Grey
I have never wanted to hit a woman so much in my life before last night. Liv’s mother is the most insufferable and insane bitch I have ever encountered. The urge to just shut her up and lock her out, never to have Liv leave my arms, was too strong; I almost didn’t hold myself back from doing so.
But Liv…Liv is like the annoying voice in my head that tells me not to be a dick—even though I love her. And boy, did I want to be the biggest dick last night, but she got in my head with those stupid, cute, big blue eyes of hers and that pout that could make me drop to my knees in an instant.
Even now as I watch her sleep—in the least creepy way possible—I am literally quaking with anger. My hands are in fists at my sides, and my jaw literally burns from how hard I’m grinding my teeth. I think my teeth might shatter if I clench any tighter. But then she turns around and faces me, and my whole body relaxes. I watch the way her curls fall over her nose and the way her mouth—full and pink and kissable—puckers as she takes deep breaths.
In this moment, I vow to do everything in my power to protect her.
Even if it means drop-kicking her bitch of a mother.
I leave her to make breakfast before I turn into a full-blown creep, watching her sleep, although doing so gives me clarity and an overall tranquility. You know, the kind of calm that doesn’t make me want to immediately punch anyone who annoys me or gets in my way. I used to, right on the spot, before I met her. But after…well, now I think, what would Liv think and say? And then I’m standing there wondering how the girl in khakis with a freaking planner crept her way into my heart—my mind. And I know my answer.
She balances me out. She understands me. She doesn’t just give up on me. There are times that she may walk away to clear or her head, needing time, but she always comes back. And sometimes I take advantage of that and treat her like shit. But I swear it’s only because I don’t know how to love her without ruining her. But I already did. Ruin her, that is. At least, her relationship with her mother. I know I should let her go and let her have the life she’s supposed to have, one where she doesn’t have to put up with me all the time. But I am way too selfish to ever let her go. I love her too much…
About half an hour later, I have two plates of slightly blackened pancakes—maybe a little more than slightly—and matching black bacon and dry eggs. At least I tried. I will always try for her. Speaking of which…
I go to the bathroom and reluctantly take my medication. I can already feel my brain clamming up, pushing all the bad thoughts that eat at my mind twenty-four-seven to the side, making way for the “good,” or whatever the hell it’s supposed to do.
When I return to the kitchen, Liv is staring at her plate of food.
“Good morning, princesa.” I walk up behind her and tenderly kiss her adorable thick cheek. She merely mumbles a reply and pokes at the yellowish kind of blackish eggs with her fork. I sigh and round the corner, leaning on my elbows as I watch her lips pout and her forehead crease.
As cute as she looks, I don’t like the fact she’s sad. And all because of that raging bitch of a mother. Lord knows I want to knock her on her ass…but I have to put on a calm face for my girl.
“How’d you sleep?” I wasn’t able to sleep last night. I stayed up, too enraged and heated, exercising and training in the living room. I hope I didn’t wake her…
She takes a deep breath and lifts her face, shrugging. “I slept all right, I guess.”
“That’s good.” I smile widely, and she frowns, suspicious. “What?”
She shakes her head and opens her mouth, then pouts and says, “You’re just acting…strange. What is it?”
“How am I acting strange?” I watch as her cheeks redden.
She slumps, fidgeting with one of her crispy pancakes.
“You just are,” she murmurs.
My smile drops, and I clear my throat and lean back, pinching my lower lip. “Do you have anything planned today? Maybe need to go to the library and read your nerdy books? Shopping? Hair appointment?” I lean on my elbows again and tug on my lip, twirling it and pinching it between my fingers. She watches me with a small, shy smile.
“No.” She shakes her head and bravely takes a bite of bacon. She tries not to react negatively to my horrendous cooking but doesn’t exactly succeed. Her lips twist and her left eyebrow clenches. I laugh, and she chuckles, her face growing red. She looks like Sour Lemon Head. She can be so cute without even trying. It is such a talent. One I adore beyond words.
