I harden my gaze and scoff. “Trying to break us apart again? It won’t work this time. He definitely was with me, I mean, he did fall asleep like a baby after we…I think I’ve divulged a little too much, don’t you think?” I don’t hold back in sounding bitchy.
Rage flashes beneath her cerulean eyes, but she grits her teeth and tilts her head with a grin.
“The text doesn’t lie, honey.” She thrusts her phone in front of my face.
Grey: Can I come over?
Diana: See you soon. Xx.
I feel my blood pressure drop, but I perk up when my phone pings with a message. I swipe my finger across the screen. It’s a text from Grey.
Grey: Bitch incoming. Don’t trust what she says.
Then he sends me a screenshot of his text messages with her, and I smile like I just won the lottery.
Grey: Can I come over?
Diana: Of course babe. I knew u’d grow tired of that virgin.
Grey: Fuck you. I just left a hat there.
Diana: See you soon. Xx
Grey: WTF?? Can I get my damn hat or not?
She deleted parts of the conversation. What a bitch move. Too bad Grey saw it coming. And too freaking bad he’s with me…partially, but it’s more than this snake will ever get.
“Nice try, Dee,” I hiss playfully and show her my screen with the true conversation.
She glares at me. “You won’t last long, honey. He only wants you to fuck. He’s never fucked a virgin before. Never got the chance with Rose…”
I clam up and shake my head. “What? No.” I should walk away. I don’t believe her, anyway. She constantly lies, like with the texts just now. I turn on my heels and begin walking toward the classroom.
“Why do you think he’s trying so hard to be with you? You’re just a part of his fucked-up formula to be normal!” she screams, and I nearly spin around and punch or maybe even slap her. But I have more pride than that. “Face it, honey, you’re nothing! You just see! You’ll see soon enough! Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
I look over my shoulder one last time before entering the classroom.
***
“Someone called for pizza?” Grey says as he enters the dorm room.
I came back after working with Mason for three hours, because I want to ask Grey an important question—if he could come with me back to my hometown for Thanksgiving with my family. I don’t think I would have gotten the best answer if he was in the same room as Mason. Those two constantly go at it like cats and dogs. It’s ridiculous! Nonetheless, I was starving, and I called him to bring some pizza over, hoping it’d sway him with some pepperoni in his stomach.
“Yes, I’m starved.” I groan for emphasis as I sit up on my bed and put my binder beside me. He plops down on the bed and places the pizza box beside him. But before he can, I tap his wrist and eye the study desk. He gives me a weird look, and I sigh and stand, telling him, “I don’t want any grease getting on my sheets.” I bend and pull out a roll of paper towels.
“Are you serious?” He laughs and eyes me, trying to assess if I’m joking or not. If only he knew how I once—actually, on many occasions—wiped every speck of dirt off every stick of furniture I could get my hands on in the house back home. And I was the only one living in it since my parents were working most of the time.
Glancing at the shiny white surface of the desk, I lay another layer or two before picking up the pizza box. He grabs one before I place the box on the paper towel.
“Hell yes,” I reply to him, then take a pizza slice for myself. I grab two sheets and sit next to him, handing him one. He scoffs at the paper and takes another large bite. I shrug and think to myself, Better for me, before placing the second paper in my palm and taking another bite. “Did you bring anything to drink?” I look at him and freeze when his face falls.
“Yeah, I put soda cans in my back pocket…” He trails off and looks down.
Oh, no…
“Grey!” I shriek and jump up in fright. Is he serious? He did not just ruin my hundred-dollar comforter! I will kill him!
His maniacal laughing cuts off my plotting his death. And then he waves a hand at me and says, “Calm down, clean freak. They’re in my backpack.” He clamps down on his pizza and swings his bag off his back and onto his lap.
“That was not funny!” I exclaim and punch his arm. He finds the most horrendous things comical, and it will forever boggle my mind. He pulls out two cans of Pepsi and hands me one. I pop it open as he does and take a few sips before setting it on the floor beside me.
I almost over-think the possibility of rings gathering on the floor under the drink but push it in the back of my mind and sit up. He takes a few big gulps and does the same, putting the drink on the ground.
“It was pretty funny to me.” He shrugs with a cocky smile as he chews, and I turn my head away and groan in disgust.
“Close your mouth, nasty,” I say with a laugh.
“Oh, you don’t like that?” he teases.
“No.” I face him and let out a screech when he lurches forward and presses me against the wall, a look of mischief engraved in his face and lighting up his black eyes. “Stop! Back up, I’m eating my pizza.” I groan like a child and take a bite.
