Alma believes Grey and I are in a relationship. That’s why when he told her that I was coming, she thought she didn’t have to worry about finding another place for me to sleep. When she assumed we were together, I have never felt more embarrassed in my life. But it is fair for her to assume so, since Grey spoke so highly of my beauty. I still can’t believe he gushed about that to his grandmother. When I asked him about it, he brushed me off, claiming she’s insane, that it runs in the family, but she’s related to him on his father’s side, and his mother is the one with the mental issues. Hmmm…
Anyway, he and I agreed we would take turns sleeping on the bed. I would take the floor one night while he gets the bed and vice versa. He offered taking the couch in the living room, but I quickly shot that down when I saw how small it was. He’s quite tall, and he’d be uncomfortable and cramped, and this is his family, his childhood home. I would feel horrible and out of place if I took the more comfortable option while he suffered.
Tonight, I would take the floor.
“Hell no, I’ll take the floor,” he says when I tell him.
We’re putting away our clothes in the little brown dresser by the door. I frown as I move a few blouses to my side of the dresser.
“It’s your house, Grey. Your family event, I am the guest,” I point out and pass him as he puts some rumpled, smelly black shirts away. I grimace, and the urge to wash and iron them is strong, but I have no place to do such.
“This isn’t my house anymore,” he reminds me.
“It wouldn’t be right if I took the bed,” I counter.
He leans against the dresser, arms crossed, eyes pointed. “You said you didn’t get any sleep on the plane because of me, right?”
I open my mouth to reply, but then it drops closed. I had let that slip as a sort of teasing thing a little earlier when he complained about his sore neck. I just didn’t know it’d come back around and bite me in the butt later.
“That’s what I thought,” he says with a cocky smile.
I narrow my eyes at him and toss balled-up socks at his chest, which he easily catches with a short, mocking laugh. “You’re very annoying, you know that, right?”
“I’ve been called worse.” He shrugs.
“Like asshole?” I tilt my head, a smirk slowly winding on my face. My turn to mock.
“Like you’re a ray of sunshine!” he snaps and throws the socks back to me. I, however, am not quick to catch them because of the pair of jeans in my hands. It hits me in the head, and I bite my tongue while he throws his head back in the most annoying laughter, clapping his hands like his uncle Fernando.
“That’s why you got the lovely title, asshole!” I spit and storm over to the dresser, placing my jeans in order by color. I am standing up when I feel a light thud on the back of my head. I whirl around and find him laughing his butt off, another pair of socks a foot away from me on the ground.
“Classic!” he exclaims like the extreme goofball he is.
“Oh, it is so on!” I rush over to him, and he stops laughing and runs out of the room. “Stop running!” I scream after him, but he just continues to laugh and run faster. Curse him and his incredibly long legs. They’re like skyscrapers.
“Just give up, munchkin. You will never—ah shit!”
He shuts up when I jump onto his back.
“Got you now, a-hole!” I screech and throw my hands around his neck. I squeeze his cheeks, and he tilts from side to side like those huge blow-up things that stand in front of car washes or dealerships.
“Stop pinching me!” he cries out, but a laugh sits behind his words, making me smile from ear to ear.
“Not until you apologize,” I tell him.
“Hell no!” he declares, then proceeds to go down the stairs. Only problem is, he doesn’t walk down. No, he runs down them. I bounce up and down haphazardly, and I clench my legs around his waist and tighten my arms around his neck.
“Grey!” I cry out and bury my face behind his ears, praying he doesn’t slip and crush me to death. He laughs the entire way and actually jumps off the last step. I nearly fly off his back, but I make sure to hug tighter to his body. Finally, I jump off and smack him hard on his chest, flushed hot in the face from how much he is amused by this. “That was not funny! I could have died!”
“But did you, though?” He waves his face near mine, and I back up and grunt.
“I could have,” I pout.
“But did you? Die?” He takes steps toward me, but I retreat from him and his nauseating smug look.
“No, but—”
He closes the gap between us, and I stumble back, pushed against one of the floral chairs in the living room. “I wouldn’t have let you die, pequeña princesa.”
