Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
BETH
I wipe the fog from the mirror with my hand before my reflection peaks through. I run my fingers through my wet hair before letting out a ragged breath.
My mom left for rehab yesterday and this is my first day without the option of going home. It makes me feel anxious, as if I've been locked in a cage. I thought a shower would help, but it didn't.
Usually, I'd be sitting on the couch with Nigel and watching stupid sitcoms, but today, he is helping a friend with "something" or whatever that means. Judy is busy with her family and Ro is with her.
I blink a few times as I try to calm down my racing heart. It's like the walls are closing in on me and I need to get out of here.
Well, I do need to pick up some things at the store. Since I'm the only person who will step foot in the kitchen, I should probably grab a few things. It's a good thing Nigel left me his truck and caught a ride with his "friend".
I walk into Nigel's room and throw on clean clothes before grabbing his truck keys off the bedside table. I grab my purse and rush down the stairs. Listening closely, I pick up no noise from any of the guys. I wonder where Oliver, Oisin, and Charlie are.
I don't really like Charlie. He can be a bit funny, but I get a strange vibe from him. I do notice when he's not around though.
Oisin always looks like a mixture of sad and tired and I honestly don't know why. Not even Arely seems to make him happy and she's as much of a sourpuss as he is. Maybe that's why though.
Pulling out my phone, I make a short list in my texts of the things I need from the store. Then, I shove it in my purse before heading out the door.
* * *
Walking into the Grove Hill market, I grab a basket before heading up and down the aisles. I've actually never been here before. I've seen it plenty of times since I moved here, but this is the first time I've actually entered.
It looks way bigger on the inside than on the outside with dozens of rows and a big produce section.
I head straight for the pasta row and grab spaghetti noodles, tossing it into my basket.
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in." I stop as my hand wraps around a jar of sauce and my head snaps around, but my mood sours immediately. My eyes fall on the tall, lean muscled man who thought it was a good idea to grab my ass unprovoked weeks ago.
Martin Gray smirks at me as he leans against a garlic butter display, his arms crossed over his chest. He looks completely at ease, but there's something in his expression which is not on board with what his eyes say.
He looks genuinely happy to see me, which is odd.
"What the hell do you want?" I ask as I drop the jar in my basket.
He shrugs. "Just to say hello, check in on your mental health, all that jazz. How is life treating you, Beth?" I narrow my eyes at him as I approach, mimicking his stance.
"How the fuck do you know my name, Gray?" I question, tilting my head at him.
His expression is unaffected by what I said. "Silly little rabbit," he chuckles, but something in his eyes says I've offended him. I don't know how I could. It was a little question.
"Answer me."
He arches a brow, but doesn't speak.
"Seriously, tell me. I didn't tell you my name at the match. As a matter of fact, no one said my name and yet you already knew it. Are you stalking me or something?" I roll my eyes and laugh. "Of course. Why else would an entitled rich boy like you be at the grocery store of all places?"
Nigel is going to kill him if he figures that out.
"To answer your second question, I am, in fact, not stalking you. I'm here because Casey asked me to pick up a few things. She's on her period and is in a lot of pain, so I thought I'd help out. I just happened to see you and thought I'd say hello. However, if our first…interaction slipped your mind completely, I won't be the one to ruin your perception."
Our first interaction?
"We met before that fight?" I ask, making sure I'm catching what he's putting down.
He nods. "Just once, but yes."
Impossible.
I remember thinking when I first saw his face at the fight that he had the kind of looks that were hard to forget. He may be a jackass, but he's also really hot and that smile… that would be enough to make half the town swoon.
"Where?" I press again, but he just smirks at me.
"If you don't remember, maybe it's best to leave it in the past, huh, little rabbit?"
Leave it in the past? What the hell does he think happened when we met before?
He turns to walk away and the color drains from my face as a realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
No.
No, no, no.
It can't be.
I pull out my phone and scroll to a contact I never thought I would click. Holding the phone to my ear, I watch Martin come to a complete halt as the phone in his pocket screams.
I feel completely lightheaded as I pull the phone away from my face and look down at the contact name.
M.G.
Martin fucking Gray is M.G., the guy I hooked up with the night I blacked out…two weeks before I moved to Grove Hill.
He looks at his phone before smirking, turning around to face me. "Hempstead area code? I guess this would be you."
"That was you?" I approach, fully prepared to rage on him.
Maybe he was right. It would've been better to leave this in the past, but hindsight is twenty-twenty.
"Are you that surprised?" He tilts his head much like I did a few minutes ago.