“Actually, I do have one thing I have to do,” she says, and I pay attention to the words leaving her lips and not so much just her lips…however pink and delicious they may be.
“And what may that be?” I question, braving myself to take a bite of the bacon. I’m sure I resemble the funny face she pulled seconds before, because she bursts into laughter. I join her and push the plate to the side with a curt shake of my head. She follows suit and instead plucks one of those shining red apples we got yesterday and sinks her teeth in it.
“I have some business I have to take care of…” she says vaguely.
***
An hour later, I find myself sitting in the car in the parking lot on campus, closest to the psychology building. She’s meeting with Ms. James about some project or whatever. Anyway, she’s been in there for almost an hour chatting about who knows what. Whatever it is, it must be super nerdy, because literally, not a soul is walking around. Everyone’s left for the Christmas break. Even teachers aren’t bustling around. I asked if she couldn’t wait until we officially came back, but no, she just had to come now.
I honestly didn’t want to come back unless I had to. And even then, I despise the plush green scenery and the teachers and the students and—ugh! Everything about this place. But, fortunately for me, this is my last year. Next year, I’ll be able to kick back and not worry about what teacher I have to curse out or bust my ass to create a twelve-page essay. But even then, I only did half a page. I passed every class anyway, so why put in extra work?
I get out and lean against the hood after she texts she’s on her way out. I decide to spark up a cigarette while I wait for her to say her five-minute proper goodbye to the professor. I tuck my free hand inside my leather jacket and suddenly wish it could be a few inches thicker. It’s beginning to snow for the thousandth fucking time, and my nipples are freezing over like fucking igloos.
About three minutes later, the door opens and Liv approaches. I stand up straighter, a smile tugging on my lips at the mere sight of her. She looks so damn cute in that beanie with that little pom-pom on the end of it. I could just scoop her…wait…I squint my eyes and literally jolt back when I see a guy behind her, and she’s looking over her shoulder, talking to him. Laughing with him. I have to rub my eyes to see if I’m having a nightmare or not.
No. He’s still there. The man is tall, but I could still hover over him. He’s wearing pressed, light khakis and a horrendous green and blue striped sweater vest and square glasses. He runs his fingers through his golden strands. But, wait, back the fuck up. Is this guy wearing loafers? Jesus Christ, did Liv get cloned and had the male version of her created?
“Um, who the fuck is this?” I ask, pulling her to my side the moment she’s close enough. I glare at the son of a bitch. My blood boils as he laughs like one of those rich snobby men who play golf rather than go home to their families.
“Grey! Don’t be so—” she begins with a huff, scrunching up her face like the cutie she is, like whenever she’s upset by my “rudeness,” which I like to call bluntness, and that isn’t so bad. Some people need to know when I’m not fucking around. A lot need it, actually.
“Rude. Be nice to the strange man in ironed khakis,” I finish the sentence she no doubt was about to spew at me. “Can you believe you dressed like this freak?” I whisper in her ear, and she laughs but covers her mouth and, guilty and upset with me making her laugh, punches my arm.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…surprise you,” the man says and holds out his hand, a “dazzling” smile stretching across his golden face. “I’m Matthew Jacobs, the supervisor of the—”
“Yeah, I couldn’t give less of a fuck,” I cut off the walking talking Ken doll.
“Grey,” Liv whines again, using that annoyed but very effective face that tells me to stop acting like a complete asshole.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and take another drag of my cigarette, tilting my head as I watch the man look at Liv with a knowing raised eyebrow. I glance down and find her rolling her eyes with a smile. What the fuck? Are they nerd-bonding-talking with their minds right now?
“We were thinking of grabbing a cup of coffee while he talks over the program details with me,” Liv says, then breaks into a cheeky grin that literally makes my heart skip a beat. “I got in!” I can’t help but laugh as she shakes her little butt against me.
“Congrats, baby.” I smile.
