Chapter 10
Iopened my front door before Gray could knock late the next morning, my emotions firmly in the middle of suspicion and disbelief after a long night of warring over everything until I’d convinced myself I’d either taken every word the wrong way, or Gray was just doing Gray-ish, charming things because he thought it was the only way to keep his friend.
Yet I’d still been irrationally eager to see the man I’d seen almost every day for over a decade.
Being a woman was the worst.
Honestly, what was the purpose of so many emotions, and minds that obsessed over and overanalyzed the smallest details until we doubted everything we knew? It was exhausting.
Gray’s expression lit with amusement, as if he’d known I wouldn’t let him get to the door first, before abruptly falling when his stare dipped over me. “You’re not ready.”
I glanced at myself, trying to see what he’d just seen, before asking, “What do you mean?”
“That’s what you were wearing last night,” he said as if stating something obvious.
Except, it wasn’t, because I hadn’t been wearing this last night.
Granted, it had been a scarily similar outfit, considering my wardrobe didn’t really have a lot of variety.
A third of it was workout sets. A third was leggings and oversized shirts.
And the other third was jeans, tactical pants, and Shadow Industry shirts.
I didn’t count the one form-fitting suit I owned for when our security details sent us to black tie events.
I also wasn’t counting the two dresses I’d forced Chloe to pick out for me yesterday, since they’d clearly been a mistake and needed to meet my trash can.
“I’ve worked out, showered, and changed multiple times since last night,” I finally told him with a narrowed glare, “but thanks for making me feel like I need to change outfits two days in a row now. Also, your text said, ‘I’m on my way. Be ready.’” I held out a hand. “I’m clearly ready for you to be here.”
Gray’s lips parted in a way that showed he was about to correct me, but he just closed them with a sigh and subtly shook his head as he reached out. Grasping the doorknob, he began shutting the door, leaving us on opposite sides of it.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Just . . . give me a second,” he begged, but it was the frustration and amusement that filled his hushed words that finally prompted me to release my own grip on the door.
What on earth?
I stared at the surface of my door for over a minute. Not realizing until sometime after I’d started gripping at my chest that each strangled beat of my heart had the ache there growing. With a pained exhale, I turned and started toward my room just as a knock sounded.
Glancing back at the door, I hesitated, wondering what the point was of humoring him—humoring whatever this was—when each encounter only hurt me more.
And yet, I was the masochist who went back to the pain again and again.
Because I was suddenly there, opening the door.
The scowl I’d fixed on my face fell when Gray held out an iced matcha latte like a peace offering.
“Good morning,” he began in a low tone when my stare just darted between him and the green drink. “You look perfect. When I said be ready I meant to leave. So, get some shoes on, and let’s head out.”
I told the fluttering in my stomach to calm because I knew—I knew—he’d been telling me I didn’t need to change. That was all. But my masochistic self couldn’t get past the words “you look perfect” in that soft, even tone.
None of the typical Hudson Gray charm. Not a hint of a smirk or any of the things he normally used to make women practically fall at his feet.
But then his expression and words from the night before slipped into my thoughts, unbidden, effectively destroying that ridiculous fluttering.
“Are you wearing makeup? Are you wearing a dress?”
“Where’d you even get a dress?”
And then, when I’d finally changed out of the material he’d seemed to find so repellant on me, he’d muttered, “Comfortable?” like I’d gone from bad to worse.
I swallowed past the knot in my throat and grabbed the latte from him, examining the cup as I did. “What, no phone number this time?”
His expression fell. “Monroe, I didn’t do anything to encourage that.”
I somehow doubted that.
I took a step back, not wanting to get into that pointless argument again when I had hundreds, if not thousands, of occasions that proved otherwise. “I’ll go change.”
Gray reclaimed the distance like he was afraid I would shut the door on him this time. “Don’t—”
“No, it’s fine,” I said over him. “I just didn’t realize we were going somewhere, so I should .
. .” I resisted the urge to look at what I was wearing, since I was already fully aware, just as Gray and I were both completely aware that I’d gone out in this exact kind of outfit more times than I could count because I’d never cared. “I’ll be back.”
