“I’m not sure why you’re apologizing. You didn’t act alone.”
There’s a huge part of me that wants to take comfort in his statement. The problem is, every time I remember just how two-sided our almost-affair was, I kind of go catatonic, because the memory of just how amazing it felt when his thick, hard—
Inhaling a shaky breath, I force myself to stop thinking about it before I get myself into even more trouble. “I’m apologizing because I never should have kissed you. It was wrong. You said so yourself.”
Greyston’s eyebrows pull together, and he looks absolutely baffled. “Wrong? I never once said it was wrong.”
“But it was,” I tell him, running my available hand through my hair and gripping tightly at the roots until it stings. “God, on so many levels.”
“Name one.” The strength in his voice makes it sound like he’s challenging me.
Looking him dead in the eye, I answer in an unwavering voice. “Toby. There’s one.”
“What? How do you figure?” I can only look at him, because how can he think Toby isn’t a factor in all of this?
Greyston moves to cradle my face in his hands, looking deep into my eyes. The intensity of his stare reminds me of the night before, and I fail to answer his question in lieu of getting lost in him. My hands move mindlessly to his waist, my thumbs looping into the belt loops on his jeans and holding steady.
Greyston’s eyes close, and he rests his forehead to mine. His thumbs begin to move gently along my temples, lulling my own eyes shut as I give in to the tingle that is moving through me and sigh. “Forget about him,” he whispers.
There’s a very brief moment of time that I do forget about him. I forget about him long enough to tug Greyston’s body closer to mine. Long enough to stand on the tips of my toes and let my lips graze his.
Then I remember him—remember everything—and I pull away, covering my mouth with the tips of my fingers and shaking my head. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t, Greyston. He matters; I know he does. How can you deny that?”
It pains me to watch the expression on Greyston’s face contort to one so defeated. “I guess I can’t.” I nod solemnly and turn to the toast that had popped a few minutes ago and is now cold.
I’ve just started to butter it when Greyston leans against the counter right next to me. “Can I just ask you one thing?” he asks, his voice not belying the fact that he’s somewhat distraught. Not wanting to refuse him, I nod. “Why him?”
Confused by his question, I set the butter knife down and look at him. “You tell me.”
I can tell he’s frustrated, I just don’t understand why. My head hurts again, but I’m fairly certain it’s not from my hangover. I run his question over and over in my mind, but it doesn’t seem to matter how I try to spin it, I can’t make sense of why he’s asking.
“I don’t know what it is you want me to say,” Greyston says. “You’re the one who keeps bringing him up. Always asking about him… You do know he’s not available, right?”
Dumbfounded, I stare at him. “Uh, yeah I know that. You guys made it pretty obvious the day I met him.”
Silence falls between us, and we continue to stare at one another. He looks just about as perplexed as I feel, and it takes a minute, but he finally speaks again. “So, you know that he and Callie are engaged…and yet, you still—”
“Wait…what?” I interrupt, my confusion reaching an all-time high. “No…I… What do you mean he and Callie are—? I thought that…”
My hands fly to my mouth, and I stare at Greyston, absolutely horrified as all of the dots connect. Within seconds, they form a giant neon sign in my mind that reads: GREYSTON IS NOT GAY!
“Oh god,” I whisper into my hands.
Greyston regards me with raised eyebrows as I internally kick myself for jumping to yet another wrong—and much, much worse—conclusion. “Wait, so you didn’t know that he and Callie were together?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond before he starts his own little connect-the-dot puzzle. “But you said you knew he was involved? And you said that we made it…” The instant his eyes widen, I cringe and await his outburst.
He backs away from me, and I open my mouth to begin yet another round of apologies, but no words come out. This happens several times, but it’s Greyston who beats me to it, yet again.
“So, you thought…?” He’s pacing on the other side of the island, looking at me, then the floor, then at me again. “That day you met Toby, you…you thought that we were together?”