they’re leaving.
When I realize Cash is waiting for me to acknowledge what he said, I apologize and ask him to repeat it.
“I was asking you out,” he winks. “On a date.”
“She’s not interested,” Grayson replies, glaring at Cash. Then, his blue eyes turn to me. “My order’s wrong.” He sounds annoyed and…and angry. Anyway, how did I mess up a plain black coffee?
“Wait your turn,” Cash snaps, as Grayson approaches the counter, holding the white to-go cup of coffee with the green and white Roar Coffee logo. Grayson ignores him.
“I’ll be right with you,” I smile at Cash, then focus on the grumpy guy.
“I’m missing the cookie,” Grayson explains.
I blink a couple of times. I’m pretty sure he didn’t order anything except coffee. “The cookie?” I repeat, my gaze on the pastry display. “What kind?”
“Which one did you say was your favorite?” he asks and I can’t help it, my eyes snap to his.
I’m about to ask what in the world he’s talking about because I’m pretty sure he didn’t order a cookie and we sure as heck didn’t talk about my favorite either—we didn’t talk at all!—but when I look into his eyes, time stops.
The blue is shifting, as if he’s not sure how he’s feeling. I’m not sure how I’m feeling either.
His black hair is tousled in the best way, like he just got out of bed, and there’s a half smile on his not-so-dumb face. He’s wearing a dark gray hoodie, blue jeans, and silver rings I’ve never noticed before. He looks good. Part of me wishes I could stand there and just stare. Admire. Gaze upon.
Wait. I don’t do that kind of thing, sexy half-smile or not. I clear my throat, nod, and get a double chocolate chip cookie. I love these. They’re the best cookie ever invented. But the way I’m feeling right now, nervous and shaky and flustered, I don’t think I’d be able to eat one.
A line is forming again. I thank Ana, the new hire, who arrives on time to work the register. Cash orders something, but I can’t follow along. He might as well be on a different planet speaking a different language.
I need to put this warm cookie on the counter, and move on with my shift. But when I attempt to do that, Grayson takes the cookie from my hand. His fingers brush mine and butterflies swirl in my stomach.
I don’t understand what’s happening right now. This is not like me. At all.
For some reason, I can’t think past the fact that he’s never touched me willingly (not including while I was drunk or falling), except for that one time. His touch felt like fire then too.
His fingertips are rough, probably from throwing so many baseballs, and the calluses on his palm must be from holding a bat.
His hand is strong and large and I remember the feel of it on me, massaging my breasts, playing with my nipples through my bra, sliding down my stomach—nope, I’m not thinking about that or him or any of it anymore.
I want to tear my eyes away from him, but my body betrays me. I’m blushing again and can’t do anything to stop it. My nipples tighten into hard peaks and the throbbing between my legs is persistent. Grayson takes the cookie, releasing my hand, but the damage is done.
“Thank you.” His voice is low, gravelly, his expression serious again, and then he walks out. The two girls who had been sitting with him watch him go.
What just happened?
“What the fuck was that about?” Jess asks me while unlocking the door to our apartment.
“I wondered the same thing and honestly, I have no idea.”
She drops her backpack on the floor. “The whole cookie thing is bullshit!”
“I mean, it’s possible I didn’t hear his full order,” I shrug. “I was trying to ignore him after all.”
Jess looks at me like you would at a lost, confused child.
“Babe, I love how sweet and innocent you are, but no. That doesn’t even—” Her eyes double in size and the slow, wide grin making its way onto her face is a little scary. “That motherfucker was jealous!”
“Are you drunk?” I’m laughing now. “You know we have a scrimmage game tomorrow. You shouldn’t be drinking tonight.”
“No, I’m not drunk, but think about it. You’ve been ignoring him all week.”
“Because he hates me. He basically told me himself. And when I waved hi the other night, he totally ignored me.”
“Yes, but when Cash ‘Never Quits’ Seavers asks you out, Grayson ‘Jealous Fuckboy’ Rhodes rushes to the counter?!”
Maybe we need to cut back on the telenovelas.
“That’s not—”
“He did the same thing at the party! James House, remember?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure what they were arguing about.”
Jess arches one eyebrow, looking smug. “Don’t you?”
Grayson Rhodes isn’t jealous. Why would he be? It’s not possible. Is it?