Page 41 of Scoring Grey

I roll onto my back and lace my fingers behind my head. “Why’s that?”

She crosses her arms and leans against the doorframe. “Seems like a fool’s choice, for only a fool would bypass the real deal to smell where his woman has been, when he can sample the scent direct from the source.”

My woman… I bite my lip. I fucking love that she’s admitting she’s mine, but I’m not sure what I’m more enamored with, her titles or the undertones of jealousy I hear in her tone. “Hmm, I see.” I firmly press my lips together to keep the mischievous grin off my face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree because, you see, I’m exactly where I want to be.” She rolls her eyes, and I can tell she’s more displeased than she’s letting on, which makes me happier than it should. “Can you take off my shoes?”

Her eyebrows tug together. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. I twisted my back at the game last night. I’m sore, and I don’t want to move.”

Endless blue eyes narrow on mine as they search for a tell that my words are a lie, but she won’t find one. She pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed slowly. Placing her hands on her hips, she examines me for a second before bending down and removing my right shoe and then my left. Hook, line, and sinker. She fell into my trap. The second she pops up, so do I, snatching her hand and pulling her on top of me.

“Cal,” she yelps as she falls.

“See, exactly where I want to be,” I say, our lips mere inches apart. “I could smell you, but I’d rather be under you.”

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” She smiles.

“Maybe. Tell me”—my lips skim over the tops of hers—“do you still think I’m a fool?”

Her mouth covering mine is answer enough. She doesn’t think I’m a fool; she’s greedy and impatient, and I’m obsessed. Her tongue parts my lips to deepen the kiss, and I let her take her fill, following her lead. I wouldn’t be able to stop her if I wanted to. Her soft body on top of mine is a dream I was starting to lose faith in. Every year that passed and she didn’t come back began to feel like eternal damnation for a sin I didn’t know I had committed. Her fingers rake through my hair, and I let my hands drift down her hips. Our kiss deepens, and there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be, nowhere I’ll ever want to be more than I want to be right here, tangled up in her. Long minutes tick by where our mouths, bodies, and souls stay fused together until, finally, my desire can no longer stay hidden, and she feels it.

She pulls back with a smile that says she likes watching me get worked up. We both know it’s her favorite pastime. “You never finished the story.”

I flip her over, and she squeals. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific. I have lots of stories,” I say as I settle on top of her, ensuring she doesn’t leave me before I’m ready to let her go.

“Last night”—her hand finds my hip, where her fingers delicately splay over the exposed skin, pebbling it under her touch—“I asked you about these marks.”

I groan and bury my face in her neck. “Eloise,” I say her name in warning. “For someone not ready to swim, you sure are testing the waters.”

She pinches my hip hard.

“Ouch,” I growl as I pull back.

“I’m not trying to start something, and I can guess what I saw given how things played out, but you never finished the story.” She quirks a brow, and without letting my mind go too far astray, I realize she’s right.

I begrudgingly roll off and lie beside her, pick up her hand and kiss each red-tipped finger before saying, “Red, always red.” Ever since I’ve known Eloise, her nails have only been painted one color: red. The shade might change with the season, but the color always remains. “That day, these nails marked me.” I lace our fingers together. “When they started to fade, I ensured they didn’t.” She’s quiet, and I can see her processing what I’ve said, and I know what she’s going to ask before the words are spoken.

“So you hurt yourself?”

“The amount of pain I was feeling inside was nothing compared to the cuts I made on my skin.”

Her brow furrows, but her eyes soften as she moves onto her side, abandoning my hand to lift my shirt and examine the tiny white half-moons forever etched into my skin. “You said when they started to fade…” I know the reason for her pause: she’s putting together the timeline. She left those marks on my skin the day before everything fell apart. “That would mean you did this after everything happened. After you believed I left you for Arlo.”

I nod. “I’m aware. At the time, I was drowning in my anger. Every day I looked in the mirror and saw your marks, I’d rage inside. I was filled with regrets and desolation, but that misery awakened me. Walking through the hurt of losing you was the worst pain I’ve ever endured, but it’s how I knew what I had was worth it. I didn’t want those marks to ever fade. I needed them to serve as a reminder of what love looked like; if it didn’t hurt, if I didn’t feel it in my veins and the depths of my soul, then I didn’t want it.”

Her eyes flick between mine, and she shakes her head. “I wish I knew then how much you loved?—”

My phone rings loudly beside her head, where it landed when I threw myself onto the bed. I planned on silencing the call until I saw the name. “It’s your brother.”

She sits up fast. “Answer it. It could be about Adler.”

“Iverson, hey?—”

“You’re a dead man, Balfour. If Eloise doesn’t kill you herself, I will.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, my eyes zeroing in on Eloise.

“Are you serious right now? You’re on the front page of every gossip rag with a girl that isn’t my sister.”

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