Page 89 of Play Me
“Oh really?”
He chuckles. “It’s obvious that you don’t know Brooks. Nothing is surprising about that guy. However, he’s fucked half … or more, of Sugar County.”
The band shifts gears, starting a popular nineties country ballad. More couples join us on the street. I notice many eyes, mostly women but some men, too, checking out Gray.But his?They’re solely on me.
I toy with the hairs on the back of his neck, enjoying the ease I feel in his arms. I’m aware that putting my guard down is probably a major mistake—lowering it has nevernotbitten me in the ass. But the beer and possibly the town’s tranquil, unhurried vibe have chipped away at some of my restraint, and lowering the shield—if only for a moment—is incredible.
“So nothing’s surprising about Brooks,” I say. “Tell me something that would surprise me about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What are my parameters?”
The corner of his lips pulls to the sky. “Are you going to stay within them?”
“It depends on what they are,” I say, giggling.
He adjusts his hands, pulling me even closer to him. “What do you want to know?”
Gray has never been this open with me or this willing to talk. He’s never had me in his arms in the middle of a fair either, butthat’s not the point. The point is that he’s trying to let me get to know him better—and I appreciate that. More than he’ll ever know.
I force a swallow, knowing that asking the one question I’ve wondered about a hundred times could shatter our newfound peace. But I do it, anyway. “Who was the woman in the picture in your apartment?”
He takes a deep breath, averting his eyes to something over my head. My heart pounds, wishing I could take the question back. I shouldn’t have asked it. It was the beer talking.
“I—”
“Caroline,” he says.
I cup the back of his neck with my palm. “Thank you for answering that.”
“She’s no longer in the picture, if you’re curious. No pun intended.”
“May I ask why not?”
He looks briefly at the sky and sighs. “I have this way of … that is, my life’s complicated.” He settles his gaze on me. His eyes are clear and unguarded, and it takes my breath away. “I make a lot of shitty choices sometimes, Astrid.”
“So Caroline is out of your life by your choice or hers?”
“Mine.”
The shirt I’m wearing bunches up in the back, and his fingers dust against the sensitive skin just above my ass as we turn in a half circle. Our gazes lock on contact, and he touches me again, slowly, seeking approval.
I hitch a breath. My body doesn’t ask,it demandsto be touched by him again. I lace my fingers through the back of his hair, bringing our bodies so close that even a raindrop couldn’t come between us.
“What about you?” he asks, his voice rougher than before. “Is there a man out there who thinks he’s your guy?”
Does Caroline still believe she’s your girl?The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t ask it. It matters, but maybe not enough for this conversation. Or perhaps I’m scared to know the answer.
“I think the idea of being my guy would strike fear in most men’s hearts,” I joke.
His brows pinch together.
“No,” I say, hyperaware of the small designs he’s drawing on my back. My throat is as dry as a bone, so I swallow to wet it again. “There’s not been a man in the picture since Trace.”
“The guy the letter was over, right?”
I nod.
