Page 47 of From Coast to Coast

I lean a shoulder against the wall and watch him, trying to ignore the disappointment gnawing at my stomach. I shouldn’t feel let down by his support. I should be grateful that I didn’t have to explain the situation to him. He understood, right from the get-go, that I’ve been given the golden ticket out of here and that I need to take it.

I’m not grateful, though. I’m wishing he had acted even a little bit sad that I’m leaving. I’m wishing he’d asked me to stay.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Remy

I deservean Oscar for that performance. I’ve never thought myself a particularly good liar, but apparently I’m better than I gave myself credit for. I was able to convince Grayson I was happy for him—happy that he was leaving and that I was only bummed to be losing out on a good lay.

What a goddamn joke.

I want to excuse myself, go stand outside and scream until my throat bleeds. I want Grayson to stay and the strength of that feeling is frightening and unexpected in its intensity. He’s not my boyfriend or my husband—I have absolutely no claim on him or his choices. Knowing that doesn’t change how I feel though, and right now I feel like something is being taken away from me before I’ve even had a chance to appreciate it.

You’re running on borrowed time, Remy, you need to make the most of it.

Plastering a fake-ass smile on my face, I put the last dishaway and wipe my palms on my pants. Turning, I see Grayson leaning casually against the wall, watching me. He looks so good—so big and handsome and welcoming. He also looks sad, but the expression is gone almost as soon as I clock it, replaced by a grin that doesn’t quite reach his pretty blue eyes. I decide, right here and now, that he’s going to have to pry me out of his bed with a crowbar if he wants me to leave. I’m spending the fucking night.

Walking right up to him, I snag the front of his shirt and give a little tug. Obligingly, he bends down and kisses me, soft and tender, like he’s saying goodbye already.

“You want some company tonight?” I ask. He raises his eyebrows at me.

“I’ll be heartbroken if you leave,” he answers with quiet honesty.

Because losing contact with him feels like shooting myself in my own foot, I wrap an arm around his waist and plaster myself to his side. Is the hallway really big enough for us to walk abreast? No. Do I give a flying fuck? Also, no. Grayson doesn’t say anything or push me away, and I tell myself it’s not wishful thinking that his sigh sounds a little regretful.

Before things start going the same way as before, I pull him to a stop right inside his bedroom. I have no idea what I want, except that I want it to last all night. I want to forget that tomorrow might be the last time I see Grayson without a hockey puck between us and we’re wearing different jerseys.

He watches me, calm and unbothered. Reading something in my expression, he shifts out of my grip just enough to free both his hands. Sliding them up inside my shirt, he waits until I raise my arms before he pulls it all the way off.Instead of moving straight to my pants like I expect him to, he uses his fingertips to trace over my collarbones.

I want to close my eyes and just enjoy how it feels to be touched, but my dick has decided I’m not so sad about Grayson leaving that I can’t get a boner. All of a sudden, I need to come as quickly as possible—banish the bad mood with an epic orgasm. I reach for his pants but he angles his body away and mutters a softnot yet.

It takes him so long to undress me, my knees are starting to hurt from keeping them locked for so long. I’m ridiculously turned on, dick leaking steadily and hands trembling with the need to fuckingtouchhim, but every time I try, he pushes me gently away. I’m naked and he’s still fully clothed.

“What shall we do,” he mutters softly, fingers dancing along the inside of my thigh. He didn’t ask it as a question, but I’m damn sure going to answer anyway.

“Fuck. We should probably fuck.”

He looks up, eyes blazing with an unreadable expression. “We’ll get to that,” is all he says before he walks my naked ass backward until I reach the bed.

He gives me enough of a push that the request is clear. I sit down and scoot myself back until I’m lying in the center of the bed. With my hands folded casually across my abdomen, I watch as he finally starts pulling off his clothes. It’s not a striptease by any means, but there’s something erotic about it nonetheless. I get an uninterrupted view of the way his stomach flexes when he turns, the arch of his spine when he bends over, and the movement of muscle when he raises his arms. I get to see all of him, top to bottom, with not a stitch of clothing in my way.

“You know”—I get his attention, blue eyes meeting mine as he tugs his socks off—“you’re really beautiful.”

I’m expecting him to deflect, maybe blush a little bit if I’m lucky. What I’m not expecting is for him to laugh.

“No, I’m not,” he says, still chuckling as he crawls over me and kisses the center of my chest. I push him away, frowning.

“Yes, you are.” This is a hill I will fucking die on if I have to.

“Nah. Handsome, at best. I’m too big and hairy to be beautiful.” He traces a finger from the hollow of my throat down to my pelvis, stopping just before he reaches my dick. “You, on the other hand…”

“You are big and hairy, that’s true. But for the record, I like it and I think you’re beautiful. So shut the hell up and stop arguing with me.”

He grins. “You sound annoyed.”

“I am annoyed. You need to learn to accept compliments.”

He murmurs something about making it up to me, but the words are lost somewhere between his lips and my skin as he sucks a nipple into his mouth. Gasping, I arch upward and grip his hair. It’s a little ridiculous how good this feels. It’s not as though this is the first time anyone has touched my chest, but everything with Grayson feels so new and raw.

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