All The Wild Ones | Wildfire Series

Crescendo

NESSA

"A caramel macchiato, as requested."

Grayson's grin was annoyingly perfect as I slid into his Volkswagen, a car as shiny and white as his smile.

The interior was spotless. I expected to see duffle bags exploding with football gear or to smell the stank of a men's locker room for the entire ride home, but I didn't notice any of that when I chucked my bag into the backseat.

"Thanks," I said, taking the travel cup from him. I still wasn't sure about this, but at least I had caffeine and warmth on a chilly day. And I'd be home in time to watch the Macy's Day Parade with Piper tomorrow morning.

"No problem," Grayson said, and I frowned when I only saw one cup.

"Where's yours?"

"Oh." He shrugged. "I don't like coffee."

"You don't like coffee?" Shaking my head in disbelief, I shoved the car door open again, twisted away from him, and put one foot out onto the pavement in front of our dorm building. "Sorry, I have to go. This was not a good idea."

Grayson's low chuckle reached my ears. And other parts of my body. A prickle of awareness spread through me, and I repressed a pleasant, tingling shudder.

"Remember last night?" he asked.

I froze. Because I remembered last night with alarming clarity. Everything about it: Grayson's lips, the feeling of his breath across my skin, his hands.

"When you said you weren't dramatic?" he added, and I snapped out of my memories.

Goddamn thirsty thoughts.

"I'm not," I insisted, turning back to look at him.

He raised a brow, eyes flicking to my foot on the pavement, my hand on the door handle.

"Alright, fine." Rolling my eyes, I settled into his car again and shut the door. When I glanced back at Grayson, he was biting his bottom lip, eyes dancing.
I cleared my throat and forced myself to look away.

"You don't like coffee, and you're a football player? Honestly, I can't believe we're associating right now."

Unphased, Grayson laughed as he shifted the car into drive. "What's your deal with football players?" he asked without taking his eyes off the road. "Is it just because of your ex?"

Taking a sip of my caramel macchiato, I swallowed a satisfying moan. So foamy, so good. And then I registered what he'd asked.

"My ex?" I repeated. I didn't tell him about—

"You said that your ex was on the team."

Right, that.

I opened my mouth to reply, but Grayson kept talking.

"Who is it, anyway?" His brows furrowed. "Max? I've always had the strange urge to flatten his face onto the pavement, so I kind of hope it's him." Grayson pursed his lips. "Well, it really isn't a strange urge. He says the stupidest shit."

My expression mimicked his, brows furrowing together. "Flatten his face? Seriously?"

"So, it's Max?" Grayson peeked over at me, an odd mix of satisfaction and irritation on his face.

"What? No, I don't even know who Max is."

"Damn." He made a little clucking noise with his tongue, thinking hard as he concentrated on the highway we'd merged onto. "Ethan?" he finally asked. "He's a cocky jerk. I wouldn't mind kicking his ass, either."