He ignores me and chews loudly in front of my face. His free hand finds its way to my waistline and begins running up and down my skin, tickling me senseless. Laughter slips out of my mouth, and before I know it, I’ve dropped my pizza on the floor and he has me on my back, his face nuzzled in my neck, pizza still tucked in between his teeth as he assaults me with his greasy hands.
“Gr–eeeeey!” I screech out his broken name and lamely swat at his shoulder. “I—I have to ask you an important q-question—STOP TICKLING ME!” I yell, throwing my head back against the comforter, kicking my legs to and fro as I try to get this glorious boy with black eyes off me.
He mumbles something, but the words are lost around the spongy pizza crust. Will he stop tickling me and let me speak? It’s nice that he’s in such a good mood, but it won’t be helpful if he keeps tickling me like he’s ten. But I can’t admit that I don’t like the brightness surrounding his dark eyes or those two dime-sized dimples creasing by his pizza-stuffed lips.
He’s like a man-child. But he’s my man-child. And I know how to stop this.
“If you stop, I’ll show you that same favor I showed you last night,” I promise and watch as he slows down.
“Are you lying, like this morning?” he mumbles around the pizza.
“Didn’t you get something in the shower?” I arch my eyebrows, and he blushes and shrugs like a school girl. “That’s what I thought. Now, get off me.”
He leans back and tosses his pizza crust on the floor behind him.
“You are so disgusting.” I lean up on my elbows, and he tugs at the waist of my jeans, pulling me toward his lips. But I put a hand up; his lips meet my greasy palm. “Just because of that, no kissing for you.” I brush past him and pick up the fallen pieces of pizza and drop them in the waste bin.
When I return to sit on the bed, he has another pizza slice lodged between his teeth and a wicked glint in his eyes. I toss a pillow at his face, and he catches it with a golden grin. I rub my hands together and watch him eat, thinking of ways to ask him such a question that is a huge step forward in our relationship. And we’re not even technically in a relationship. Or we are? I don’t know, it’s confusing.
But what I do know is that I want to spend this holiday with him. If not with my family, then with his. I know his relationship with his mother is rocky, broken even, but I would love to meet her. And I have nothing else to do, as horrible as that sounds. Maybe even Christmas too? But I can’t be too hopeful. Not yet, at least. We have to get through this holiday first. Together.
I could just squeal at how grown up I am becoming. Bringing a boy home and thinking about spending holidays together.
When he’s finished with his pizza, he catches my gaze and looks around quizzically. “What?”
I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out. I close my mouth and pinch my eyebrows together.
Why is this so hard? Maybe it’s because I’ve never asked to spend a holiday with anyone because I’ve just been used to people coming over and being impressed by the bright girl who listens to her mother, like she should.
Or he means a lot to you and you don’t want to scare him away? my subconscious suggests. Damn it. The girl’s right. But I can’t let uncertainty hold me back from this.
“How do you feel about spending Thanksgiving with me?” I ask with a smile I hope will sucker him in for the big punch.
He looks skeptical but shrugs and says, “Sure—”
“With your mother?” I finish, and his face immediately slacks and grows hard with every bone in his face.
“No,” he says and looks away from me. I watch the subtle tick in his jaw and the rubbing of his forever-bruised knuckles. I sigh and scoot closer. He looks at me and raises a warning eyebrow. I scoot closer anyway, and he rolls his eyes.
“Why not?” I ask and take one of his calloused hands in mine. It immediately clamps down on mine, and I hide the indication of slight pain from his rough nails pressing against my skin. “I’m sure she’d love to have you.”
“Trust me, she wouldn’t.”
“Oh, come on. When’s the last time you saw her?” I want to shove the words back in my mouth the minute they leave my lips. I should not have said that.
He snaps his head to me, and I freeze. “When she kicked me out when I was sixteen years old.” He rips his hand away from mine and scowls. I look at my hands anxiously.
“I’m sorry…but I’d love to meet her and—” I begin to say.
“I said no! Okay?” He pushes away and surprises me by jumping to his feet like a ball of raging fire.
“Grey, calm down—”
“I will not! You keep trying to push me to go, but I refuse to. Just drop it, because I’m not going.” I gape at him as he walks over to the door and swings it open.
So he’s just going leave me? I’m sure if they just talked about it, they could be rational and put the past behind them. I mean, we’re doing that regarding Grey’s apparently depraved past. Why can’t we do the same now?
“I know she kicked you out, but I’m sure you two could work something out—”
“Listen,” he cuts me off, and I stare at him as he seethes. “I know you’re a perfectionist and need everything to be your way, but not this time. Not with that woman. I suggest you drop it, okay?” His words grow soft toward the end. He shakes out his hair in frustration, strides over to the door, and throws it open. “I’ll see you around.”
“But I—”
He slams the door shut before I can finish my sentence.