Page 21 of The Cabin

“No, you fucking can’t. Let’s go,” he barks and I break from Jade’s hold.

“What is wrong with you? We’re good here, just go.” I think I stamp my foot.

“No, let’s go.” Before I can protest I find myself staring at Grayson’s ass, upside down, thrown behind his shoulder.

Hello acid reflux.

I start banging on his back with my fists. He goes rigid before bringing me back down so my legs are wrapped around his waist and he kicks the door of the bar open, stepping out into the night.

“Knock it the fuck off.” His eyes are hard as he yells at me. This is so different than the golden retriever I was sitting across from this morning. I keep my mouth shut, looking anywhere but at his face. He opens the door to his truck, all while still holding me somehow, and sets me onto the seat, reaching over to buckle me in. It’s just a few seconds before he barges into the truck from his side, slamming the door shut and shoving the keys into the ignition. We don’t speak. I don’t even look in his direction. No music. Just silence.

I must’ve fallen asleep on the ride back because I feel myself get lifted back out of the truck and up some steps. A light is turned on and now I’m really confused. My cabin doesn’t have electricity. I open one eye and see Grayson’s infamous fluffy gray couch in front of the fireplace.

“What are we doing here? Take me home,” I groan, attempting to break free of his arms.

“No.”

I turn my face to look at him. “Um, yes.” I go to push him, but his face has me stopping in my tracks.

I’m dropped onto a bed, his bed. Oh god, his bed. What the hell am I doing in Grayson’s bedroom? The drop causes the air to move, allowing the smell of him on his sheets to reach my nose. Damn, that’s nice. A T-shirt falls into my lap. I hold it out in front of me, instantly annoyed.

“What is this?” I say, crumbling it up into a ball.

“Pajamas.” He walks out into the hall.

“I’m not staying here!” I call, but he ignores me.

“Get changed.”

I look at the crumpled-up shirt in front of me. “I can’t!”

“Why not?” he says, walking back into the bedroom in sleep pants and nothing else. Oh Jesus Christ.

“This shirt is too fucking small! What am I supposed to do, put it on one of my thighs? I hope you have like ten more then!” I’m all but yelling.

“It’s not too small.” At this point he’s pretty much resorted to caveman talk.

“Yes the fuck it is! I wear like a 2X in men’s. Your shirts aren’t going to fit me!”

“Yes, they are.” I let out an exasperated sigh, uncrumpling the shirt in search of the tag so I can shove it in his face and make him read it. Math only maths a certain way. And me, plus a large, maybe extra-large t-shirt, doesn’t equal pajamas.

I open my mouth to prove my point when my eyebrows knit together. It’s a 3X. “There’s no fucking way you wear a 3X, Grayson.”

Again, he ignores me, and sets a glass of water and two aspirins on the bedside table. “Take these and go to bed.” He turns to leave, moving to shut the door behind him.

“Where are you going?”

He doesn’t stop, just keeps on walking. “The couch. Goodnight.” Oh now I’m really pissed.

I storm out of the bedroom with a vengeance. “I am absolutely not sleeping here, especially if it means you have to sleep on the couch!” He lays down anyway, pulling a throw blanket over himself, which covers about thirty percent of his hulking body, and closes his eyes.

“Grayson, I’m serious. I’m walking home.” Before I can take a step, I once again find myself in Grayson’s arms, in our apparent favorite position: bridal style. I let out an, “Oof,”as he drops me back on the bed.

“For Christ sake!” I start, but he chucks the shirt back at me.

“Change. Now.”

“Right now? Right here? Uh, no. I’m not changing in front of you.”

---