Maybe that was why I was too young.
“I can feel you watching me,” I said, not looking up from the crackers. They were in as neat of a line as I cared to manage.
“What are your intentions?”
“Hmn?” I crumbled the cracker wrapper and dropped it into the trash can.
“What are your intentions?”
“With what?”
“You mean who.” Grayson sat on the back of the couch, still watching me as I carried the crackers from the kitchen to the coffee table.
“Youmean who, I think.”
“Colin.”
I swallowed, standing up straight and coming around to face Grayson. “Colin is my friend.”
“Why did you bring him home the other night?” he asked.
“Because he’s my friend and I wanted him to see my new apartment.
“He could have seen it tonight.” Grayson checked his phone. “At our party.”
“I’d already seen his place,” I explained.
“Why?”
“What?” I scoffed, trying to get away, but Grayson jumped off the couch and followed me back into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of wine and leaned against the pantry door. It was taking time, but he was learning his way around my kitchen organization and I was thankful for that because answering his seven thousand questions every meal time was exhausting.
“Why had you seen his place?” Grayson asked.
“Because I went inside when I went over there.”
Grayson arched a brow.
“I wanted to see it,” I mumbled.
“Did you get the full tour?”
“That sounds like it means something more than I think it does.”
Grayson sipped his wine, giving me more of his watchful eye. I brushed past him down the hall toward my bedroom so I could change. He followed after me, not the least bit put off by my dismissal. Once in my room, he set his wine glass down on my dresser and waited for me to speak. When I said nothing, he offered, “I don’t want you to get in over your head with anything is all.”
“I have two parents and I have an older brother who’s old enough to be my parent,” I snapped, tugging my shirt over my head and throwing it onto the bed. “I don’t need you.”
“I think you do need me.” Grayson sighed. “You need a friend.”
“I have Colin.”
“He’s not going to be a friend for long.”
“What does that mean?” I snatched a short-sleeved white button-up from the closet and forced my arms into it.
“The tension is thick, Wes. It’s fine. I won’t tell.”
“Won’t tell who?”
