Page 24 of Play Me

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Astrid

I straighten my shirt—a sapphire-blue top I put entirely too much thought into when getting dressed this afternoon.

I’m not the type of girl who obsesses over what she wears.

I throw on something appropriate for the occasion and go about my day.

But every T-shirt felt too casual, and every button-up too stuffy, and this is definitely not a sundress type of situation.

I need to look professional, yet cordial …

and I have no idea if I pulled that off.

“I probably should’ve called Audrey for advice,” I mumble, gathering my bag and phone before heaving a breath and then climbing out of my car.

Gray’s neighborhood is abuzz with kids on bicycles and adults on porches, watching the children play. The warm air is perfumed by thick shrubs hosting soft pink peonies in front of the apartments to my left. A screen door to my right is propped open, and eighties music floats on the breeze.

My fingers tap a quick text to my friends.

Me: I’m at Gray’s. Pray for me.

Audrey: You don’t need prayers. You got this!

Gianna: You don’t need prayers. You need condoms.

Audrey: GIANNA.

Gianna: No Bardot this time?

Me: One of you is helpful and one of you is not. I’ll let you think about that.

I slide my phone into my purse and exhale slowly.

This wouldn’t be so terrible if I knew what to expect.

My text exchanges with Gray have gone well since our truce, and he’s been amenable to my suggestions with quick replies.

As far as I know, he hasn’t missed an appointment or practice either.

But I can’t help but wonder if they haven’t gone a little too well.

I’m afraid to hope this can work out because when your hope goes up, it’s just a harder fall back to the ground.

I press the doorbell and say a quick prayer of my own since I can’t count on my friends to do it for me.

You’ve agreed to a truce. Don’t go in there assuming the worst. I frown. Don’t give him the benefit of the doubt, either. Aim for a nice neutrality.

Energy flickers in my chest, but I’m not certain if it’s from anticipation or dread.

My thoughts run amok as I consider how he’s going to react to seeing me in person again.

It’s our first time together since the Magnolia Peace Accord, and my first time at his apartment since Picture Gate.

I don’t know whether I’m walking into an ambush or preparing for a picnic.

It’s impossible to steady my erratic pulse as Gray opens the door.

He peers down at me with his dark eyes, studying me intently as if seeing me for the first time.

A white cotton shirt hugs his torso, and a pair of black sweatpants kiss his thighs.

I don’t know him well enough to know if he shaves routinely or not, but it’s evident that he hasn’t met with a razor since I last saw him—and I hate that he looks even better with the scruff.

“Hi,” he says. There’s no warmth, but his tone is also void of a chill. Is that a win? I don’t know. “Want to come in?”

“Sure.”

“Great.”

“Great,” I say, stepping through the doorway.

The apartment looks about the same as it did the last time I was here, except a little more lived-in.

A patchwork quilt is draped over the back of the sofa like the one my grandma had when I was a kid.

A set of dumbbells sits in the middle of the living room floor, and his chessboard has been placed in the middle of the coffee table.

The boxes, however, are gone. And the picture that caused our last tiff is nowhere in sight.

“You expected to find boxes, didn’t you?” he asks as he closes the door.

“Yeah. You had practice on Thursday and Friday and were with the team at the game yesterday. I didn’t figure you got up on your one day off and unpacked.”

“Were you going to finish it for me?”

I drop my bag onto the sofa and then meet his gaze.

My first reaction is to bristle at his question.

Instinctively, my hackles rise, and I mentally prepare a defense.

My brain tells me he’s judging me—insinuating that I didn’t finish my job and he’s deciding my worth.

But something makes me pause. I’m not sure if it’s his relaxed posture or the slight tilt of his head, but I don’t fire back. Instead, I wait.

A lick of humor tickles his lips as he presses them together. “Hey, I’m kidding, you know.”

A slow breath releases from my lungs. No, I didn’t know.

“I did a couple of boxes each night,” he says. “There wasn’t too much left. Besides, despite what you and Renn might think, I’m capable of basic tasks.”

He turns his back and heads toward the kitchen, and I lean against the sofa and watch him move farther away from me. With each step he takes, my shoulders soften, and I breathe a little easier. I relax a little more.

