1. Avery #3
Getting back onto my bed, I settle the box in my lap and flip open the lid. The faint scent of old paper drifts up, and inside are hundreds of folded bits of paper, yellowed at the edges. My old writings. About who? You guessed it. Grayson Hayes.
Leaning back against the pillows, I pull out the top few pieces of paper. My lips curve upward as I unfold the first one, dated March 3, written in my slightly messy, overly enthusiastic handwriting.
I begin to read, and it’s like stepping into a time machine. My eighteen-year-old self was completely obsessed, hopelessly romantic, and painfully obvious about who these stories were inspired by.
As I read, I feel a mix of embarrassment and nostalgia swirling in my chest. What was it about Gray that had me spinning whole worlds around him back then? And why does that same feeling still seem to linger, even after all these years?
I sink further into the comfort of my bed, the rain still pattering softly outside, and let myself get lost in the words of a younger me…
…Storming out, I flee down the weathered steps onto the midnight-black sand, my bare feet sinking into its cool dampness. The argument with Gray still burns in my chest as I put distance between myself and his clifftop mansion, where the party lights mock me through the misty darkness.
The Oregon coast writhes beneath an angry sky, waves crashing against the rocks like Nature itself shares my turmoil. Salt spray mingles with my tears as the wind whips my hair into a frenzy. A pale moon struggles through tattered clouds, casting shifting shadows across the beach.
"Avery! AVERY!" Gray's voice carries over the thundering surf. "Please, you don't understand! Come back!"
I spin to face him, mascara-stained tears freezing on my cheeks in the bitter wind.
"Don't you dare tell me what I understand!
" My voice breaks. "I saw everything, Gray.
The lingering touch on her arm, the way your eyes devoured her.
You can't hide it anymore. We're done. Just... just go back to Jasmine!"
He stands there like a statue carved from shadow and starlight, his expensive shirt rippling in the wind, that devastating five o'clock shadow framing his clenched jaw.
Those emerald eyes pierce through the darkness, burning with an intensity that makes my knees weak despite everything. Before I can retreat, he closes the distance between us in three powerful strides, pulling me against his chest.
"Listen to me," he growls, his voice rough with emotion. "There is only you, Avery. There has only ever been you. I would tear down heaven and earth before I let you walk away believing otherwise."
His mouth claims mine with fierce desperation, and I'm lost. My fingers tangle in his rain-dampened hair as he deepens the kiss, drawing a soft moan from my throat.
His lips break away only to trace a blazing path down my neck, each kiss a brand against my skin. We stumble backward, falling onto the midnight sand, hands urgently seeking bare skin beneath rain-soaked clothes, the roaring ocean our only witness.
My trembling hands fumble with his tie, then his shirt. He undoes the zipper at the back of my dress, pulling it over my head. I'm feverishly yanking at his belt, then the button and zipper as I pull his pants down.
I look at his wind-swept naked form under the dark sky, his muscles rippling, his six-pack tensing as he scrunches his fingers in my hair, pulling my head toward his boxers. I kiss the outline of his erection as I pull his huge cock out.
Damn, I want to suck it so much. Kissing it, I sink it between my lips, sucking up and down, easing it out through my lips and back in again. I feel the swell of his velvety head in my mouth as he hastily pulls my head up and down on him, faster and faster, until...
Suddenly my bedroom comes back into view. That was all I wrote for that one. I lie back in my bed, breathless, as the vision of what I just read spins around my mind.
The intensity of it all, the raw emotion, the sheer honesty or bullshit—it's almost too much to handle. But there's a part of me that can't help smiling at the melodrama of it all. Teenage Avery sure knew how to write a steamy scene.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of feelings inside me. But as I sink deeper into the mattress, my eyelids grow heavy. My thoughts blur, and reality begins to ripple and fuzz.
I’m not in my bedroom anymore. The glow of candles flickers around me, the dim lighting glowing against the walls. I can smell the rich scent of moussaka, garlic, and olives—warm, familiar, and intoxicating.
Oh. My. God! I’m back in ‘The Athena’. The light of a candle between us illuminates Gray’s face. He’s sitting opposite me, relaxed yet commanding, sipping from his glass of deep, red wine.
"How was your day at work?" he asks, his voice smooth, laced with curiosity.
I blink at him, more than confused for a second. My day? Work? None of that seems relevant here. Not with the way he looks right now. His dark, wavy hair flops slightly over his forehead, thick and just a little unruly, like he’s been running his hands through it.
That famous cleft in his chin is as sharp as ever, framed by the kind of stubble that makes you want to reach out and feel it.
His eyes—sharp, unrelenting—lock onto mine, pulling me in and refusing to let go.
And there’s that faint scar cutting through his right eyebrow, giving him an edge that always drove me wild.
As he waits for my answer, he leans back slightly, casually popping a large green olive into his mouth. His lips curl around it, and he bites down slowly, sensually. I swear he knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’m torn between being impressed and absolutely wrecked.
I lean in, my voice low and deliberate. “Fuck work.”
Before he can react, my hand shoots out, grabbing his tie and yanking him forward. His eyes widen for a split second before they darken, and his lips crash into mine.
The kiss is fiery and unapologetic. His lips press hard against mine, demanding, while mine take just as much.
My fingers tighten on his tie, pulling him closer, and I hear the faint scrape of his chair as he pushes it back and stands.
Our mouths never part. His hands grip my waist, pulling me to my feet as I stumble against the table, still tethered to him by that unrelenting kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, swirling against mine in a desperate, heated rhythm.
He shrugs off his jacket, never breaking contact. The table between us is now a distant memory as he somehow maneuvers himself around to my side, his arms snaking around my waist.
I’m vaguely aware of the faint clink of glassware as the table shifts beside us, but I couldn’t care less.
My hands move to his shirt, fisting in the fabric as though anchoring myself to him.
His body presses against mine, firm and warm, and for a moment, it feels like nothing else in the world exists but this.
His lips leave mine for just a second, trailing down my jaw and to the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. Desperately trying to ignore the fact that we’re in a restaurant, I gasp, and my head falls back slightly, giving him full access as my fingers tangle in his hair.
Just when my knees threaten to buckle under the intensity of it all—he picks me up, my legs wrapping around him instinctively.
"Oh. Gray, you don't know how long I've waited for this," my words are warm against his lips.