GRAYSON
The hardest partof pretending you aren’t in love with someone isn’t trapping those words inside when they swell and try to burst past your closed lips.
It’s keeping your gazes quick instead of lingering, your hands in your pockets instead of sweeping loose pieces of hair behind their ear, and your excitement to become their fake boyfriend hidden by a smooth nonchalance.
I’ve managed to succeed with tasks one and two, but am finding it harder to accomplish the third. From the moment I overheard Jill and Ivy talking about this wedding and what Jill needed to do to keep from being forced into her ex-boyfriend’s arms, I knew I’d be the one to help. Not because I have a habit of crashing weddings, but because I would have done anything for her. Iwill.
Perhaps I’m a bit . . . overzealous when it comes to Jill.
For the better part of three years, I’ve been enamoured with the woman with the caramel-brown eyes, hair that’s so close to black most wouldn’t be able to tell that it’s truly more of a deep mocha, eccentric, handmade earrings that are alwaysdangling, and the most subtle curves enhanced by her well-fitted dresses. Having her as a regular employee wasn’t enough for me, so I pulled a few strings and had her shifted to my part-time assistant just so I wouldn’t have to share so much of her attention.
It’s selfish, but I’ve taken advantage of the openings left for me.
It wouldn’t have been appropriate to move too quickly when we do work in the same building, and while yes, I’ve been spending more and more time with her and those closest to her outside of the office, it’s not the same. Jill hasn’t seemed to mind the new job. If she had put up even the slightest stink about the move, I’d have let her make whatever choice she wished to.
She continues to come into work with that dazzling smile and the pink, round cheeks that never fail to leave me struggling to catch my breath.
I fiddle with the air control in my car and lower the temperature to where she tends to have it set at her place. She’s almost always touching the thermostat at the office and setting it to twenty degrees, freezing us all out. Ivy’s the first one to give her hell and adjust it back up to the usual twenty-three, but I’m there before the heat can kick on, turning it back down.
The clock reads 7:53 a.m., and I scratch the back of my neck as I look to the front of her house. Sunrise was quite a while ago, and all of her blinds are down, hiding any inside movement. I’m always early, and she loves to be blissfully late. It’s chaos waiting for happen, yet I’m intrigued to see how we could make it work. Would I be able to encourage her to get ready a few minutes ahead of time, or would she instill a calmness in me that would keep my eyes off the clock?
They’re dangerous thoughts to be having.
To distract myself, I pop open my door and step out of the car. Jill’s garbage bins are still at the edge of the drivewaydespite having been emptied on Wednesday morning. With a glance down the road, I slap their lids closed and grip their handles before starting up the driveway, wheels rolling along the cement. The elderly woman in the house four down from Jill’s is giving her flower beds a heavy watering and waves when she spots me. Her name evades me, but I still wave back.
The wooden holder I built on the side of Jill’s driveway fits the two bins perfectly. I tuck them inside its walls and pluck the collar of my shirt from where it’s sticking to the base of my throat. Nerves spiral in my stomach when I hear the front door swing open and then close a beat later.
“You’re going to give her false hope, you know?”
I twist, holding my breath while I take in the sight of her. She’s dressed similarly to the way she usually is, but a bit less professional than in the office. Bright blue toenails peek out from the front of a pair of strappy sandals, the colour matching her ankle-length skirt. There’s a long slit that goes up to the bottom of her thigh, exposing pale, pinkish skin. A white cardigan is buttoned up at the middle and tucked into the skirt. It slouches down her shoulder, treating me to another flash of her bare skin. I flex my fingers at my sides before tucking them into the pockets of my jeans.
“What?” I ask, my throat dry as I inhale deeply.
She pulls her keys from her door and faces me, laughing lightly. “Elaine. She’s asked me about you quite a few times. If you keep waving at her, she’s going to fall in love with you.”
“I assumed she was married.”
“Maybe she is. Either way, I think she’d appreciate if you helped her with her garbage bins every once in a while.” She jumps down the two cement steps in front of her door and joins me, smelling like apples and cinnamon. “Thank you, by the way. I’ve been meaning to haul those back up.”
“I’ll make sure to think of her the next time I’m feeling generous.”
I nearly reach out and take her hand before thinking better of it. Instead, I take her overnight bag and shake my head when she opens her mouth to argue. We fall into an easy pace on the way to my car, then I’m there pulling her door open. Her eye roll is lighthearted as she slips inside.
“You’re already a professional. Do this in front of my parents and they’ll be furious at how wrong they were to assume I was lying about you.”
“That’s all it would take, huh? We’ve got this in the bag, then.”
She reaches for her seat belt and brings it across her chest, grinning. I shut the door and quickly round the hood. When I join her, she’s reaching for the cord in the cup holder and bringing it to her phone. With a wide reach, I set her bag down beside mine and put the car in gear.
“Do you mind if I have the cord? I’ve got the directions already loaded up,” she says, flashing me her phone screen.
I shake my head and pull onto the street. “Not at all. I’m curious what your road trip playlist consists of.”
“Really? You’re not one of those people who insist that the driver chooses the music?”
“Isn’t that distracting?”
“Right. I forgot you’re Mr. Serious when you’re driving,” she teases, immediately choosing a song that I already know. “Seven Nation Army” by the White Stripes flows from the speakers. “Do you approve?”
