Page 43 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 17

Poppy

After my mom gave me a stern talking to about not every man I meet being like Reed, opening up my heart to possibilities and reiterating exactly how fine Grayson was, specifically his booty (like I hadn’t noticed), she offered to take Harper home with her for a girl’s night. Daddy is getting home in the morning and wanted celebratory pancakes with the birthday girl. He was miffed he had to miss her party for a conference. Honestly, I think he wanted to ride the unicorn or at least get pictures with it to brag to the faculty with.

I’m grateful. Sundays after church are my veg-out-time: leggings, no bra, and a messy bun. It’s my day to chill with Harper and order-in junk food that we typically don’t eat. My favorite day of the week. But being able to do it by myself for an entire evening with a glass of wine, or two—heaven. At least it is until my phone dings.

Gray: Have dinner with me

The idea that he could possibly want more has me giddy and almost gets my lazy rear off the couch. Honestly, I’d love to go, but Harp’s party wore me out. I might actually be dead; I should check my pulse. I would be crap company. Not to mention asleep in the next hour (if I make it that long). Also, I don’t think I have the energy to put on real clothes, make-up and fix the frizz-fest that’s happening on my head. God, please don’t let this be the last time he asks. I just can’t right now. Let me get another chance with Grayson Maxwell before I die.

Me: I’m in veg mode. Harper’s party got a little wild after you left. I think I’m just going to hang out on the couch tonight. Harp’s at mom’s and I have the tv all to myself

Gray: What’s on?

Me: Gilmore Girls

Gray: Which Season?

Me: You can’t be serious

Gray: My sisters were obsessed

Gray: That and I harbored a debilitating crush on Lauren Graham for the better part of my late teens/early twenties

Gray: Ok, I’m still crushing. Full disclosure: she’s on my list

Me: LOL, you’re a closet GG fan, love it!

Gray: If word gets out, I will deny ever having this conversation

Me: My lips are sealed

Gray: I’m in the mood for Chinese, thoughts?

Me: Are you inviting yourself over?

Gray: Text me your address. See you in 30 Sweet Cheeks

Oh, fudge! I look around at the disaster that is my house. There are clothes and dolls and ponies and gift bags everywhere. I basically dropped everything on the floor when I came through the door earlier and haven’t touched it since. I cannot allow this to be his first experience with my home. It’s embarrassing. I text him my address and throw myself off the couch and across the room. I grab the laundry basket filled with unfolded, clean clothes and proceed to stuff all of Harper’s things in on top. I set it on her bed; I can throw those clothes back in the dryer later. Right around the same time I make Harp organize all her new things. I do a quick sweep, fluff the pillows, fold blankets and pour myself another glass of red. Okay that only took 20 minutes, I’ve got time to use the restroom and chill before he gets here. Talk myself down from the internal freak-out I’m having. Grayson’s coming over!

I do a little happy dance. After taking care of business, I wipe down all the flat surfaces with a Clorox wipe. It smells lemony-fresh in here. There’s no time to change; he probably won’t expect me to be all dolled up for a veg sesh anyway. Checking my reflection in the full-length mirror, I apply some mascara and lip gloss. My hair is in a messy bun, but it’s cute. I hope. I’m wearing a lacy sleep bra that peeks out of the long tank covering it and capri leggings. Athleisure at its finest. Oh crap, are these the leggings with the hole in the butt? I turn and bend over quickly to inspect my rear. Bam! Stars.

Next thing I know I’m on the floor and my head is pounding. I pull myself up, using the sink counter as leverage. Jumpin’ Jesus on a pogo stick. I have a huge red bump on my forehead. I must’ve banged my head on the sink pretty hard when I bent over. Sheesh. That hurts like a mother. How am I going to cover this up before Grayson gets here? It’s then I realize that pounding isn’t just inside my head, it’s also the front door.

He’s here.

Great. Not only do I not have time to change out of my holey leggings, I also do not have time for cover-up. Ugh. I tug my tank down over the hole, brush some of my whispies over the lump, and walk over to the door. Deep breath. Fingers crossed. Maybe he won’t notice?

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