Page 37 of Touchdown, Tennessee
I’d expected Gray to throw that word my way in an instant, but he hadn’t.
And it made me feel some sort of weird affection for him.
Fuckfeeling anything nice for Gray Gilman, though.
“I’m going back inside,” I said, turning quickly and pushing open the door before he could protest.
I marched back in, joining the crowds, finding people to chat with.
As everyone’s recipes baked, Gray hung around the perimeter of the room, observing. Everything baked up pretty well, and when we all pulled our stuff out of the ovens, the entire Student Hall smelled so much like sugar, cinnamon, and butter that I was practically drooling.
Over the next half hour, everyone tried all of our baked goods and cast their votes. In the end, it was our kicker, Brian Rumson, who took first place with his chocolate peanut butter triple-decker cake.
But I came in second.
Not dead last. And that was all because of Gray’s help.
Everybody on the team gave me high-fives after congratulating Brian. All of the proceeds from the ticket sales forthe event went to his charity of choice, a nonprofit that helped underprivileged kids with free help applying to colleges.
I posed for a few pictures with Brian afterward, holding one of those big, fake checks in front of us. I knew Gray must be thinking this was all for my good image and optics, but I smiled for the camera anyway, knowing it would end up online the next day.
I looked around the room after the photos were over, though, and Gray had disappeared.
He seemed to enjoy doing that.
I headed out the front doors after we’d all cleaned up, waiting for Luke to come outside so we could walk home together.
“You did well, Peach,” I heard from beside me as I was walking down the front steps.
My heart rate ticked up instantly.
Gray was there.
“You’re not going to quit following me, are you?” I asked.
He was at the edge of the shallow stone steps, leaning on the railing. The air outside was cool and quiet, with the sounds of Student Hall gently coming out from the doors behind me.
I couldn’t help but notice the tired look in his eyes again. I wished it didn’t draw me in. The slight wave in his hair glinted under the lamp post.
“Does second place piss you off?” he asked. “You used to being thestarof everything?”
“Second place is just fine for a bake-off contest.”
“If you got first place, I was finally going to fuck you.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”
“No.”
He held my gaze, and I wanted to sock him in the jaw.
“Hate you.”
“Kiss me.”
“Gray, if you fucking pull out your cock again I’m going toloseit?—”
He closed his fist around the tied drawstring at the front of my shorts, pulling me forward. I took a step in as he gave me a little yank, half considering punching him, still.
