“I don’t typically do those,” he said, “but if I did, I can guarantee you that I would know better than to take someone like you to the movies and dinner if I wanted to make an impression.”
I blushed and sipped my coffee.
“I’ll probably analyze the footage from my last game,” he said, changing the subject. “I want to improve on the three hundred seventy-five yards and twenty-two completions I threw.”
“Three hundred ninety-five.”
“What?”
“You threw for three hundred ninety-five yards.” I set down my cup. “And you had twenty-three completions.”
“I thought you weren’t that big on football.” He looked impressed.
“I’m not big on school spirit. I love football, though. Always have.”
“Hmmm.” He smiled. “Good to know.”
“Can I go back to reading my book now?”
“No.” He moved it to his side of the table. Then he pulled a folder from his backpack. “I need your help with my feminist Shakespeare papers first.”
“Those aren’t due until next month,” I said, pulling out his syllabus. “Not only that, but those should be some of the easiest papers for you to write.”
"If that were the case, I wouldn't be here asking you about it."
“Just make up whatever you think a female is thinking when she’s having an orgasm and ‘dying a thousand little deaths’ since that’s Shakespeare’s true interpretation and you’ll be fine.”
“Better yet,” he said, clicking his pen. “Why don’t you tell me that and we’ll call this a night?”
“I’m not the right person to ask.”
“Why not? Just think about the last time you had sex and tell me what was going through your mind when you came.” He sipped his coffee. “No judgment here.”
I sighed. “I wouldn’t know.”
"Is it because you tend to black out mentally during sex?" He clicked his pen again. "It might be easier for me to convey that idea instead."
“It’s because I’ve never had sex.”
He spat out his coffee and his eyes went wide. Then he just stared at me.
For a long time.
“Are you done, Grayson?”
“My apologies,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Not everyone has spent their entire college career sleeping with everything that moves.”
“I haven’t had sex at all this semester.”
“I’m sure that’s a personal record for you.”
“We’re not talking about me. You’re a virgin?” He still looked surprised. “Were you ever going to tell me this?”
“I’m not sure when it would’ve been necessary for me to bring it up, so, no. I was never going to tell you that.”
“Interesting.” He shut his notebook. “Good for you.”
“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”
“I’m not.” He looked genuine.
“Hey, guys.” The owner stepped next to our table and set down two fresh lattes. “I’m going to have to close a little early today. My four o’clock barista didn’t show and I need to pick up my daughter from the babysitter. I’ll make this up to you on another rainy day, I promise.”
“No problem,” we said in unison. “Thank you.”
I tossed my things into my bag and headed down the steps, with Grayson close behind.
Stepping outside, I let up my umbrella and looked up at him. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course. Where’s your car?”
“I walked here today.” I shrugged. “My dorm is only a few blocks away.”
“Let me drive you.” He pulled car keys out of his pocket and the black SUV in front of us flashed its lights.
I didn’t get a chance to think about it. Grayson pressed his hand against the small of my back and walked me over to the passenger side. He opened the door and waited for me to buckle my seatbelt before moving to his side.
“Which dorm do you stay in?” He looked over at me as he cranked the engine.
“Lothrop Hall.”
“That’s more than a few blocks away.” He steered his car onto Forbes Avenue and turned on the windshield wipers. For the entire ride, neither of us spoke, and the rain pelting against his hood was the only sound between us.
When he pulled up to my dorm, he put the car in park and faced me. “Are you really going to give a second chance to someone who made you pay for everything on a first date?”
“Maybe.” I knew I didn’t sound convincing. “Not everyone in college gets tons of scholarship money and gifts of cars and coffee like you. I can’t afford that much either, you know.”
"I work every summer for my money," he said. "And when my father died, he left me his pension and this car we're sitting in. Those things were willed to me; they're not gifts."
“I didn’t mean it like that.” My voice trailed off. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Don’t be.” He turned off the car. “Answer my question about the date.”
“Grayson, I promise it’s not personal.”
“It’s beyond personal.” He leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, setting every single nerve in my body on fire.
“No.” I sighed. “No, I wouldn’t really go on a second date with someone like that.”
“And you’ll never go on a date with someone like me either?”
“We’ve talked about this.”
“We haven’t,” he said, locking his eyes on mine. “We haven’t talked about anything because you still refuse to give me your phone number. You also have yet to accept my friend request on Facebook.”
“I barely use Facebook.”
“That’s not the point.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “But just so you know, I’m not the quitting type. So, if you think I’m going to stop pursuing you, you’re sadly mistaken, and you’re about to learn a few things about my stamina.”
I blushed. “I’m sure your stamina is quite impressive, but—”
He pressed his lips against mine, cutting my sentence short. I sucked in a breath as he ran his fingers through my hair, as he bit my bottom lip before sliding his tongue against mine to control the tempo of the kiss.
“Wait.” I pulled back, temporarily caught off guard. “Are you really that upset about me not giving you my phone number?”
“No, I’m not upset at all. I’m fucking livid about it.” He pulled me close again, and I gave in and kissed him back. I shut my eyes as he softly bit my bottom lip—instantly making me wet. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he continually ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me like I’d never been kissed in my life.
Several minutes later, he slowly pulled away from me and kept his eyes on mine. “Just so you know,” he said, his voice hoarse, “yes, I’m jealous as fuck about your date. But I can guarantee that your next one, whoever he is, will never kiss you like that.”
I didn’t get a chance to respond. He got out of the car and walked over to my side, opening the door for me. He held an umbrella over my head as I stepped out and walked me to the entrance.
I tried to find something—anything, to say, but I couldn’t think of a single word.
“I’ll see you Tuesday.” He held the door for me and watched me until I stepped into the elevator.
GRAYSON: THEN
Seven years ago
Pittsburgh
KISSING CHARLOTTE JUST made this shit worse.
I was sitting in my living room, days later—unable to fully focus on the game tapes because all I could think about was her. My mind was alternating between the memory of kissing her in my car and processing the fact that she was a virgin.
The latter was normally an automatic deal breaker for me, and if she were anyone else, I would've stopped pursuing her at once, but for some reason, I was even more intrigued. Still, I wasn’t used to being rejected time after time, and I wasn’t used to caring about being rejected. I was accustomed to women saying “yes” to me within seconds, and I’d never had to work this hard just to get someone’s phone number.