Page 85 of Mr. Wicked

“Try it, Grayson.”

“Jesus,” he groaned. “But only because I don’t want to hear your fucking whining.” He ran the point of his slice through the pool of creamy dressing and took a large bite. “I don’t hate it, shockingly.”

I didn’t move my plate. “Try it again. It takes a few rounds before you’re sold.”

“You want me to double-dip?”

“We’ve kissed a million and one times. If you have cooties, you’ve already given them to me.”

Instead of commenting, he blew air through his nose, like a bull getting ready to charge. “The constant reminders, like this one, and the fact that I’ve seen your tits—not needed.”

“I just like to get on your nerves.”

“You’re succeeding.”

I winked. “I know.”

He dragged the pizza through my dressing and chewed off the soaked end. “I’m not going to knock it. I can see the appeal.”

“Do you want me to get you some ranch?”

He chuckled. “Nah, I’m good.”

I finished off the pepperoni slice and dug into the veggie. “Mmm. Delicious. Thank you for ordering this.”

He was quiet for a few moments, sucking the sauce off his fingers, and I handed him a napkin, forgetting that I still had both.

“What do you like to watch on TV?” he asked. “If it’s something I can stomach, I’ll change the channel.”

“Whatever is fine.” I shrugged. “I really don’t watch much TV. I don’t even have one in my room.”

“I noticed when I was in there. Why’s that?”

I wiped my mouth. “I never had one growing up, and I lived at home through most of college, except toward the very end when I moved in with Sloane, so I guess the lack of having one just carried forward.” I picked off a piece of the crust and popped it into my mouth. “I’ve always had a job, even in high school, making time such a hard thing for me. I’ve never had enough of it—I’m always rushing somewhere. When I do have a few free minutes, I read.”

“I worked through high school too.” He finally looked at me again. “You know, to help my dad out.”

He was opening a door and I didn’t want to let it slam. Although Grayson had revealed tiny pieces of himself, there was so much more I wanted to know.

I sucked in a deep breath. “Can I ask you a super-personal question?”

“Maybe.”

If I wasn’t about to go deep, I would have laughed. “Where’s Mom?”

“She’s dead.”

It felt like he’d just dumped a wheelbarrow of bricks on my chest. “Grayson, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I stopped talking to her when I was ten. She died shortly after we opened Hooked.”

“Why?” I swallowed, my head shaking as I stared at him. “What happened between you two?”

He set his plate on his lap and lifted his beer, holding it against his chest. “I never talk about this shit. The people in my life know. They skate around it when my family situation gets brought up, but it’s been a long time since I’ve gone into depth.”

I kept my voice calm and gentle when I said, “Whether you like it or not, I’m a person in your life now.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to tell you anything.” He finally sipped from the bottle, guzzling what was left until he set the empty on the end table.

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