No. Actually, I'm not surprised that I would hook up with him in a drunken state. I hadn't moved to Grove Hill so I didn't know Martin in any capacity. Also, from my limited experience, he can be charming when he's not being a douche. He's charismatic and is friendly. Not to mention, hot as can be.
Yup, I can definitely see myself following him into the back of his car and banging it out like Teigan and Delaney said I did.
"Wha—what the fuck were you doing in Hempstead? Why didn't you say anything?" My heart speeds up as it all comes tumbling down on me. "You know, if Nigel finds out what happened, he's going to kill you, right?"
He shrugs. "Then, don't tell him. Problem solved."
"The problem is not that easily solved and stop doing that smirk thing you're doing. This is serious." The entire time I've been talking, he has been smiling like he finds all of this to be hilarious.
"What smirk thing?" he teases, his eyes squinting from how much he is smiling and those dimples…
Focus, Beth!
"Don't make me hit you," I warn.
"Come on. I'm messing with you. You didn't seem to mind my company or my sense of humor that night. You actually liked it and said so many times."
I narrow my eyes on him. "I don't care if I told you your dick could dance and sing the Star-Spangled Banner backwards. You have a knack for throwing shit in Nigel's face to get on his nerves and you will seriously fuck with my life if you say anything about what happened."
"You mean that we had sex? I'm not a gossip. Think what you want about me, but if you ask me to keep a secret, my lips stay sealed. Contrary to popular belief, I actually like O'Reilly and don't want to fuck shit up for him. He's a good guy. I will say, though, that no good relationship is built off secrets. He'd probably be more pissed off about you hiding it from him than it happening in the first place."
My eyes narrow. "Have you forgotten that he hates you?"
He grabs his chest with a faux gasp. "That hurt. Seriously, I think you crushed my heart."
"Shut up. You know, you're not as charming as you think you are."
He tilts his head again. "I never said anything about thinking that. I have a sense of humor. That's different. It sounds like you have some repressed emotions, little rabbit."
My lips thin with frustration. Maybe I do, but he didn't need to call me out like that.
"Back off, Martin,” a deep voice comes from behind me and I snap my head around as Oliver approaches, looking mighty irritated.
What is he doing here?
Talk about repressed emotions.
"Cousin! Long time no see." Martin's voice flits past my ear and I feel the color that had just returned to my cheek disappearing once again.
That was a bombshell that I don't think Martin intended it to be.
Martin and Oliver are related ?
"Shut up and leave her alone," Oliver warns as he stops beside me and I can feel the heat coming off of him…and that godly smell. Why does he have to smell so good?
"What do you mean? I tried to leave and she approached me ." He grins as if that is a good reason to be standing here talking to me.
I'm Nigel's girlfriend and I'm standing here with the person Nigel hates more than anyone in the world.
Why does he hate Martin though? What did he do to make Nigel so irritated every time he sees or talks about Martin?
"Don't make me repeat myself. Scram," Oliver warns with a level voice.
Martin puts up his hands as if to say "I'm harmless" before he backs away. "See you around, little rabbit." Then, the cheeky bastard winks at me before leaving the aisle.
Shit.
Did Oliver hear what we were talking about? I hope not. He'll surely tell Nigel what he heard. At least, I think he would. Nigel is his best friend after all.
"What are you doing here?" I ask as I turn to him.
My back presses flush against the shelves as he moves in, leaning over me. My heart races the closer he gets and my fingers dig into the flesh of my palms. I take a deep breath and instead of getting fresh air, all I notice is the way he smells. Leather, cologne, and sandalwood. It shouldn't comfort me the way it does.
Not only is he the town psychopath, but he's also my boyfriend's best friend. He's the last person who should affect me like this. Hell, he probably doesn't know that even being in the same room as him does this to me. I doubt he knows that I reflect back on the time he held me in his arms and stroked my hair as I broke apart.
That was the one part of that night I couldn't lock away in a box even if I wanted to.
"None of your business, princess,” he rasps, his breath washing over my face. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth as I meet his gaze.
It's insane that not only does this man terrify me, but I simultaneously feel safe around him and more connected to him than I have ever felt to anyone else. He has spoken less to me than would need a piece of paper to write out. This is only the fourth time he has spoken to me since we met and I'm fascinated by every word he says. Maybe it's because there have been so few of them.
Oliver pushes his hand against the shelf as he moves away. The man turns and walks off, but my gaze doesn't leave his retreating form until I lose sight of him.
I'm so beyond screwed.