Page 67 of Burning Embers

That’s more than I can say for my wolf.

Twenty-Two

IZZY

I’m not surprised in the slightest to find Grayson No Last Name waiting for me in the parking lot after school.

And I say Grayson No Last Name because the bastard refuses to have one. Sure, on paper, his last name reads Grey—no fucking joke—but he hates being associated with his biological parents. And not just because they named their son Gray Grey. The last person who referred to him as Grayson Grey got punched in the face and then beaten into unconsciousness.

Which is why I immediately snap out, “Grayson Grey, what the fuck are you doing here?” I fold my arms over my chest and scowl.

I try to keep my angry façade up, but I can’t quite hide the sliver of hurt that curdles in my chest. What makes this entire situation even more infuriating is the fact that Grayson doesn’t knowwhyI’m mad at him. He doesn’t know that I saw him with pretty, perfect Sydney. He doesn’t know that jealousy swept over me in a wildfire, white-hot and painful. He doesn’t know that I desperately wanted to grab the girl by the hair, tug her away from him, and then take her place in his arms.

Stupid, unreciprocated crushes.

Stupid, idiotic boys.

Stupid, annoyingly gorgeous Grayson.

His scowl deepens at the use of his full name, tiny lines materializing between his eyebrows, and he pushes off of his truck to stalk towards me. I hold my ground, refusing to be cowed, refusing to back away from the threat in his eyes. Grayson will never hurt me, not truly.

At least not physically.

Emotionally, on the other hand…

Did I mention it sucks being in love with a guy who looks at you like a little sister?

“Why the fuck are you ignoring me?” he rasps out, his voice breaking on the final word. He clears his throat, though that perpetual scowl never leaves his face.

Despite what a lot of people believe, Graysoncantalk. He just doesn’t like to. His voice is soft and almost husky, sounding as if he smoked over a thousand packs of cigarettes in his nineteen years on this earth. However, it wasn’thimwho smoked so religiously. It was his bio parents. The smoke fucked up his vocal cords when he was just a kid, and he hasn’t been able to fix it, despite years of speech therapy.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I snap, already stomping towards Jake’s car.

He’s at football practice for the next two hours, so technically, Hale will be picking Lissa and me up from school, but at least walking in the direction of Jake’s car gives me something to do. I’m afraid if I remain standing there, I’ll deck Grayson across the face.

The parking lot is still crowded, but no one pays us any mind. I imagine it’s not the first time two students bickered.

Okay, maybe I need to rephrase that statement. No one paysmeany mind. But Grayson? He gets a lot of mind. Err…people pay him a lot of mind.

He’s too fucking sexy for his own good.

And combined with his sleek, leather jacket, the scruff on his jawline, and the bad-boy aura he seems to exude in tangible, heady waves? He’s a walking wet dream.

Mywet dream.

Ugh.

I quicken my pace, my gaze homed in on Jake’s tiny red car, but Grayson’s voice stops me in my tracks. Of fucking course he’s been following me. Why would I expect anything different?

“Quit being a stubborn bitch, Iz, and talk to me.”

I whirl around, heat already exploding in my cheeks. I grit my teeth together and take deep, calming breaths in an attempt to appease the anger rioting in my gut. But…nope, it doesn’t work. I still want to punch him just as hard as I did a minute ago.

“What the fuck did you just call me, asshole?”

The mischievous smirk that curls up the corners of his lips should be declared illegal. I momentarily lose my mind just looking at it, looking athim. He could decimate entire populations with that infuriating smile.

“So you can call me an asshole, but I can’t call you a bitch?” He laughs, the noise mocking and just as raspy as his speaking voice.

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