Maisie #3
His eyes bore into mine, and he steps into me. I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes. “Let me rephrase. He touched you when you didn’t want to be touched.” My breath hitches. His face is so close, our lips almost brush when the words leave his mouth.
“How?” I whisper.
He licks his lips, his eyes flitting down to my lips. “I saw a photo.” A photo? I still don’t understand. Grayson reaches up, tenderly tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and reading me like a book. “It doesn't matter how. I saw you were uncomfortable, so I came.”
A lump is stuck in my throat. My mouth dries up. Carl never would have come to my rescue. Grayson saw me…and he came running like some lovesick fool in a romcom? One minute, he’s telling me he isn’t interested in me, and hours later, he’s running from God knows where to what…defend my honor?
It’s too much.
“Grayson,” I whisper, looking up at him with raw emotion. I reach for his bloodied hand tentatively. “What’s going on here?”
He flinches when he hears his name roll off my lips. He recoils two steps and tugs at his wet, messy hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t,” he pleads.
I stiffen at his rejection. Did I read the situation wrong? I’m a little drunk to be fair. Have I been reading this wrong the entire time? Surely not. He’s flirted with me on more than one occasion. He’s also told me off. I’m utterly lost.
I shouldn’t be pursuing Grayson anyways. I can’t allow distractions. I just got out of a relationship for fuck’s sake. I’m just trying to understand him. Clearly, something is going on in his private life he doesn’t want people knowing about.
He sighs, frustrated. “You don’t understand.” His eyes are pleading. “I can’t…”
The alcohol gives me courage. I tentatively step closer.
“Then help me understand, Grayson. What's going on here? My neck feels like it’s been watching a tennis match, and I’m starting to get whiplash here.
Why do I keep finding bruises on you, and why did you show up here like I mean something to you when we both know I don’t?
We aren’t fishing here. Either cast me out or reel me in, but you can’t continue to do both. ”
“I—”
“Who let the party pooper in?” Ches yells over the music, throwing his arms over both of us.
Whatever Grayson was about to say dies on his tongue.
“Sorry about that, Mais. I honestly had no idea, or I would have beat his ass sooner.” His face turns serious as he inspects me.
“Are you okay? I swear, it won’t happen again. ”
I plaster on an easy smile. “It’s fine, Ches, really. If I had an issue with him, I would have told you.”
That answer pacifies him. His infectious smile is back on his face. “Right. I think it’s time for another shot!” He pulls me to the bar, and I groan the entire way. We are greeted by a smiling Hunter. “Hunt, darling. I think we are in need of another one of your legendary whiskey shots.”
“Top shelf, or I’m out,” I whine. I’m going to hate myself tomorrow, but that’s an issue for future Maisie. I’m quite enjoying letting loose tonight. God knows I need it with these hovering hounds.
"Didn't you drive?” Grayson asks Chesney.
Chesney rolls his eyes, slapping Grayson's back. “Yes, daddy, I did, but Carter said he would drive us back. Loosen up, grandpa.”
I don’t miss the way he tracks the bruises and cuts littered all over Grayson. Surprisingly, he keeps his mouth shut. Does he know something I don’t?
Grayson knocks Chesney’s hand away, but it’s playful. “Shut up. I’m just making sure you’re all safe so I’m not stuck doing all the work alone on the ranch.”
“Three shots of whiskey, coming right up!” Hunter cheers. Grayson tries to refuse, but Hunter has the glasses thrown on the counter, pouring the dark liquor in them in seconds. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” She winks before sliding one in front of me.
“I’m driving,” Grayson grumbles, sliding his shot to the side.
Ches and I throw ours back. I hiss through the burn, my face turning up in disgust. Isn’t liquor supposed to start tasting better the drunker you get? This shit tastes like lighter fluid.
I’m pretty sure I’m doing a good job hiding my discomfort—that is, until I spot Grayson chuckling at me under his breath. “Not as good at guzzling whiskey as you are beer, now are you, honey?”
I scoff and cross my arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Grayson's eyes dip to where my arms push my minimal cleavage up out of the zipper of my jean romper. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. “I’ve seen cows birth calves smoother than you just took that shot.”
I don’t know if it’s my inability to back down from a challenge or the abundance of booze ripping through me, but I snatch the extra shot poured for Grayson and throw it back. It slides down my throat with a smile on my face. Some spills, and I lick it up before it escapes down my chin.
I retract my earlier statement. I hardly tasted that shot as it hit my tongue. I was too focused on Grayson's intense gaze burning my skin. I’ll take his stare over a chaser any day.
It’s terrifyingly blissful to have Grayson Miles’ undivided attention.
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.
Research notes: cowboys are territorial.