Maisie
. . .
THIRTEEN
I swear, I’ve been run over by a train. That’s the only logical conclusion I can come up with when I struggle to pry my eyes open. Whoever's great idea it was to leave my blinds open last night should be fired from life.
I’m finally able to get one singular eye open and groan as my head spins from the small movement. Note to self: whiskey is now blacklisted.
I can cross visit the Sahara Desert off my bucket list because I have a front row seat to it as I struggle to peel my dehydrated tongue from the roof of my mouth.
I thank God when I notice a glass of water on my bedside table, downing it in one go.
Two small pills sit next to it with a note that reads Take these when you wake up written in small, neat handwriting.
I don’t know how I know it, but I can tell it’s Grayson’s writing. Oh no… No. No. No. I look over to the other side of my bed, silently praying it’s empty.
Did we do anything last night? I remember him showing up and us dancing, but everything after is very blurry.
Between the first whiskey shot and the… How many did I have?
Four? Somewhere between the first and last, I seem to have forgotten the things I may or may not have said in front of Grayson, which is basically the biggest traumatic experience for a girl with social anxiety issues.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Winner, that’s me!
“Why me!” I groan into my pillow, wincing when my head throbs.
You know what? We aren’t going to worry about it. What’s done is done. We are going to pretend that nothing happened last night. Yeah, I can do that.
It’s Saturday, and I’m sure I won’t even run into Grayson until Monday morning, which means this will all be old news. So basically, when I think about it that way…it didn’t even happen.
I rush through a shower, hoping it will revive me with a ball of anxiety sitting low in my stomach, because yeah right.
I could never forget about last night. It will inevitably be circling my thoughts for the foreseeable future.
Perks of being an overthinker with a dollop of an anxiety queen. Gotta love it.
The heat and steam from my shower mostly detox my pores of all the alcohol. I swear, it smelled like cheap beer and whiskey in there. I’m feeling much better as I sip on a much needed energy drink. These things could revive the dead.
I’ve yet to unpack my suitcase, so I dig through my wrinkled clothes, looking for something to wear.
I find pink corduroy overalls and a long sleeve white shirt to go under it.
I could use some fresh air, so I slip on my shoes and look for a coat.
They all seem to be dirty already, or majorly wrinkled from my travels.
My eyes snag on the chair, a jean jacket slung over it that definitely isn’t mine.
The property is huge, and the odds of me running into someone on the weekend are slim.
Of course it smells like him. A mixture of sandalwood and leather. I tighten it around me, dropping a couple cat treats for a howling, needy Evie. The couch looks rumpled, and there’s a blanket thrown across the back.
Did he sleep here?
Gravel crunches under my shoes, taking the path Chesney drove us that first day. I notice a beaten path off to the side and follow it out of curiosity. It feels amazing out, crisp, fresh air instead of the smell of sewage and garbage on the streets of New York.
I brought my journal to take notes for my novel.
I can see myself writing a setting similar to the ranch.
My initial story was based on a cocky bull rider.
After being out here, I can see myself changing gears altogether and going for something more relatable, maybe a love story about two flawed characters trying to navigate life the best they can, where their backstories really drive the narrative.
Maybe a touch of dark to relay the shadows we harbor.
Let’s face it: life isn’t always rainbows and sunshine.
Sometimes, life just plain sucks.
The trickle of water patters in the distance, and my feet follow the sound until I’m spit out at a small creek. There’s a small dock above it, and I decide it’s the perfect spot to rest and take notes.
I plant my butt on the edge and dangle my legs over the side.
My hand flies across the page, taking notes.
The sounds, smells, and emotions I feel secluded in my own little bubble.
I thought it would feel lonely out here, but nature has a way of reminding you that you’re never alone.
You just have to look for them. There are lessons to be learned in everything.
“Don’t jump!”
I nearly fall off the dock. My palm flies to my chest. “Jesus, give a girl a warning next time.” I look over my shoulder and find none other than one handsome as fuck Grayson Miles approaching me. Of course I would run into him.
“Mind if I join you?”
“You stalking me now?” I joke, patting the wooden dock next to me. I should be more embarrassed after last night, but, for some reason, Grayson seems to bleed my anxiety away.
He sits next to me. “You’re the one wearing my clothes. If anyone’s the stalker here, it’s you.”