“I am not little,” I argue, trying my best to bite back a smile. I shouldn’t like how close he is to me or how heavily he smells like spices that lingered in his uncle’s truck.
“Oh, but you are. The littlest thing I’ve ever seen,” he teases, making a show of catching my eye as I move my head around. He presses his nose against mine, tongue peeking out to slide across his lips. “So small, I could just eat you up…hmmm?”
He is really close. Like, too close…too…close…
I should reply. I definitely should. I think it’s been a while since I’ve spoken, right…?
He raises an eyebrow expectantly.
Bastard.
“And you’re just a big asshole,” I finally manage to find words. For a second there I thought I forgot how to speak.
He just smirks but doesn’t say anything to freak me out.
“Love birds, it’s time to come outside,” a voice says, but Grey is unmoving. His eyes stay glued to mine, and I can barely feel my heart beat in my chest; it’s moving too fast for comprehension. “Your primos are back from the square. Come on, boy! No hagas esperar a todos.” (Cousins. Do not make everyone wait.)
“You should listen to your grandmother,” I choke out.
His eyes squeeze like a trigger for a brief second, then he huffs out and stands straight.
“Let’s go meet my primos,” he says and winks at me before turning around and strolling over to his waiting grandmother.
When they go out to the backyard through the kitchen, I finally let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding back.
“Wow,” is all I can say. I feel like I have to check a mirror to make sure I don’t look like a very round peach and my hair is intact.
“Olivia, that includes you too,” Alma says as she rushes over to me in this cute old lady walk Louise does all the time. She really reminds me of her. I bet they’d make great friends. They both know how to boss people around but still look after them with love and care.
“Sorry,” I say quietly, but she waves it away as she simultaneously hustles me to the back. I am overwhelmed at first glance. There are so many…primos. A lot are playing soccer on the wide grass, cursing and teasing in Spanish. The adults are either watching and laughing and scolding them for cursing or eating what’s cooking on the grill.
“Everyone, this is Olivia, Grey’s girlfriend,” Alma introduces me in a very loud voice while rubbing my arms.
Everyone pauses and turns to me. I see Grey leaning under a tall tree with a swing, smirking at me in that signature, annoying, smug look of his. He doesn’t even try to interject and help me out, just watches me make a fool out of myself in front of his family.
“I…” I begin to explain the situation when Alma shakes me a bit and whispers, “Most of them don’t speak English. Would you like me to translate?”
I make eye contact with Grey and, somehow, it’s like he heard, because his smirk stretches into a full-on grin, enjoying my torture.
I make a note to “accidentally” step on him when I use the bathroom in the middle of the night.
“No, that’s fine. Thank you,” I tell her, then turn to the awaiting crowd. “Hola a todos. Yo Afortunadamente, no soy la novia de Grey. Pero rezo por la pobre chica cuando la encuentra y la atrapa con sus garras.” (Hello, everyone. I, fortunately, am not Grey’s girlfriend. But I do pray for the poor girl when he finds and traps her with his claws.)
Everyone laughs, and I feel extremely proud when I find Grey with steam practically blowing out of his ears. I laugh and bounce my eyebrows to mock him.
For the next few hours, I am introduced to just about everyone. The pack of girls I found in the corner of the party near the coolers are the more grown-up primas and tías. They are pretty cool and love to gossip about the neighborhood women and some show called El Señor de Los Cielos. Apparently, the last season left on a major cliffhanger that dealt with a character being shot in the back. Sounds interesting, but not my thing.
I rotate around the party, then around eleven, there is a big bonfire made in the middle of the grass. I stand back and watch as everyone gathers around the logs. A few minutes later, a huge bottle of vodka is passed around, and a man with a scar running across his right eye and dressed in a plaid shirt begins speaking. I try not to pay attention too much, because it seems like a family thing, but everyone has been nice to me and seems to accept me either way. I catch snippets of a story about a man named Nathaniel, which I am guessing was Grey’s grandfather’s name.
