Page 74 of Seeing Grayscale

“Hole, slot, same same. Put it in!”

“Youput it in,” I say hotly, taking a step and huffing a breath.

“Oh, I’ll put it in,” he retorts, walking faster than normal. He slides his piece in without hesitating, ruining my strategy and winning.

“You cheated!” I throw my piece, taking off in a jog.

A loud, unmanly shrill explodes out of him as he tries to get away. I trip a few times on the dead grass, and fat droplets of rain start to come down. He beelines for the house, cackling and hiccupping.

“Gray!” I warn, reaching him just before he grabs the sliding door and curl my arm around his waist.

His back is flush with my front, and our bodies are overheated and damp. I’m drunk. He’s drunk, but he feels perfect pressed into me like this. “I was going to do it,” I mumble into his ear.

Fast breaths puff past his lips. “You didn’t, though.”

“But I would’ve.”

He spins in my hold, places his hands on my chest, and squeezes. “You had the opportunity,” he rasps, those gorgeous blues peeking at me.

“I was afraid to make the wrong move. It would’ve c-costed the game,” I stutter through a burp. The alcohol is fighting back.

“You don’t know because you didn’t do it.” His fingers dip under the straps of my undershirt, dancing over my collarbone. “You didn’t eventry,” he breathes, and it just now catches up to me.

We aren’t talking about the game.

“Do you want me to?” I whisper, leaning down. “I think I can…if you want me to.”

“Please,” he whimpers, and I crush my lips to his.

Removing his hands from my shirt, he slides them up to hold my face, urging me lower. When his pierced tongue drags over my lips, I crack inside. I hold him tight, not thinking about tomorrow, not caring that we said not to do this. It feels so right—hefeels right. From the moment I laid eyes on Gray, I knew I could never walk away, never forget.

As I open for him, he seeks my tongue out quickly. There’s urgency, lust, and a coyness to his movements that force a moan from my throat. Fingers squeeze, hips grind, and rock, all while the sky dumps over us. Fresh rain coats our lips, mixing with our whiskey flavor, and my heart beats so fast that I’m sure I’ll pass out. Gray’s sweet, needy noises echo in my ears, driving my frantic pulse south.My hot hands travel up his rain-slicked back, mapping out the small muscles.

“Hunter,please.” It’s a plea, a cry out for something, but I don’t know what.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” I whisper, peppering kisses over his cheek, chin, and nose. Everything is fuzzy, shrouded in a cloud ofneed.“Tell me.”

“Just keep trying. Don’t—” he stops himself, raising his tiptoes to steal my lips again. Just as urgent as before but no less impactful, his soft, pillowy mouth molds to mine. “Don’t be like everyone else.”

He breaks our kiss, drops his arms to my middle, and squeezes me like I’ll float away. Not wanting to relive earlier, I give him the hug he should’ve gotten. Pressing my lips to the top of his battle bandana, I let him cling to me for long seconds until we’re both soaked to the bone and have no choice but to go inside.

And even when we do, I don’t let him go, keeping his hand firmly tucked in mine.

After depositing Gray in the downstairs bathroom, I stumble through the kitchen into my garage and dig out his things from my car. Water clings to every inch of me, and the wet squish in my shoes makes me shiver.

In a blur, I end up back in the bathroom, and he’s slumped on the toilet. With hisshirttied around his head, sweat pants soaked through, and one shoe off, I laugh.

He glances at me, and the sound dies in my throat. With a trembling bottom lip, he heaves a breath before holding his face andcries.The duffle bag drops by my feet with a soft thud. I hurry over to him, landing on my knees before him, and push his hands away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I did itagain.”

The urge to slap some sobriety into myself almost has me acting on it. I take a breath, rub my eyes, and cup his cheeks. “What? What did you do?”

“Don’t you get it!” he shouts, ripping his face away. Angry fingers tear at the shirt on his head, tossing it on the tile. “I am this,” he gestures at himself, “this p-person. I’m homeless, and you—” A growl of frustration explodes out of him. “You can’t even beseenwith me. We are drunk.I’mdrunk. And I’m sad.You’re sad now, too, fuck my fucking life.” He hides in his palms again while I stare wide-eyed.

I can’t think straight, and maybe I’m selfish, but we had a good time earlier. A day fuckingoff.“No, no, we aren’t doing this.” I push his hands awayagain, determined to get us back to that goodness. “We aren’t feeling sorry for ourselves, alright? Not today.”

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