“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” I smiled up at him.
He ignored me, taking in my appearance and the chopsticks in my hands.
“I shouldn’t have let you go home with Brooklyn,” he said, reaching for the chopsticks and ice cream so that he could toss them into a garbage bin near by. I didn’t argue; I’d already downed most of the pint and my stomach was starting to protest the random contents I’d consumed in the past twelve hours.
He turned to help me back up, secured my hands in his, and led me to the car. I could have walked by myself, I wasn’t drunk or anything, but it felt good to have him there to support me nonetheless.
I was chatty during the drive, anxious to see where he lived and giddy that I would get to rifle through his things, maybe even learn a thing or two about him that he hadn't yet revealed to me. (I was betting he had a weird CD collection. Closet One Direction fan, maybe?) But, if I’d been paying attention to his route, I would have realized that he wasn’t directing us to his place, he was taking me back to mine.
My apartment building was deserted when we pulled up. Grayson killed the engine and I sat for a moment, studying the entrance as I grasped for an appropriate thing to say. I’d asked him to take me to his place and he’d driven me back home. Wasn’t that a bad thing? It definitely felt like a rejection.
“Thanks for picking me up,” I said, turning toward him for a brief moment before reaching for the door handle—which I could now operate on my own, thank you very much.
“Next time call me before you start walking around alone at night,” he said, reaching to slide his hand beneath my hair and up around my neck. The warmth of his palm sent shivers down my spine and I paused for a moment, wanting to stay in his presence for another few seconds.
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he said, before reaching over and offering me a chaste kiss on the cheek.
I thought of how contradictory Grayson could be as I took the elevator to my apartment. He’d bend me over the sink in a bar bathroom, but then he’d kiss me so gently, like a porcelain doll he was scared to drop. The two things seemed mutually exclusive to me.
“Oh, hey,” Hannah said from her spot on the couch when I pushed through the apartment door. She was wearing pajamas and flipping through channels on the TV with a bored expression.
“Hey,” I said with a slight nod. The awkward tension was palpable as I made my way past her.
“Fun night?” she asked.
I paused mid-step, realizing how suggestive her curt tone was. There was so much meaning wrapped in that question and when I turned to look back at her, she was wearing a small “gotcha” smirk.
Had she seen Grayson’s car outside?
“Yup. Great night,” I replied as I opened my bedroom door and then closed and locked it behind me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brooklyn: Your birthday is tomorrow. Your birthday is tomorrow. You are the best little sister ever because your birthday is tomorrow. Faalllalalala.
Cammie: Wow. Was that supposed to be a song? I thought you were a Grammy award winning singer-songwriter?
Brooklyn: I’ll admit, it’s not my best work. BUT I’M SO EXCITED. What do you want to do? Spa day? Dinner? A little party? It’s a shame you have to work.
Cammie: Most people have to work on Tuesdays, Brook.
I mulled over the possibilities she’d listed, but none of her suggestions sounded fun. We’d just done happy hour the week before and I was too stir crazy to sit through a spa day. If anything, I needed to lock myself in my room and concentrate on my secret proposal for the design competition. The deadline was fast-approaching, but I knew Brooklyn would never let me get away with that.
Brooklyn: Well that’s boring.
Cammie: Tell me about it. What if we just go to dinner this weekend? Just you and me? I’m pretty busy this week.
Brooklyn: Boo. I leave for Montana on Sunday!
My chest tightened at the realization that she’d be leaving so soon, but then I reminded myself that her departure was a good thing. This is what I wanted. Some distance was healthy. After all, it’s the whole reason I was going to Paris.
Cammie: So it will be a little farewell dinner combined with my birthday. See you Saturday!
I hadn’t told Brooklyn about Paris yet and it was probably a good thing she’d be a few states away when she found out because she wasn’t going to take the news well. Maybe I’d call her once I’d already landed in Paris—y’know the whole “beg for forgiveness rather than ask for permission” method.
…
Around lunchtime on Monday, while most of the office was off grabbing food, I tapped on Grayson’s office door.