I am about to walk over to listen to more as the bottle is passed down, but someone bumps into my shoulder, and I am dragged up the stairs.
Grey.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask curiously, casting a glance over my shoulder to see if anyone saw us. I don’t want to appear rude for disappearing so suddenly without excusing myself.
He doesn’t answer me.
We go up the stairs and down the hall. I think he’s taking me to our room, but he continues down the hall. He makes a turn and stops walking down a short dead-end. I stand back, but he doesn’t let my hand go as he reaches up and tugs on a hanging string. The attic. He brings the small stairs down and goes up first. I hesitantly go up after him. The dusty space is pitch black and filled with clutter. A few streams of moonlight pour through, washing over the grungy, creaking floorboards.
I follow after him out of a window and try not to look down. It is angled enough that we can walk without much difficulty. My heart is wrapped around my tongue the entire time we walk, though. How is he acting so cool about this? Unless…he’s probably done this a million times before.
He abruptly sits down and tugs me down with him. I stare at him. “Why are we here, Grey?”
He’s staring off into the distance of the tree above the backyard. “Drink?”
“What?”
I look down and see he is offering me a vodka bottle.
“Um…sure.” I reluctantly take the bottle from him. He lets my hand go and hangs his head, knees wide apart and fingers looping around each other.
I take a few sips then hand it back to him. “Can you tell me why we’re up here?” I question, careful with my words. He looks irritable, and I don’t want to upset him. There must be a reason he just dragged me up here without a word.
He’s nearly drunk a good quarter of the drink before he sucks in air and nods. “They’re telling stories about him.”
“Your grandfather,” I state, and he slowly nods. “Oh.” I pout, and he nods again, then takes a long sip. I watch and watch until I’ve had enough. I bring the bottle down and tip his chin toward me so he’s facing me. Tears dabble in his eyes, and I feel my heart swell, waiting to break when the first tear drops. “I am very sorry for your loss, Grey.”
He shrugs, tugging on his lower lip. “What can you do, right?”
I look to the bottle and shrug. “Drink?”
He moves to take it, but he holds my hand for a while.
“But not too much,” I instruct, then smile softly. “I want you here with me.”
He stares into my eyes for an unnerving amount of time, then nods. “I’m not going to be the best company tonight, princess,” he says, almost apologetic as he takes the bottle. He holds it with both hands and tsks, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have brought you up here. I’m sorry.” He brings his head back as he takes a large swig of the strong liquor.
“So why did you?” I ask, and he shrugs, wiping the back of his hand across his wet lips, black eyes soaring straight through me.
“I didn’t want to be alone.”
Oh.
“Oh,” I voice my lackluster thought.
He eyes me for a while and adds, “And I just felt like I need you by my side.”
Oh… “Oh,” I repeat, but with a smile this time.
He breaks into a smile and starts laughing. “You’re cute,” he blurts out, and I bite my tongue and turn away, barely biting back a laugh.
“Someone’s getting a little tipsy,” I tease, willing myself to pale in color.
He tugs at my hand. Sparks fly the moment his calloused palm touches mine. “I don’t have to be tipsy to tell you that.” The emotion passing between us is too much; my heart feels like it is going to burst any second.
“My turn. Remember, I still want you here.” I take the bottle from his hand and murmur, my mouth on the tip, “Plus, I’m going to need your help getting back in the house. Or for you to act as a cushion for me to land on if we fall.”
I take a large gulp and listen to him laugh and snort, which is the cutest thing ever. I try my hardest to bite back a laugh, but some liquor drips down my chin. He laughs even harder and leans into my side. I finally can’t take it anymore and spit it all out.
I groan, “Aw, look at what you made me do!”
He gasps and waves a finger at me. “That was not my fault.”
“Yes, it was!” I argue, waving a finger back at him.
His whacks against mine, and I burst into laughter again. Our foreheads touch each other, and I find myself leaning into his chest, the liquor settling on my temples. We laugh and laugh and laugh until the stories below us turn from sober to funny memories. Up here, we bask in ours.