Page 62 of Smooth Talk

I don’t want things to end. I adore Grayson. I’m in love with him. When I think about my future, he’s right there. I need him. I can only hope he still feels the same about me and is feeling particularly forgiving the next time I see him, which can’t be soon enough. I sigh loudly and close my eyes, thinking back to the argument we had before I left.

“Poppy, we’ll figure this out. It’s nothing but a bunch of lies. I cannot believe that Rusty would hurt someone I love just to get to me.” I was too shocked about the article to even touch on the fact that he’d just said he loved me. He was talking about me, right? And how could he have chosen that moment for the big reveal? “He’s only doing this to further degrade my reputation. I’m so sorry you got mixed up with all this.” He’s cupping my elbows gently massaging my arms with his long fingers. His eyes bore into mine, a mixture of anger and sympathy and something else. Although, I’m not quite sure what. “You’re scaring me. Say something. Please.”

“It’s not all a complete lie.” I mumble out. He drops my arms immediately. His head snaps back like I slapped him. The change in him, instant.

“What do you mean? Which part is the truth?” He asks me, the accusing glare in his eyes breaks my heart. Him thinking any of it is true sends bile up my throat, making it very hard to answer. My eyes are stinging.

“I did date those men,” my voice is barely above a whisper. God it’s so embarrassing, having this conversation in front of an audience. I know Cannon can be trusted; Grayson let me know he did a background check on me before we started dating, in case something like this came out, we could put a positive spin on things. We, Gray and I, could present a unified front. I don’t feel like that’s what we’re doing. I feel like he’s turning on me. “My mom was worried I was letting my past with Reed interfere with my present dating life. So, I agreed to go on a few dates she set me up on. And a few turned into a lot. I didn’t think I’d be viewed this way.”

“Even Sanders? Jesus, Poppy! He’s a snake. This article is alleging you dated them all with ulterior motives though, and I know you; you’re not a gold-digger.”

“Or a slut,” I say angrily. How could he conveniently leave that part off? I mean I did just have the man’s peen in my mouth five minutes ago, but still… it’s not like it’s an everyday occurrence. And even if it were, I’m in a committed relationship! Heck, Grayson’s the only man I’ve been with, and I hadn’t had sex for over two years before that! And now, I’m labeled a slut. Our society is whack AF.

He looks at me apologetically, “Of course not. I thought that went without saying.” He comes back and grabs my hands, “I know this looks bad, but we’ll find a way to make the retraction even bigger,” I eye a skeptical Cannon over his shoulder. Who suddenly starts nodding his head in the affirmative once he sees me staring. I’m so angry. So hurt. How many people have seen this? Has Harper? Em gets the paper delivered to her house. If she weren’t paying attention, Harper could have seen it. I’m hyperventilating.

I have to know. I need to get out of here; I need to see Harp. “I’m gonna go…” I don’t finish what I’m saying. I nod towards the bedroom, drop his hands, and walk away. I can hear him and Cannon exchanging harsh words loudly in the living room. I have a quiet sobbing session as I re-pack my bag. I hadn’t fully unpacked when I got here earlier; I just pulled out what I’m wearing now. I throw on a light cotton dress and sandals. And stuff the heels and robe I was wearing into the bag. It’s significantly quieter now. I take a deep breath and wipe my face with the back of my hand. It comes away black. I have to look like an absolute mess, but I can’t bring myself to care. Numbness has started to settle over me. I walk into the living room to find Grayson gripping a small glass filled halfway with amber colored liquid. He turns when he hears me and his face falls when he sees my bag.

“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question. It’s a quiet statement. He knows I’m going.

“I just need some time Gray. This is a lot for me. It reminds of…’ I trail off unable to finish the thought that has me hyperventilating. “I need to assess the situation.” He nods in understanding, then gulps down the rest of the liquid in his glass.

“You’re running. I get it.” His voice raised from where it was only seconds ago. He’s angry.

Well, so am I. He’s used to this kind of ‘bad press.’ I’m not. The last time I had to deal with it wasn’t pretty. I need time to evaluate everything. Alone. And even if I am running, how dare he judge me!? “I’m not running. I’m taking a second to think about all of this. I need a minute to clear my head without being so angry and hurt to see if this is what I want.” I hadn’t meant to say all that, and I know I’ve hurt him.

“To see if I’m what you want. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” His sad eyes plead with me. I’m on the verge of tears again. I have to get out of here before I have another outburst. “I love you, Poppy. You and Harper are my life. My future. I need to know we’re a team. That we can work through this. That we can work through anything. Together. But if you need time, I’ll give it to you.” He pauses and inhales deeply. “Please text me to let me know you made it home, okay? Drive safe.” He’s done. He turns away like he can’t stand to look at me. I quickly and quietly exit. Nothing settled. Nothing resolved.

The knocking on the front door snaps me out of my memory fog. Mom must’ve forgotten something and locked herself out. I make my way to the front door, asking myself why she didn’t just come up on the porch to go through the back door? It’s the quickest route from the boat dock. My thought process is a little hazy; I’m distraught, okay? So, when I answer the door and Grayson is standing there, I’m completely surprised. And mortified. Need I reiterate—I haven’t showered in days; I’ve been crying for the same amount of time—I am hideous. I just started feeling better about my situation; I’m not prepared for this conversation, but I can hardly slam the door in his face. I need to talk to him. And it’s so good to see him. I just want to grab his sad face and kiss him. “Hi,” I manage to squeak out. My voice hoarse from all the sobbing.

We stand there staring at each other for wat feels like hours before he asks, “can I come in?” I step back to allow him entry and he sweeps in gracefully. His clothes are rumpled, he has dark circles under his eyes, and he smells almost as bad as I do. But he could never. The woodsy scent I adore is still faintly clinging to him. I’ve missed him. From the looks of it, the feeling is mutual. It makes me feel terrible that I’m partially to blame for all the suffering here. I just want to fall into his arms. Rely on his strength and comfort. I want him to forgive me and tell me everything’s going to be all right.

The article was bad, but at least it made me face the fact that I’m totally head over heels in love with Grayson Maxwell and I want him in my life more than I want my privacy. I’m willing to put up with a little bad press to keep him. He’s worth it. Now, I’m praying he still feels the same way about me. And that I can find the right words to tell him.

---