This is uncharted territory, as we’re usually arguing by now. The thing that throws me for a loop, though, is his admission that he was joking. Or maybe it’s the idea that he was joking with me in the first place. That hasn’t happened before … has it?

“Renn doesn’t think you’re incapable of basic tasks,” I say, as he grabs two glass bottles from the fridge. Staying focused on the work aspect of things is an arena I understand. So I keep us planted there.

“That’s not really my takeaway from being assigned a babysitter.”

“Did you ever consider that he just wanted to support you?”

Gray hands me a bottle, unscrews his lid, and takes a long drink. His eyes never leave mine.

“If Renn thought you were incapable, he wouldn’t have traded for you,” I say in defense of my boss. “He obviously thinks you’re talented and can contribute to the team. Otherwise, he would’ve left you in Denver.”

Gray takes a seat on the sofa. He props his bare feet up on the coffee table next to the chessboard. “You always take up for Renn, don’t you?”

“I generally side with people who are right, and Renn is almost always right.”

“What if he was wrong?”

I shrug and sit as far away from him as I can on his one piece of furniture.

His question seems straightforward, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s not. If it’s to be taken on the surface, that’s one thing. But if it’s theoretical, that’s something else completely. Is he suggesting Renn is wrong about him?

“To be honest,” I say, slipping off my shoes and tucking my feet beneath me, “Renn has never been wrong. If he was, I’d probably just stay out of it.”

“Why are you so loyal to him?”

Are you not? I start to ask that, but change my mind. Because if the answer is no, then that puts me in a pickle. I can’t really be loyal to Renn and know that Gray is not. But I can’t work for Gray and keep stuff from Renn.

It seems I’m reminded every time I’m here that it’s better not to know everything.

“Why are you asking so many questions?” I ask and then take a sip of water.

He sits up and places his bottle on the floor beside him. His attention switches from me to the chessboard. He takes a white pawn and advances it two spaces. “Why do you take offense to me asking questions?”

“I don’t.” Not exactly, anyway . I put my feet on the floor. Then I lean forward and move a black pawn two squares, mirroring his move. “I’m just not sure why it matters.”

He moves a knight. “Maybe it doesn’t.”

“Good. Then we can avoid that going forward.” I move a knight to defend my pawn and ignore the smirk on his face. “Are you getting used to the calendar? I know it can be confusing at first, but I swear it’ll make both of our lives easier once you get the hang of it.”

“I find it a pain in the ass, honestly. It makes me feel like I’m on probation or something.”

I laugh. “Does that make me your probation officer?”

“You’re definitely more like a warden.” He chuckles, grinning at me. “I can actually see you as a warden. You’d have the convicts shaking in their prison flip-flops.”

“Oh, hell, no. I’d be terrified. I’m not cut out for prison life in any form.”

He snorts. “Come on, Astrid. You can’t tell me that having control over hundreds of people at one time doesn’t turn you on at least a little bit.”

“Well, when you put it like that …”

He moves his bishop, pinning my knight to my king. “On a serious note, I do like how you’ve color-coded things. It’s efficient.”

Everything works better when it’s color-coded.

“Thanks.” I grin, advancing a pawn so he needs to decide whether to capture my knight or retreat. “I took longer than you’d imagine choosing those colors.”

He studies the board, weighing his move. His lashes are so long, so dark from this angle that they look fake. “That’s really not that hard to believe.”

I lean back into the sofa again and glance around the room.

It’s a decent size—probably a quarter bigger than mine.

A window on the opposite wall allows a good amount of light in, definitely enough to grow a plant or two.

If he had a few things on the walls and maybe a chair or reading lamp, this place could be downright cute.

He retreats. “Do you have a calendar like that for your life?”

“Of course, I do.” I move another knight forward. “I have a personal one, a work one, Renn’s, Blakely’s, and now I have yours. But, believe it or not, I kinda love it. I was always the kid who scored high on organizational skills in high school. It feeds my soul.”

“Calendars feed your soul?”

I nod.

His dimples shine in his cheeks. “You need a hobby.”

“You are not the first person to tell me that recently.”

He laughs as he castles his king.

The sound of his laughter catches me off guard. It’s the first time I’ve heard it, aside from the occasional chuckle at my expense. It’s in stark contrast to the argumentative, taciturn man I usually encounter. Wrapping my head around the fact that Gray is both men is difficult.