“Mallory, wait,” he began as he gripped my arm, the touch making me draw in a quick breath from how at odds it was. Both freezing from where he’d been holding my drink, yet somehow managing to sear me with a heat I’d always tried ignoring when it’d come to this man.
When my stare met his, he continued. “I mean it, you look perfect. Don’t change.”
My eyes narrowed at the plea that seemed to have a double meaning, but I just pulled my arm from his grasp and said, “I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t miss the defeat that swept across his features as I turned for my room. I also didn’t let myself think on it.
Trying to figure out Hudson Gray had never ended well for me.
But when I returned to the living room in the same outfit and my flip flops, the only sign of approval was the barest trace of his dimples, letting me know he was fighting a smile.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I neared him.
At my question, his dimples deepened as he let a smirk slip free. “Should I feel wounded that you don’t know?” He playfully checked his chest and sides before sighing. “Superficial. I’ll live.”
“Oh, good,” I muttered dryly, prompting his smirk to widen as he opened the door for me. Once I reached the threshold, I turned on him. “No, really, where are we going?”
His green eyes searched mine as if trying to determine if I really didn’t know, the only tell on his otherwise amused expression that he was bothered. “Guess we’re about to see.”
My stare narrowed as more of the same questions danced on my tongue, but I decided to let it go for now as I stepped out into the overcast, overly humid morning.
If my only choices were the two of us being in my condo, where he could easily inspect the part of my life I’d always kept hidden, or going somewhere, I’d take somewhere.
But when we settled into his truck, I realized the alternative to my condo was going out with Gray.
In public. Where other women were waiting to be charmed by dimples, ridiculous words, and a deep drawl.
I loosed a sigh and tried to mentally prepare myself for another outing with the man at my side. I tried to do a lot of things as Gray started driving . . .
Tried to ignore the woodsy scent I’d always loved that was so much stronger in the cab of his large truck. Tried to ignore the palpable tension that felt at once weighted and alive with energy. Tried to ignore how different things were from three months ago.
Gray and I had always talked incessantly. Whether it was about work, life, or us bickering like the world might end if we stopped, we were never silent when we were together. Which meant so much about this drive felt wrong.
The silence. The pain and confusion, and the questions that came with both. The unknowns for the future.
But I was afraid I’d say something I regretted if I started talking—like, do you have any idea how many times you’ve shattered my heart?
Do you care that it’s yours? Tell me why it would matter to you if I broke up our team by leaving?
Because you would lose your best friend, your favorite work partner, or something more?
—so I kept my mouth shut . . . until I pulled myself out of my whirlwind thoughts about half an hour later when I realized we were still driving . . . and on a highway.
I quickly glanced around, then checked to see which way we were heading. My stomach dropped when the fields on either side of us seemed far too familiar.
“You aren’t—no.”
A hushed laugh eased from Gray. “Again, I’m wounded that you didn’t remember.”
I nearly pressed myself against my window to catch a glimpse of the next sign we passed, boasting which cities we were driving toward.
Not that the microscopic town we were heading to would be on the sign, but I’d been tricked into this drive enough times to know what to look for now, and I knew I wasn’t wrong.
No wonder Gray had been surprised I didn’t know where we were going. Given what I’d endured yesterday, I should’ve been expecting this.
I twisted in my seat to face him. “This wasn’t funny the first time, and it isn’t funny now.”
“Oh, I beg to differ, Peach,” he gently argued, a heart-stopping smile spreading across his unfairly handsome face when he glanced at me.
My hand twitched in response, but I knew better than to try to hit him while he was going eighty on a two-lane highway.
I glowered in response and demanded, “Stop the truck.” Like that was a normal or safe thing to currently do.
He clicked his tongue. “Sorry, but I can’t.” He gestured out the windshield. “My truck knows where she wants to go.”
“You’re an idiot,” I seethed. “Turn around.”
“But it’s part of you,” he tried again with another look at me, his next laugh coming out louder when he saw my expression.
“I’ll murder you.”
“Violent princess,” Gray murmured under his breath as amusement and something close to relief pulsed from him. “I knew you loved me.”
My breath caught at that, but before I could form a coherent response, he offered a different reason for the trip.
“Family?”