I look down at my jacket, and, shit, yeah, this does look bad. “It seems I need to do laundry,” I joke.
“It looks better on you anyways.”
Do not blush, Maisie. “I’m sorry about last night. We didn’t do…”
Grayson places his hand over mine. “Maisie, you have no reason to apologize. You’re a very cute drunk, actually.” His dimple has my tummy fluttering. That’s a new development. “And don’t worry, nothing happened between us last night. I would have never let that happen.”
I recoil. Note taken. Hot cowboy indeed does not want to touch me.
“I just meant I never would have taken advantage of you when you were drunk. I drove you home after you were done dancing with Hunter and made sure you made it to bed. That’s it.”
I’m not sure why this is my first thought, but I blurt it all the same. “Did you change my clothes?”
The laugh that comes out of him should be recorded and made into a ringtone.
I would never sleep through an alarm again.
“Definitely not. Though you took your clothes off before I even made it out of your room. That should be studied, how fast you were able to get out of that skintight contraption. I don’t know how you girls pee in those things. ”
Now I’m the one laughing. His hand is still on mine when I move it a little from my laugh. “It’s an Olympic sport. Wait until you find out about bodysuits.”
His face wrinkles, though I’m sure he has no idea what I’m talking about.
It’s adorable, and I need to shut my mouth before he laughs again and has me falling for him.
I’m here for my research. I’ll be leaving soon anyways, so absolutely nothing can happen between us.
Zero exceptions. My heart is going home with me.
Grayson looks down at our joined hands and pulls away. “I’ll stick to my Wranglers.” We sit in silence for only a moment. “So, what brings you out here?”
I chew on my lip. “Here as in this dock, or here as in Montana?”
He shrugs. “I guess both.”
“That's kind of a loaded question. Both for the same reasons, in a way.”
He traces the grain of the wood dock with his finger. “Care to elaborate?”
I sigh, looking out at the water. “Life, I guess.” Grayson raises his eyebrows at me, as if to say no shit.
I roll my neck and lean back on my palms. “I’m here for a lot of reasons, and I’m not really sure which one truly brought me here, but I’m glad it did.
I needed to get away from the city for a while and be on my own surrounded by good people.
The city can sweep you up and make you forget what really matters in life.
So, I guess I came out here to see the family I never got the chance to grow up around, maybe let my brain breathe for a minute. ”
Grayson bobs his head. “And your work was just okay with you picking up your life for an indefinite amount of time to live in rural Montana?”
The cackle that leaves my lips is anything but ladylike. “One of those reasons I mentioned earlier is actually my job. I’m a writer, and, it turns out, I’m in need of some inspiration.” I throw up air quotes, mocking the words.
“Well that explains the typewriter socks.”
My eyes blow wide. “You went through my stuff?”
“No, you were wearing them last night. Practically the only thing you had on,” he mumbles under his breath.
How did I forget that? “Ha, yeah. Alcohol brain. Oakland got them for me when we were younger.” I smile at the memory.
“I always wanted a pink typewriter growing up, but we couldn’t afford one.
Bouncing around foster homes, it just wasn’t in the cards.
Lan went out and found me these socks as a placeholder.
They are my good luck charm when I’m in a writing slump. ”
“When did you enter the foster system? I’m surprised you didn’t come live with the Foxes. They would have taken you in, no question,” he says with genuine confusion.
“Oh, trust me, we tried. The Foxes fought tooth and nail, but the courts deemed them too old and too busy with the ranch to be able to take care of two young kids. We were only eight and ten at the time. The court wanted us to have as little change as possible at our age, so they kept us in our schools and placed us in the system in town.” I still get chills when I think of that horrific night, my leg twinging with phantom pain.
“Bullshit,” he scoffs.
I laugh so hard, I choke on my spit. “Yeah, bullshit,” I yell through my laughs.
“That make you feel better?”
“A little,” I hum.
“Say it again.”
“Bullshit,” I yell a little louder this time.
“Again.”
I stand, throwing my arms behind me and tip my head to the sky. “FUCKING BULLSHIT, YOU BITCH ASS FUCKING COURT SYSTEM WANNABES. EAT SHIT, MOTHERFUCKERS.”
Grayson pulls me back like I’m about to fight someone. “Woah, killer,” he chuckles, walking me back a step. “Didn’t know you had all that in ya.”