College Ruled

nine

| 09 |
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IT COMES out in one breath. Whooshed straight from my desperate lungs, along with all my pride.

        And because I've overestimated myself and my ability to make one word convey everything I'm thinking, Grayson blinks back at me as if he didn't hear me. The girl beside him giggles and pokes his shoulder. Like I'm an inside joke they'll get a kick out of later.

         "Okay?"

         "Yeah," I say more forcefully. "Okay."

          Grayson raises a brow. Tips his head in mocking thought. "Okay..."

           I know he knows what I'm talking about. I know he knows what I'm talking about because the grin that's peeking out on the corner of his lips is the same exact goddamn grin he shot me the other day when he swiveled around in class and asked for my name for the thousandth time. The same smile that grows slow, as if he's trying to smooth it down, trying to convince you that although it looks a lot like it, he's really not that happy to be pissing you off.

        I square my shoulders, ignoring more of the hair that tumbles free around my face, and bundle the sleeves of my olive green sweater between clenched knuckles. "I'm not going to say it."

         "I kinda need you to say it." He crosses his arms, obviously enjoying this little standoff he's trying so hard to sprinkle around us.

         Too bad for him, being stubborn is the strongest bone I was born with. "Well, then, I take it back." Childish? Yes. And it isn't the fact that I'm wasting away my Friday night having another empty conversation with Grayson that makes me regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. It's the glimmering shine in his eyes that just won't fuck off. Like he's trying to blind me with his enjoyment.

It makes me wish I did have a drink in my hand that I could "accidentally" spill.

        Screw growth.

         His lips part to smother down another smirk as he says, "You take back what exactly?"

        "You know what I'm talking about."

         "Do I? I've been told I'm not very bright."

I snort.

         "Forget it," I say between gritted teeth, twisting away. There's a clear shot to the door — the few lingering clusters of people splitting off perfectly between the bar and dance floor to give me free clearance to my escape — I could run and never look back. I have no car and absolutely no sense of direction, but wandering around aimlessly late at night is surely better than this.

God, this was stupid. I'm stupid. I—

          "Wait." With that, his smile broadens and he slips loose fingers around my wrist before I can stop him. He pulls me forward until I lose my footing, stumbling into his very solid chest.

          It's clumsy. My nose bumps into his shoulder. There may or may not be a nosebleed brewing in my future. He may or may not be a little drunk.

         "Whoa, whoa, whoa." I shove myself away from him, nose burning. I keep my voice low and shoot a side-eye glance toward the girl he'd been talking to, even though she lost interest in the conversation as soon as my second word left my mouth, now laughing with a couple two stools over. "What are you doing?"

         "Wait." Grayson says again, his voice softening from taunting ease to lagged confusion. He frowns down at me, his hand still on my wrist. He blinks, forehead creased. "Were we not on the same page this whole time?"