Page 54 of Seeing Grayscale

I glance over my shoulder while lying precariously over the edge of the hotel bed.

Gray is still asleep.

After what could only be described as an intimate viewing of what lies beyond the steel wall Gray hides behind, I barely slept a wink. The way he opened up to me rattled my insides, gave me some much-needed perspective on what I was doing here, and solidified what I had hoped to be true—this isn’t a mistake.

Like a calling, I know I was meant to be right where I am…with him.

I want to be here, too.

This resilience that Gray wears around like a naturally occurring second skin fuels the need to be rebellious, even if only slightly. Ever since I became COO, I didn’t bother taking days off. I wouldn’t say I’m a workaholic or anything; I simply don’t have anywhere better to be. My evening trysts over the years never required something like calling in a sick day.

Turning back to my phone, I quickly type a response to my assistant.

Yes. Push back my meetings until tomorrow, and if anything urgent needs my attention, email me. I have my laptop.

Alex: Will do, sir.

Alex: Are you sick?

Something like that.

Clicking the power button so the screen goes dark, I roll over onto my back, content on listening to Gray’s light breaths.

After all he’s gone through, I expected him to have consistent nightmares. Oddly enough, besides that one time, the guy sleeps with a deathly stillness that a person achieves after endless exhaustion. I can’t imagine what that must feel like.

Not that our situations are comparable, but I’d thinkhewould be the sleepless one out of the two of us.

But I’ve always struggled with shutting off my brain. I could be dead on my feet, and the second I hit the bed, every suppressed stressor of the day would push forward, playing on a loop behind my eyelids until my heart raced and I jumped out of bed.

My usual method for easing out of that frustrated panic hasn’t been feasible as of late. I wonder if Gray would think I’m weird for doing it.

I roll on my side, one hand wedged between the mattress and the pillow, and watch him. Creepy is one word for it, but I’ve never done this before. Not even in school.

My dad didn’t want anyone to come over for more than an hour or two, so I ended up sneaking in a few people whenever he was away on a business trip or conference. Even still, no one ever spent the night with me. I never realized until right this moment how strange that is.

Don’t people need that shit? Like some fundamental rite of passage?

Sleepovers with friends in preparation for a lifetime partner sharing your space?

My thoughts are interrupted when Gray shifts, those dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks. The brown roots are slowly overtaking the bleached locks on his head. I wonder what he’d look like with his natural hair color. Icy blues appear, capturing my gaze, and the smallest smile forms on his lips.

I admire him. How fearless he is in the face of change.

If the tables were reversed, I don’t know if I’d be so quick to offer eye contact, let alone a smile.

But damn, if it isn't beautiful to witness.

“Good morning.”

He arches his spine like a cat, one arm shooting above his head before wincing. “Morning,” he rasps, then squints at me. “You aren’t grumpy.”

My eyebrow hitches. “Grumpy?”

Rising on his elbow, he scans the room, spotting the coffee pot. I already had two cups. “That explains it,” he says through a yawn and sits up.

“Do you want a cup?” I offer, too ashamed to admit I didn’t sleep at all. The only reason I’m functioning is that I snuck out to grab an espresso from Starbucksbeforesuffering through the terrible Folgers.

“Sure. Thanks.”

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