Page 26 of Never Have I Ever
His head snaps towards mine, his lips pulled in a side smirk, he looks amused at my answer. “Look at me?” he repeats.
I nod. “Yeah. Tattoos, smokes, sells drugs, hooks up with every girl he sees…” Well, not every girl. Apparently, he has morals when it comes to me. “You get the picture.”
“And that’s living to you?” he questions.
I smile weakly. “Compared to my life for the past eighteen years, yeah.”
“What was your life like? Enlighten me.”
I sigh. “You really want to know?” I ask him.
He raises one eyebrow. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
I nod, stretching my legs out onto the blanket. I can feel the rocks underneath the thin cotton, and my legs are red from the cold. It’s late out, way past midnight, and if I had known we’d be coming to a mountain, I would have worn something warmer.
I left my heels in the car, as per Grayson’s request, so my toes are freezing cold, but I get it. The surface here is rocky and rough, and heels wouldn’t be the easiest to wear.
“Well, most of my life, I was raised by strangers,” I tell him. “Maids my mother would hire. They changed often, but they were somehow all the same. They followed my mother’s rules, and didn’t step out of line, even when I bribed them with money.”
Grayson laughs, and I appreciate him listening to me ramble on about my life. Even if he doesn’t care, he’s here listening.
“My mother was always busy with her country club and hosting events, she never had time for me. The maids I grew up with were nice enough, they seemed to care about me, but that could be because they were getting paid to.” I shrug.
“My father was never around,” I continue. “I only ever saw him on weekends, and sometimes not even then. He was always out of the state for business. I don’t even know what he does exactly. I know it has something to do with stocks, but other than that…”
Grayson laughs, shaking his head. “Sounds like the life of a rich girl.”
“Yeah. I know. First world problems.” I feel a little guilty ranting about my life when his is completely different. From what I’ve heard about Grayson Carter, he grew up with an addict for a mother and now sells drugs to support his mother’s addiction.
He must think I’m so vain for thinking my issues warrant a second thought when his must be ten times worse than mine.
“I never had to worry about there being food on the table or a roof over my head. I get it,” I tell him. “But I did miss out on so much. I didn’t even have my first friend until Leila.”
“Is that the girl you came with, at the party?”
I remember wondering if he even remembered seeing me at that frat party, and now I knew. He had.
“Yeah. We met my sophomore year of high school. I was homeschooled until then, and she was my first-ever friend.” And I couldn’t have asked for a better one. “Before that, I had to ‘bond’ with the bratty girls from the country club. So, I suppose they were my first friends? Except can you call them friends if they hated me? They bullied me, even.”
I sighed. “I don’t know why. They just despised me. And when I got to college, I wanted to experience everything like a normal freshman would. Crappy dorm rooms, having to wear shower shoes, having roommates, I wanted everything. But my mother got me an off-campus apartment, so that dream was taken away.”
He laughs, blowing out smoke. “Your dream was to live in a dorm room? I don’t know anyone who wants that,” he says.
I look out towards the green below us, focusing on the patches of grass covering the ground. “I did,” I tell him. “And for the first couple of months of college, I did nothing but catch up on work.”
He throws out the cigarette and blows the smoke from his mouth before turning to face me. “You’re a freshman. I’m sure there wasn’t that much work you had to do.”
“You’re right,” I say. “But I came to college to study fashion. That’s what I want to do. And whenever I have any free time, I work on my designs. So, I was learning how to juggle doing classes and focusing on my designs at the same time. I hadn’t even gone to a party before last weekend.”
His lips turn upwards, flashing me a smile. “You really are an angel,” he says.
“Why’s that?”
“You’re so innocent, Rosie.”
I look away, feeling my face heat up. “Stop saying that. It’s not a good thing.”
“It is to me,” he says.
