“Oh my god…Genevieve. Are you blushing?”
“No,” I rush to save face, facing forward rather than in toward him.
“You would do it,” he says in awe, like he finally struck gold. And to be clear, hooking up with a guy, sort of at random in order to lose my virginity, is not how I wanted to do this but… something like liberation slinks down my spine when I imagine that guy being Grant Fielder. Maybe I’m a masochist.
“Let’s go,” I urge Jean, sensing the chaotic edge of his energy ratcheting up.
“Grant!” he calls, waving an arm in the air, and I smack his arm before hiding mine behind my back. Panic rips through me as I catch the slight furrow of Grant’s brow.
“I didn’t think you were going to literally call him over here,” I whisper hiss. Jean casually shrugs, but I don’t miss the twinkle of mischief in his eye.
Grant makes his way to us, caution lining his figure against the fire behind him.
“You playedgreatthe other night. Didn’t he, Gen?” Jean nudges me, and I stand up from the trees, crossing my arms as I try to subtly glare at Jeanandregard Grant with the same skepticism he usually gives me.
Except right now, he’s not looking at me like that. He’s looking at me with unsettling curiosity.
“Yeah,” I relent. “You did fine.” I just barely shrug my shoulder.
“Fine?” he asks, his amused smirk emitting a spark that feels like it skitters across my skin.
“Well, I can’t say I was paying attention toyouin particular.” I watch his eyes search my face before he huffs a small laugh, just as Jean steps on my foot crossing to leave.
He shoots me a look and mouths just for me to see: “Now or never.” Then adds, for both of us to hear: “Oop—I see a keg stand. Find you later!”
I silently curse him, hoping he stubs his toe or spills beer all over his mock turtleneck, and school my features. Because despite the fact that only Jean could propose a plan like this, I find myself incredibly tempted by the idea of just doing it. I almost never do anything on a whim, and maybe that’s part of my problem.
This is crazy, is all I can think to myself as adrenaline courses through me. And crazy as it is, I feel kind of invigorated? Even if he says no, which is entirely possible, the thrill of the ask feels good right now. Maybe it’s the endorphins from my conversation with Jean, maybe it's an uncharacteristic moment of insanity, ormaybeit’s that Grant is undeniably handsome, even more-so when a scowl meant for Will isn’t plastered on his face.
I know he can tell something is up, because I’ve spokento him alone only a handful of times. He stands there, his patience both surprising and unnerving, as I consider the next words out of my mouth. Because maybe Jean’s right—maybe I do need to stop waiting around for Will to notice me, a notion that’s starting to sound more pathetic the longer I do.
“Having fun?” I ask him, immediately wishing I could pull the inane small talk back into my mouth.
“Uh, sure…” He squints at me, clearly pondering if this is why I called him over.
I nod my head, not really knowing what to say next. I’m not an awkward person. Years of performing in front of hundreds of people basically prepares you for anything. But clearly nothing prepared me for Grant.
“So… what are you doing after this? Like do you have plans or…” I inwardly cringe, hoping Jean was right about the way Grant looks at me, but commit. The last thing I am is a quitter.
“Are you trying to ask me out?” he asks, confusion clouding his face.
“What?” I squeak, scoffing in disbelief. Then I remember that Iamtrying to ask him out, in a way, and I just know I’m blushing. “Would it be weird if I was?”
He processes this in slow motion, clearing his throat and adjusting his gaze, like he’s just put on glasses. “It would feel… kind of left field.” He leans forward, like he’s telling a secret only I should hear. “I don’t know if you know this but—you don’t like me.”
“Youdon’t likeme!” I feel like a child, just as petulant, and kind of backed into a corner. This is not going how I very briefly imagined it, but something about the low chuckle he lets out invites me to take a deep breath in. I swallow, forcing myself to be brave.
“You watch me,” I challenge him, boldness now replacing any embarrassment I could be feeling. His smirk catches me off guard, amused rather than ashamed from having been caught.
“Hard not to when you’re murderin’ people with those eyes.”
Those eyessends a shiver down my spine, and I stand up a little straighter.
“Murdering is a strong word, but I guess maybe you don’t know many others.”
“You have an interesting way of asking people out, Genevieve.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and the motion makes him taller somehow. I can tell he’s fighting a grin.
“Is it working?” I peer up at him through my lashes, shocked to find the very thing Jean swore he saw—lust. Desire. Something hot and liquid in his gaze as he stares down at me. It’s laced with all the familiar things—skepticism, hesitance, judgement—but I finally see the lust.
