It’s Nutcracker season, things have been crazy. We’re fine.
Finally dismissed, I get up to leave and see Will turn toward me, as if he’s going to walk my direction. I pick up my pace, tossing my books in my bag and quickly walkingout the door. The cool air hits me and I feel my phone buzz again against my palm just as the familiar warmth of Will’s hand wraps around my arm.
I look around for Liv, surprised to see her already gone.
“You don’t have rehearsal tonight,” he says on a laugh, a question lodged in the depths of his olive eyes.
“Uh, yeah, no. I don’t,” I tell him, refusing to answer the implication. I don’t want to hurt him, and I will if he pries anymore.
“We should grab dinner.” His eyes search mine as he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, anticipating my response in a way he hasn’t in years. It has tears gathering behind my eyes, because it’s always when I don’t want his attention that it seems to land on me, so I check my phone as a distraction to buy myself time.
“Let me just—” I start, indicating that I need to look at a calendar or something I most definitely don’t use, like a phone planner, as I come up with a reason not to grab dinner with him. The notification from moments ago snags my attention, Grant’s name soothing the anxiety creeping up my spine, despite not knowing what I’ll find.
Grant
Where are you? I need to see you.
A wave of relief washes over me, and I realize I need to see him, too. Need to feel the calm comfort he seems to bring me.
I just want this dread to wash away. I want to stop feeling like I’m doing something wrong.
Where are you?
Grant
Pub 24.
“Gen?” Will’s voice has me snapping my attention back to him. Hands in his pockets, jaw hard and set, his golden hair falling across his brow, gaze searing into me—he is devastating. And I don’t want to grab dinner with him. Don’t want to sit there and feel like pursuing myself, for once, is a bad thing.
I clear my throat like it’ll brush the thoughts away. “Where’s Liv?”
“Newspaper.” His throat bobs, waiting.
“I have…plans,” I tell him, surprising myself. I watch for the suspicion to roll in, wait for him to ask a follow up.
“With Jean?”Thereit is.
“With friends,” I supply him with, my tone clear, that's all I’m going to say.
Lips pressed together as he glances away, he nods. “Okay, Genny. Got it.” He starts to walk away, pausing before doubling back. “Be safe. Okay?”
My heart trips over itself, catching me off guard. It’s these small glimpses of who he’s always been to me that hurt the most. Because of course, they show up now. A streak of frustration rips through me, and I finally type back my response.
Be there in 20.
The dim bar is washed in the pinkish, orange glow of neon signs. I recognize this place as being the hot spot for washed up college graduates, not the typical location for the spawnof the elite and I let out a small relieved sigh, feeling much more comfortable in this atmosphere. The bars near campus always leave me feeling so naked, so perceived—like any misstep is going to be catalogued and added to my sheet of transgressions, whatever those are. The usual tenseness in my spine relaxes when I realize no one will know us here. And then I spot Andrew Spellman shooting his shot with a drop dead gorgeous blonde who is most definitely too cool for him.
My hand grips the strap of my bag harder. A montage of Will’s disappointed face flashes through my mind, every moment someone let him down, and it makes my stomach sink, all the excitement from moments ago seeping out.
I wade deeper into the room, my gaze finally landing on Grant, a warmth I’ve come to associate with him radiating from my chest. The corners of my mouth tug up at the sight of himnotin athleisure. It’s rare to see him out of his typical athletic garb, save for a few galas where you can tell he’s uncomfortable, his broad shoulders crammed in a suit. But something about the sight of Grant in jeans and a light gray henley has me sucking in a breath. He has a backwards hat on, his honey brown waves peeking out the edges, his boyish dimples directed at whatever Andy is saying to the blonde even more heart stopping. Then he spots me, his blue eyes, almost navy in the dark glow of the bar, locking with mine. Over the din of the music, I barely register what he says to the girl, but he never takes his eyes off me. I feel weightless, like I could float to him if I wanted to and I move toward him without much effort, the force of attraction doing all the work.
They’re all looking at me when I finally enter their sphere, and that nervous tension I usually get around my peers tracks back into my neck. Grant’s arm loops aroundme, pulling me into him in a casual hug, but when his thumb brushes back and forth against my arm it’s like he’s forcing the walls back down.
“Hi.” The word comes out breathier than I mean it to, as if I’ve been holding the air in my lungs since I stepped in.
“Hey, Gen.” The low timber of his voice is soft and deep, and my cheeks warm in response.
A small squeal of excitement pulls me out of whatever dreamlike stance I was in with Grant, and I find the movie star worthy blonde taking me in, the corners of her eyes crinkling as a broad smile takes form on her perfectly pouty lips. I tense without realizing it.
