College Ruled

forty-five

45
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HE'S HERE. GRAYSON is here.

        I'm still smiling when we shuffle inside. My voice is in my throat and my skin is on fire as I watch him step out of his shoes. He was free from his crutches and brace last time I saw him too, but I still track the weight he puts on his knee, trailing his features for any sign of discomfort.

I find none.

He's here, he's here, he's here—

"Your mother didn't turn me away," Grayson whispers, a loose grin still attached his lips. "I think she's fallen for my charm."

His charm. I snort. "She'll hate you again if you walk in there with that jacket on. It's dripping."

"Shit." He shrugs the wet fabric off his shoulders and holds it like a limp rag. "What the hell do I do with it?"

       "I don't know."

       His gaze skates along the wall of the narrow foyer. "What kind of entryway doesn't have a coat closet?"

"This one?"

"What a horrid design flaw."

There's a closet right around the corner, but I don't mention it. It's much more fun to see him frustrated. To watch as the crease buries itself between his brows, as the corner of his lips dip between frown and scowl.

"My mother designed this foyer," I taunt, "I'm sure she'd love to hear your opinion. It might add to your charm, as you put it."

He scoffs. "I just got here and already you're rooting for my downfall."

"Me? Never."

"That's harsh, Clarke." Grayson lays his jacket over his discarded shoes and closes the space between us, the corner of his lips twitching when I take a measured step back. My back brushes against the wall just as his fingers snag on the sleeve of my hoodie, pulling me toward him. "I should really come to expect it by now. This evil you possess."

I gasp. There's absolutely no outrage in it. I don't think I could pretend even if I tried. "I am not evil."

"Don't try to deny it, Clarke. It's one of my very favorite things about you."

He drags me into him. My face burns, cheek pressed to his chest. He smells like his car—leather and mint—and I never wanna let go. Even if it means giving him this, nodding my head and whispering a yes, yes, you're right, I'm so evil and you must keep me close so that I never do anything evil again into him.

I don't really say that, of course. I don't say anything. He keeps holding onto me anyway.

"I missed you too," he eventually says, voice a soft exhale through the mess of my hair trapped under his chin. "In case that wasn't clear."

    A fresh grin breaks free on my lips, so wide I turn my face deeper into him to hide it. Just for a moment. Just to press it into him in a spot he might not see. A secret between me and the soft fabric of his pullover.

        "Yeah?"

"Definitely." He dips his chin, nose knocking against my cheekbone, his voice a low hum in my ear. I feel the curl of his lips as they move. "I miss all my friends."

     I shove against his chest, and he laughs. The bastard laughs.

"Fuck off," I grumble as he lets me go. I don't get far. His hand drops to my wrist and he threads his fingers through mine. And just like that, again, I can't breathe. "Are you hungry?"