THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT WATCHING GRAYSON play guitar that really gets to me. The way his hands strum the strings, each pluck so familiar to him, his rough voice rising just above the chords and combing through the warm air of Cup O’ Joe’s — it’s enough to make a girl literally swoon. His bright blue eyes scan the coffee shop as he sings, dropping to his hands every once in a while, finding mine at the perfect times — when he wants me to really hear the words he’s singing.
I just sip my coffee and smile at him, mesmerized, wondering why in the world he picked me for his muse. It’s almost amusing how many girls fall over themselves trying to get him to notice them. They drop twenties in his tip jar, usually with their phone number, and sway their hips as they walk away. They cheer each time he finishes a song, they request Manchester Orchestra or other bands that they think might make him take them seriously, they compliment his beard or trace their fingers over one of his tattoos, pretending to be interested in the story behind them. Yet somehow, his eyes are fixed on mine, and I can’t shake how lucky that makes me feel.
We’ve been a on a few dates, mostly dinners and movie nights, and each time I find myself falling a little more for him. We longboard for hours, talking about everything and nothing — laughing, existing. He took me to a local concert in the park downtown and we’ve even studied together, which usually involves less time studying our notes and more time studying each other. Not that I mind.
We’re seemingly nothing alike — he’s a tattooed musician with dreams of moving to New York City after graduation and I’m a freckle-faced Biology major who passes out at the mere thought of a needle going into my skin.
The stark contrast between us reminds me of the conversation I overheard between Adam and Jeremy the other night, and I frown.
They were walking toward the Student Union when I spotted them and I quickened my pace, thinking I could walk with them, but when I got close enough to hear their conversation, I slowed a little at the mention of my name. Jeremy was asking Adam which girls he thought would be good for their next philanthropy event — a B-list celebrity fight featuring two older fighters who happen to live in the Miami area. They need ring girls, and when Jeremy suggested me, Adam was quick to turn down the thought.
“She’s too much of a good girl for that.”
I tried not to take it personally, but how else is there to take it? He didn’t say it like it was a characteristic I should be proud of, but rather like I would fail at the job. And though I’ve tried to strip Adam of the power he somehow holds over me, it still hurt to hear him say it. Add in the fact that my Big and Jess both agreed with him, and it’s been practically impossible to let it go.
I snap my attention back to Grayson just as he finishes the last note of an X Ambassadors song, his bright smile revealing itself behind his beard, girls clapping and whistling when he blushes slightly.
“I’m going to take a quick break, and I’m taking requests when I return, so don’t go anywhere,” he says into the mic, tossing a wink at me that makes two girls at the table behind me nearly fall out of their chair. I just shake my head.
Grayson pulls his guitar strap over his head and props the instrument against the large metal bar stool he was seated on, hopping off the stage and making his way toward me. It’s like slow motion as he walks, the muscles in his arms shifting as he shakes out his long, chestnut hair just to re-tie it in a haphazard bun again. I stand, smiling, and he pulls me in close, pressing his lips hard on mine to a symphony of groans from the rest of the girls in the shop. He knows they’re here to flirt with him, yet he still makes it a point to show he’s with me.
Yep, officially swooning.
“Come to the back with me? I need some water.”
I nod, head still fuzzy as he grabs my hand in his and weaves us through the STAFF ONLY doors to a small back room. It has two faded purple couches and one long, dark, wooden coffee table along with an old stereo currently crooning out an old 90’s alternative song I’m not familiar with. Grayson plops down onto one of the couches with a sigh, pulling me with him so that I straddle his hips.
“What happened to needing water?” I ask, giggling.
“I lied,” he says with a grin, hands skating up my arms to frame my face and pull me into him. His beard tickles my skin as he presses his lips to mine and I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling, wanting him closer yet knowing I’m afraid of being too close at the same time.
So far, all we’ve done is kiss, and it’s not that our make-out sessions aren’t amazing — because that’s an understatement — but I know Grayson wants more. Hell, I want more – but after Clay, I’m hesitant to take it too far too fast. I know Grayson would never push me, but I can only wonder how much longer he’ll stick around if I keep holding out.
Breaking our kiss, I undo his bun and run my fingers through his long shaggy hair, massaging the scalp. His eyes close and he rests his head on the back of the couch, smiling. “That feels amazing.”
“I love watching you play. You’re really good, you know that?”
He chuckles, his hands gripping my hips. “Thank you. Let’s hope the big wigs in New York feel the same way.” He opens his eyes just enough to wink at me before letting them close again.
“They would be crazy not to.”
We’re quiet for a moment, my hands still running through his hair, his fingers playing with the hem of my blouse.
“Are you excited for Spring Break?”
I frown. “I’d be more excited if you were coming with me.”
“Not really my thing,” he says, pulling my hands to his lips. He kisses them with a smile and ties his hair back before letting his hands find my waist again. “You’ll have all your sisters to keep you busy. Plus, I have to work.”
“I know. Doesn’t make me wish you were coming any less, though.”
He smiles, blue eyes shining, the gold flecks in them playful. “You know, we could have our own Spring Break. Wear our bathing suits, grind on each other, get wasted.”
“Oh?” I cock a brow as his grin widens. “And where exactly would we host this Spring Break?”
“In my dorm room, of course. I’ll even put on some Skrillex for good measure.”
“Well now you’ve thought of everything.”
“Exactly. Can’t turn down such a well-thought-out plan.”
“Guess not,” I agree, leaning in to kiss him. His hands tighten on my hips and he rocks me against him, causing my breath to hitch at the contact. Grayson deepens the kiss, wrapping his strong arms completely around me, surrounding me with his warmth. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth and lets it go with a pop, fingers gliding just beneath the hem of my jeans, eyes hooded as he searches me for permission — permission I can’t give him. Not yet.
“Can I ask you something?” I breathe and he nods, kissing me once before letting me continue. “Do you think I’m a good girl?”
His brows furrow at my question, his hand stilling. “I feel like I’m walking into a trap.”
I laugh. “You’re not, I promise. Just be honest.”
He blows out a breath, releasing his grip around me and leaning back on the couch. “I don’t know. I think you’re kind and sweet, and I definitely wouldn’t say you’re any of the things I associate with a quote unquote bad girl.”
I sigh, but kiss him quickly to let him know it’s not him I’m upset with. “Are you busy next weekend? There’s a fraternity party Saturday night that everyone’s going to, and I want you to come with me.”
“You sure I’ll be allowed? Frats aren’t exactly inviting of non-brothers.”
“It’s an open invitation,” I assure him. “And you’ll be with me. Please?”
Grayson hums, thinking, thumbs still lightly circling the exposed skin above my jeans. “How can I say no to those pouty lips?”
Smiling, I lean down and press said lips to his, letting him pull me in closer for the few minutes we have left before his next set. And though having his hands and mouth on me are my main focus, my mind drifts to everything I need to do to get ready for next weekend. Everyone has it in their mind that I’m this innocent little girl, incapable of owning the vixen inside me. Well, maybe I don’t always pull her out and throw her on display for everyone to see, but next weekend, that’s exactly what I plan to do.
Time to show them a Cassie McBee they’ve never seen before.
One they’ll never forget.