Page 9 of Scoring Grey

“Let me take care of that, please. It’s my ask, and besides that, I have an idea.”

She takes a gravy-covered fry from the plate. “You have an idea?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Next question. Do you kiss on the first date?”

She smiles as big as she can, considering she popped the fry into her mouth, but then she says, “No.”

“That’s a lie.” I snort as I take a fry.

“Excuse me,” she mocks offense. “This is only our first date. How would you know?”

“Just a hunch,” I answer before drinking my beer.

She pops another fry into her mouth before reclaiming her glass. “I only kiss if there’s a spark. If there’s no chemistry”—she shrugs—“there’s no point.”

I relax back into the seat with a smile. “So I’ll be getting a kiss tonight. Good.”

“Cal…” she admonishes.

“Blondie.” I smile cheekily. She knows I’m only teasing, though I’m partially serious. It’s why I can’t help but add, “Kissing is a surefire way to see if we have chemistry. What if we go through all this courting and then the kiss sucks? Everyone knows a first kiss can make or break a second date.”

“Nice try. I remember how you kiss just fine. I don’t need a refresher.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one because if that were true, I don’t think we’d be talking.”

Her eyes hold mine, and I can’t tell if she’s contemplating my offer or thinking of her next remark. All I know is I don’t get another, no, and for me, that’s a win. I don’t care how long it takes. She’s going to be mine. She was always meant to be mine.

3

ELOISE

The sound of chimes stirs me awake, and as I open my eyes, it takes me a second to remember where I am. I’m not used to waking up leisurely. In fact, I’m surprised my body is even allowing it. I’m usually up making breakfast, packing lunch, and getting Adler out the door for school, but two nights in a row now, I’ve slept until mid-morning. The travel and the wine haven’t hurt. I love wine, but it can put me to sleep as well as a pill. My phone chimes again, and I’m reminded of what woke me. With a groan, I reach for my nightstand and quickly grab my phone, and the frigid air hits my skin.

“Shit, it’s cold.”

Phone in hand, I pull my puffy comforter over my head and find two texts from Cal.

Callum: Have I ever told you how cute you are when you sleep?

I peek my head out just to see if he left me breakfast again, and sure enough, across the room, on the table next to the chair by the window, is a breakfast sandwich and bottle of orange juice. I pull the covers back over my head and read the next one.

Callum: That idea I told you about last night awaits you. Wake up.

The goofy smile that parts my lips can’t be helped. I like waking up to text messages from him, but another part of me likes knowing he was in my room. I close my eyes and groan. When it comes to Callum Balfour, my motto for the past six years has been: if he wanted to, he would. From the second I saw Blair Wyndham on his lap the night his team clinched a seat in the playoffs, I’ve repeated those words to myself every time I felt weak. Men can whisper sweet nothings in your ear all day. They can shower you with gifts, the whole nine yards, but at the end of the day, I can buy myself flowers. I don’t need a man’s ear to bend, and toys get the job done just fine.

Cal has talked the talk. It’s the walking part he hasn’t seemed to get right. The stunt he pulled this past summer, paying someone to propose to me in hopes I’d realize I only want marriage with one man, and it wasn’t the guy bending down on one knee, was bold and insane. I’m still debating if it was a grand gesture. I mean, who does that? My sanity tells me what he did is next-level crazy, but the girl who’s always been head over heels for him melts.

Madness aside, I’m here now because I’m not without fault. I’ve chosen to stay quiet when I shouldn’t have, expecting him to see the writing on the wall. But the more time passes, the harder it’s getting to stay quiet without regrets. He was right about one thing: I don’t want to look back in five to ten years, see him marry someone else, and wonder what could have been had I just told him everything. That thought has me flipping the blankets off my head and making a call.

“It’s only been two days. Don’t tell me you miss me already,” my older brother, Iverson, mocks as he answers my call.

“Hardy har har, you know why I’m calling, Iverson. Did you talk to Dad?”

He covers the phone as he tells Quinn something, and then I hear a door close.

“I did. Remind me again what you’re trying to piece together with it.”

“Something happened between our parents and the Balfours years ago, and I want to know what. Better yet, I need toknowwhat happened.”

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