Page 52 of Things I Wish I Said
“Oh, how lovely,” Mom chimes in.
“Does he live around here?”
I shake my head but I don’t elaborate, relieved when the doorbell rings because all I know is he lives in a different town, and his address seems like something his girlfriend should know.
Hurrying into the living room, I swing the door open, only for the sight of him to steal the air right from my lungs.
His hair is a mass of raven locks. A dark blue T-shirt hugs his firm chest, which exposes the swell of his biceps and an obscene amount of forearm porn.
I lick my lips and grin. “Hey, Slugger.”
“Sinclair.” He offers me a wry smile.
“You ready for this,” I mouth.
Grayson answers me with a nod. Little does he know it’s not just my mother at dinner.
“Are you going to open the door or is John supposed to imagine the young man standing behind it?” my mother asks from behind.
I roll my eyes for Grayson’s benefit, then step aside. “I had no idea anyone else was going to be here,” I whisper.
I bite my lip, amused when Katie’s jaw drops and John straightens, puffing his chest out like a parakeet in what I assume is meant to be a protective fatherly stance.
“Uh, Grayson, this is my mother’s boyfriend John and his daughter Katie.”
Grayson makes the first move, acknowledging Katie with a wave I think she might faint from, before taking a step toward John, reaching out to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
John nods. “You too. I hope you know you’re handling some very precious cargo with this one.” He motions toward me, and I quirk a brow.
I never would’ve pegged John for being protective. It’s . . . weird.
“I’m well aware, sir.”
A beat of awkward silence passes before Mom claps her hands. “Let’s eat, shall we?”
We all file into the eat-in kitchen. Our table is tiny, more suited to only the two of us, certainly not the five of us here now, piling our plates.
“So, Ryleigh tells us you play baseball,” John starts, taking a bite of his chicken.
“Yes, sir.”
“She says you’re quite accomplished, too.”
Grayson shrugs, a blush blooming in his cheeks, which is probably the cutest freaking thing I’ve ever seen. I know for a fact he’s confident, and he certainly has zero reason to be modest, but the fact that he’s not completely cocky like most male athletes I know is more than a little endearing.
I, on the other hand, was never so humble.
“So, where are you two off to for the night?” Mom asks, taking a sip of her water, trying and failing to hide her smile.
“One of Grayson’s friends is having a party,” I answer.
Mom stiffens, smile tightening as she sets her glass back down. She seems to consider this, then asks, “Will there be alcohol?”
Grayson opens his mouth to answer, but I nudge him with an elbow to the ribs so he doesn’t screw this up. “Yeah, Mom, lots of booze,” I say, like the idea is ridiculous. “But don’t worry, the second I black out, I’ll quit drinking.”
Mom scowls in my direction.
“No, Mom. Relax. There won’t be alcohol,” I assure her, even though according to Grayson, there will be more than alcohol, but I’m not about to give her a reason to keep me home.
