He sits down on the tutu chair. I almost raise my camera to take a picture, but I doubt Gray wants me to document the most awkward moment of his life. The small pink chair only makes his body stand out, long and dark and masculine against it. I notice the solid line of his calf muscles. I lick my lips and look away.
“Isn’t this great?” I ask and sit on the corner of the bed. Gray lowers his eyebrows at my terrible joke. “We’re basically getting a free room at a bed and breakfast,” I point out.
He nods. “It’s a perfect travel budget,” he agrees. “I’ll try to drive into oncoming storms more often.”
I laugh and I’m grateful for the joke. At least his sarcasm is intact.
I pull out my pigtails and my damp hair falls wavy around my neck. I run my fingers through it and my hair gets caught in knots and I realize I don’t have a comb. I had been borrowing Nick’s the entire trip. I blow out a sigh and stare down at my naked feet, complete with a flip flop tan line. Gray used to trace his fingers over all my tan lines, like a maze, starting at my feet and working his way up, although he never made it all the way to my head. There were too many interesting detours to take along the way. I shift and look over at Gray and his eyes are on me. I think about what Sue Anne said. I expect him to snap his gaze away, but he doesn’t. More thunder rumbles outside.
“Are you having your deep thought for the day?” he asks me.
“Today I’ve had too many to count,” I admit. I wish I could share my spatial proximity data analysis with him. I know he’d appreciate it.
“Since when is your hair wavy?” he asks, studying me.
“When I cut it short, it just got wavy. I guess when it’s longer it straightens out.” I smile. “Even my hair can’t make up its mind.”
Gray keeps his eyes on mine.
“Snicker bar’s probably worried about you,” he says.
So, that’s what he’s thinking about. No, Nick isn’t worried about me. He would be ecstatic to hear about my current situation, and enraged that I’m not taking full advantage of it.
“Probably,” I say and try to tussle the knots out of my hair with my fingers.
“Sorry if I was being a jerk earlier today,” Gray says. I meet his eyes, surprised by the apology. “I was a little shocked to see you and then meet your boyfriend,” he admits. “It was a lot to take in.”
I open my mouth to cut him off. I can’t lie to him about Nick. It’s time to come clean.
“Gray—”
“But, he’s good for you,” Gray says with a satisfied nod as if this is a theory he’s recently comes to terms with.
I look down at the floor and feel my forehead crease with confusion. What? He’s condoning our relationship? That doesn’t make sense. Sue Anne is no longer a messenger of Fate. She is a messenger of Bullshit.
I look back at him. “Why do you think that?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Gray says.
His unresponsive response annoys me.
“Yes, you do,” I say. “You brought it up. You have a hundred opinions about everything.”
“True,” he says. He breathes out a long, thoughtful breath and his chest rises and falls. He’s too relaxed. Too okay with my fictional boyfriend.
“He seems more like you. Upbeat, optimistic, light-hearted. Loves dogs and appreciates shitty cars.” He smiles. It makes me frown. I realize what he’s saying.
I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “You think that’s what makes a relationship work? For two people to be alike?”
“Maybe,” he says. “That’s one thing that always bothered me when we were dating. I always felt like I wasn’t positive enough for you,” he admits.
I think about the absurdity of his words. I love his deep thoughts. I love his theories; they’re fascinating because they’re the opposite of mine. It’s like I’m upside-down when I’m around him, seeing things from an entirely different perspective. Gray challenges me—it’s what I love most about him.
“Do you think it ever bothered me?” I ask him.
“No, but it bothered me,” he says. “I don’t want to feel like I’m stealing from you. I don’t want to drain all your happy juice.”
This is his most ridiculous theory to date.
“Did it ever occur to you that I was happy because of you?” I ask him. “That you helped bring out that side out of me? That you were the main ingredient of my ‘happy juice?’”
“No,” he says simply. He sits back in the chair and stretches out his legs. His feet are a few inches away from mine. “I’m never going to be like you, Dylan.”