Page 55 of Lilies in Autumn

A loud groan sounds from CeCe’s side of the room, and I look over in time to see her burrow deeper under her covers. “You’re the Antichrist,” she mumbles through the fabric.

“And you’re lazy. Now let’s go.” I walk to her bed and pull the covers off her. Her screech fills the room.

“Fucking fine, but your ass better fill us in on your night. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you spent the entire night out, only to return in the same clothes you left in,” she grumbles. “I just bet you got laid.” CeCe climbs off her bed and makes her way to her closet. Grabbing her leggings, a Marymount University sweatshirt, and a plain black baseball cap, she grabs her shower caddy and towel and heads toward the door.

Before she leaves for the shower, she turns. “And you better make your stuffed French toast for breakfast because I am sick of your waking up early shit. We’re finally away from home, stop waking up so goddamn early. It’s fucking weird.” With that parting shot, she leaves the room and slams the door behind her.

So dramatic.

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After spending the morning and early afternoon at Serena’s apartment, gossiping and gorging on fruit compote-stuffed French toast, I’m relieved to be back at the dorm to get ready for dinner. I barely made it out of Serena’s apartment alive with the inquisition they put me through. While I couldn’t lie about where I was last night, I refused to give specifics. For some reason, the night we shared, the things we did, feel too important, and I don’t want to cheapen it. CeCe was relentless and would not shut up, so I finally gave in and told her we slept together but somehow avoided going into detail. If I told them that he has five dick piercings, CeCe would demand photographic evidence and possibly even a demonstration.

I know she’s not interested in Grey, nor would she betray my trust like that, but she is the most curious person I know and would never let it go if she found out. My stomach clenches in… jealousy? Anger? At the thought of CeCe seeing Grey in a position only I’m allowed to see him in.

Shit, that sounds just as possessive as Grey. I stare into my makeup mirror, noting the slashes of concealer outlining my cheekbones, jaw, and nose. CeCe doesn’t need to do shit like this; she can slather on mascara and look like a supermodel. But me? If I don’t have at least six coats of mascara on and a face full of makeup, I look like my brother with a wig. I cringe, remembering Grey’s reaction when he opened the door last night. Grey saw me naturally, and while I’d like to not give a shit about it, I can’t figure out how I was so unconcerned about my appearance last night and this morning. He didn’t seem bothered by my unenhanced look.

Would he prefer someone like CeCe? Someone more confident in themselves, in their appearance, who they are, and who they want to be? I shake my head, willing the self-loathing away while I spread cosmetics over my face, creating a perfect veneer.

After curling my hair and brushing the curls out to create soft waves, I douse myself in hairspray and perfume and exchange my robe for my dress.

Zipping up my boots, I stand and survey my appearance in our floor-length mirror. While I may have more self-esteem issues than I care to admit, I can’t deny that I look good in this outfit. The dress flatters my shape, emphasizing my chest while laying loosely over my stomach and hips. The boots paired with the dress’s length, short enough to be flirty without showing my vagina, give the illusion of long legs, which I definitely do not have.

Dropping to my knees to pull a clutch from the storage container under my bed, I wince at the soreness between my legs. Though I’d deny it like Rose denied Jack a spot on the door inTitanic, Grey wasn’t wrong when he said I’d be sore today. I tried to massage myself in the shower, but all it did was make me ache for Grey in a way that wouldn’t be relieved tonight.

I’m only slightly ashamed to admit that I contemplated grabbing an ice pack to put on top of my labia. The only reason I stopped was because I read about ice play in a romance novel, and honestly… it didn’t sound terrible. I was worried that the ache would grow into a stabbing need and that I’d be like a dog in heat around Grey tonight.

I couldn’t risk it. Hell, I wouldn’t risk it. So, here I am, wincing at the slightest bend, just like Greyson-freaking-Jansen predicted.

The door opens while I’m on my knees, picking through the few bags I brought from home. Looking over my shoulder, I see CeCe walk in, beautiful and ready for dinner with my family. Dressed in a simple hunter green sweater dress and matching boots, she looks stunning.

“Damn, C. Are you trying to give the male population a heart attack?”

She raises an eyebrow and rolls her eyes at my comment. “The whole population? That seems unlikely. Dante, on the other hand? Yes.”

Well, that’s new. I’ve asked about Dante a few times since the barbecue, and she’s been consistently tight-lipped. “Dante?” I question. “Is there something you haven’t told me, Celeste Lauren Downing?”

“Don’t middle name me, Mom. We’ve been texting and he’s annoying, like a gnat that won’t go away. He likes the color green, and I just so happened to need two oat milk lattes for us before dinner.” She lifts a to-go tray that I didn’t realize she held. “Let’s just say, I wanted to give him something to think about before tonight.” She shrugs, sipping on one of the lattes. “He liked how I looked.”

“Jesus, Celeste. You made that boy grab us coffee just to torture him with that dress? That’s fucking devious.” I stand up and reach for the other coffee, lifting it to my lips. I pause. “But I thank you for considering me in this plot.”

“Please, he’s no boy. Dante is a man. Besides, he gets off on shit like this. Last week, he showed up at my class with a burger and fries because he saw I shared a reel of Tap House on my Instagram. I gave him shit for stalking me, but the food was greatly appreciated.”

My eyes widen, and I nearly spit the sip of coffee I just took. I swallow, questioning, “Why the fuck am I just hearing about this now?”

“Because, Ava Maria, you’ve been so consumed with Greyson that I didn’t want to intrude on your little love bubble.”

“We are not in a ‘love bubble.’” I use air quotes to emphasize my point.

“You spent three hours on the phone with him last week and slept at his house last night. You, my friend”—she points at me—“are in a love bubble. I’m happy for you, but you have tunnel vision. It’s like all you see is Greyson lately, even if you refused to literally see him.”

Shit, was I being a bad friend this last month? Was I more concerned with myself than what was going on around me, what was going on in CeCe’s life? “I’m so sorry if I’ve been a bad friend recently,” I say, feeling chastised, though I don’t think that was her intent.

She rolls her eyes again, her trademark reaction to pretty much everything. “You’re not a bad friend, and I’m not mad at you. This is the first guy that isn’t a douchebag that you’ve been interested in. Plus, you trusted him enough to give him the most sacred thing you own: yourself. I’m happy for you, but I just don’t want you to project and then try to pair me and Dante up.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “C, I’m pretty sure you’re already paired up with Dante. He’s delivering food to you regularly, and you don’t seem to be saying no.”

“Whatever, we’re not talking about this.” She pauses, looking me up and down. “Also, good God, your tits look amazing. Greyson is going to shit himself when he sees you.”

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