I lean down and give her a swift kiss to her forehead; her nose scrunches up while her eyes close shut in bliss. I would take a picture to capture how sweet she looks, if Mikey the dolly wasn’t here. Why is he still here?
“That’d be great,” Mark says with a smile so bright I nearly shield my eyes.
“What? Why are you still here?” I look him up and down, annoyed he ruined our moment.
“The coffee, Grey,” Liv answers for him, and I frown. “Oh, don’t gripe like that. It won’t take long. He just has to go over the requirements and what is entailed and everything.”
“Fuck—” I stop short in telling him to fuck off when Liv gives me with a look that both haunts me and makes me want to pinch her cheeks. “Fine,” I grumble and blow out smoke, maybe a little bit in Micah’s direction. But he doesn’t even flinch; in fact, he smiles brighter. Prick.
We follow the jolly fucker to a coffeehouse, grabbing a table next to the window. Liv and the guy order something, and when the waitress asks what I want, I merely give her a blank stare, which I think translated to: Does it look like I want a coffee, much less want to fucking be here? Move along, or I’ll do it for you. I receive a discreet rib-nudge from Liv, and I take it with an overly annoyed eye roll. I do not want to be here, not with this sweater vest wearing goober.
While they chat and laugh and yada, yada, yada, I look out the window and wish I had a gun so I could shoot Michael. I could not be more bored. Every word that comes out of his mouth is contorted and sounds like “blah, blah—I dress like an old man on his death bed—blah, blah, blah,” and it drives me insane.
“Thank you so much for talking with me, Matthew,” Liv says graciously and stands.
“Finally,” I breathe out under my breath and stand. “That’s not fucking happening,” I mutter and grab her hand, linking my fingers through hers when she tries to shake his hand.
He laughs, and so does she. Are they laughing at me?
“Let’s go, babe.” I smile widely, internally cursing the fucker out, as I place my hand on the small of her back. I guide her out and am thankful I parked close, so we don’t have to walk through the snow that’s falling harder than it was earlier.
I slide into the driver’s side the same time she gets in on the passenger side. I blast the heat and rub my hands, feeling her eyes burn through my skin. I snap my head toward her and huff out, “What?”
“Nothing,” she says and shrugs. But I know it isn’t nothing. Because of that little suspicious smile and knowing glint in her eyes.
“Don’t lie to me.” I narrow my eyes at her.
She raises her hands and chuckles. “I’m not lying.”
“Liv.” I say her name firmly, and she laughs harder. “Liv!”
“Fine! I just think you’re being a little ridiculous and, you know, jealous.”
I scoff the loudest I have ever scoffed. “Me? Jealous?”
If being hyper-aware of a man who cannot be trusted based on those shiny fucking shoes of his, who is obviously trying to make an underhanded move on my girl in front of me, is jealousy, then color me jealous.
I peel out of my parking spot as her laughs are suddenly cut off. “What?” I glance over at her—she’s frowning at her phone screen.
“It’s my mother’s text messages,” she mutters and sighs, rubbing her cheek and shutting her eyes, frustrated or sad. I can’t tell. But I can tell she needs to take her mind off of it. And I have the perfect way of doing so.
“Forget your mother,” I instruct and grab her phone and tuck it in my pocket on the other side, where she can’t reach.
“Not exactly easy to do,” she says softly, her charms jingling as she plays with mine, as she does whenever she’s nervous.
“Then I’ll make you forget.”
She raises a brow. “How do you plan on—”
“Shhhh.” I reach over and blindly put a finger on her lips. “Just trust me.”
“Easier said than done,” she grumbles against my finger.
When I pull up to a stop light, I lean on the center console, grab her hand, and whisper against her knuckles, maintaining contact with her. I notice the way she gulps as I lift my lips slightly. “Créeme, nena. Puedo hacerte olvidar todo, en cuestión de segundos…” (Believe me, baby. I can make you forget everything in seconds.)