They can’t rope me into another TV show binge so soon. Last week Marissa texted asking how I felt about Buffy Summers.
I give everyone a smile and a short wave before I step out the door of Cosmo’s Café and Comics to my freedom. With a deep breath of city air, I relish another successful event without running into Grant. Only another fifty or sixty years of this to go. No problem.
I’m not more than three feet down the block when Grant steps into the middle of the path. “Leaving already?”
He’s dressed ridiculously as usual. My eyes start at his leather pair of work boots (totally for show), travel the tan colored pants, and then stall when they reach his grey undershirt with a red flannel top buttoned halfway. Does he wake up in the morning and plan to dress like a hipster or is it his natural environment? Does he have an extra gene that makes it possible for him to throw on a random assortment of clothing and somehow make it look good?
Grant Moore is a total prep. One of the guys we would’ve called a douche in high school. Hell, if I hadn’t slept with him, I’d still call him a douche, but I have a rule. I don’t sleep with douches. Therefore he’s just a moron.
Sadly, I have a history of sleeping with morons.
I glance to the sky for a brief moment.I’m keeping the Oreos since this counts!
“Emergency… my house… I have to go home,” I answer Grant’s question.
He crosses his arms, still blocking my path. “Really? You’ve had a lot of emergencies lately. Everything okay?”
I could walk around him, but in an odd way taking that route feels like losing. And I refuse to lose to a pretty boy on the streets of San Francisco. This is my town. “What are you, my stalker now?”
“Consider me a curious onlooker.”
“That sounds like rich boy terms for stalker. I bet a judge would agree.”
Grant laughs off my comment. “Not if the judge is a rich old white man who’s been in love before.”
“Whatever.” I take two steps forward ready to barrel past Grant and be on my way.
He takes a step to the side blocking my new path. “Why do you hate me? Did I do something wrong that night?”
I’d like to answer yes, but the lie dies on my lips unspoken. A thousand emotions splash across Grant’s face, but the one I notice is of true puzzlement. The guy really cares. It’s not easy to hate someone when they’re a genuinely nice person.
“No.” I sigh the word, tired of running. “I don’t hate you, but we aren’t good together.”
“You’re crazy. We were amazing together. Seriously hot.” Grant shakes his head in disbelief. “I get we were drunk, but sparks flew that night.”
“I mean us.” My hand flies back and forth in the space. “We live in different worlds, Grant.”
“I’m pretty sure we both live in San Francisco, Clare.”
“You live in a hotel. One I couldn’t afford to stay a night at and I live in Hunter’s Point. That’s pretty far away.”
His expression falls, becoming the most serious I’ve ever seen it. “Let’s cut the bullshit. You’re saying you won’t date me because I have more money than you?”
“Exactly.” Why does he think it would ever work? My physical being is proof it wouldn’t.
“I have to say,” Grant chuckles but it’s missing all humor, “I’ve never had anyone turn me down for a date because I have money.”
“So you understand then?” I search his blue eyes for acceptance.
“No, it’s the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard, but that’s okay. Keep thinking that way. I enjoy a good quest.”
His cocky tone pisses me off. “I’m not a quest in one of your video games, Grant.”
“No, you are so much more.” He takes a step back, opening the space for me, and then walks into the comic shop never sparing me a backward glance.
