Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
You’ve agreed to a truce. Don’t go in there assuming the worst. I frown. Don’t give him the benefit of the doubt, either. Aim for a nice neutrality.
Energy flickers in my chest, but I’m not certain if it’s from anticipation or dread. My thoughts run amok as I consider how he’s going to react to seeing me in person again. It’s our first time together since the Magnolia Peace Accord, and my first time at his apartment since Picture Gate. I don’t know whether I’m walking into an ambush or preparing for a picnic.
It’s impossible to steady my erratic pulse as Gray opens the door.
He peers down at me with his dark eyes, studying me intently as if seeing me for the first time. A white cotton shirt hugs his torso, and a pair of black sweatpants kiss his thighs. I don’t know him well enough to know if he shaves routinely or not, but it’s evident that he hasn’t met with a razor since I last saw him—and I hate that he looks even better with the scruff.
“Hi,” he says. There’s no warmth, but his tone is also void of a chill. Is that a win? I don’t know. “Want to come in?”
“Sure.”
“Great.”
“Great,” I say, stepping through the doorway.
The apartment looks about the same as it did the last time I was here, except a little more lived-in. A patchwork quilt is draped over the back of the sofa like the one my grandma had when I was a kid. A set of dumbbells sits in the middle of the living room floor, and his chessboard has been placed in the middle of the coffee table. The boxes, however, are gone. And the picture that caused our last tiff is nowhere in sight.
“You expected to find boxes, didn’t you?” he asks as he closes the door.
“Yeah. You had practice on Thursday and Friday and were with the team at the game yesterday. I didn’t figure you got up on your one day off and unpacked.”
“Were you going to finish it for me?”
I drop my bag onto the sofa and then meet his gaze.
My first reaction is to bristle at his question. Instinctively, my hackles rise, and I mentally prepare a defense. My brain tells me he’s judging me—insinuating that I didn’t finish my job and he’s deciding my worth. But something makes me pause. I’m not sure if it’s his relaxed posture or the slight tilt of his head, but I don’t fire back. Instead, I wait.
A lick of humor tickles his lips as he presses them together. “Hey, I’m kidding, you know.”
A slow breath releases from my lungs. No, I didn’t know.
“I did a couple of boxes each night,” he says. “There wasn’t too much left. Besides, despite what you and Renn might think, I’m capable of basic tasks.”
He turns his back and heads toward the kitchen, and I lean against the sofa and watch him move farther away from me. With each step he takes, my shoulders soften, and I breathe a little easier. I relax a little more.
This is uncharted territory, as we’re usually arguing by now. The thing that throws me for a loop, though, is his admission that he was joking. Or maybe it’s the idea that he was joking with me in the first place. That hasn’t happened before … has it?
“Renn doesn’t think you’re incapable of basic tasks,” I say, as he grabs two glass bottles from the fridge. Staying focused on the work aspect of things is an arena I understand. So I keep us planted there.
“That’s not really my takeaway from being assigned a babysitter.”
“Did you ever consider that he just wanted to support you?”
Gray hands me a bottle, unscrews his lid, and takes a long drink. His eyes never leave mine.
“If Renn thought you were incapable, he wouldn’t have traded for you,” I say in defense of my boss. “He obviously thinks you’re talented and can contribute to the team. Otherwise, he would’ve left you in Denver.”
Gray takes a seat on the sofa. He props his bare feet up on the coffee table next to the chessboard. “You always take up for Renn, don’t you?”
“I generally side with people who are right, and Renn is almost always right.”
“What if he was wrong?”
I shrug and sit as far away from him as I can on his one piece of furniture.
His question seems straightforward, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s not. If it’s to be taken on the surface, that’s one thing. But if it’s theoretical, that’s something else completely. Is he suggesting Renn is wrong about him?
“To be honest,” I say, slipping off my shoes and tucking my feet beneath me, “Renn has never been wrong. If he was, I’d probably just stay out of it.”
“Why are you so loyal to him?”