Page 35 of Play Me

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

Astrid

“Did he feel bad about it?” I ask, taking a sip of my third beer.

It’s supposedly a fan-favorite concoction that only comes out during the spring fair.

It’s so popular, in fact, that it’s the only alcoholic beverage served at the festival.

All I can figure is that it’s a local delicacy because it tastes like trash to me.

Brooks snorts, telling me without telling me that my question was ill-informed. “No, sunshine. He was in the gym to prove a point.”

Sunshine? I lift a brow, and he winks with a cockiness that has me rolling my eyes.

“I thought you were training, which by definition would mean that you were trying to help each other improve,” I say.

Brooks shakes his head. “Gray, get your girl.”

Our group of Gray’s family and friends who are hanging outside of Patsy’s laughs.

Although I know that no one is laughing at me—because they truly are some of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life—I still blush … and refuse to sneak a glimpse at Gray. The heat of his gaze warms the side of my face.

We’ve not spoken about our almost kiss in his bedroom, mainly because Hartley rode to the fair with us.

We’ve not had a moment alone, but his leg did rest against mine in the truck.

His palm has lain in the small of my back multiple times this evening.

And he wiped cotton candy stuck to my bottom lip with his thumb, nearly killing me in the process.

I’m buzzed. I’d blame it on the beer, but it started well before Hartley bought the first round at Patsy’s a couple of hours ago. This is so foreign to me, and I wish I had Gianna here to explain it since she seems to know everything when it comes to attraction. Because I am attracted to Gray.

God, help me.

I snap a picture of the group and send it to Audrey and Gianna. It takes Gianna point-one seconds to reply.

Gianna: How does it feel to be God’s favorite?

I giggle, sitting at an empty picnic table to the right of Gray and the guys.

Me: Wish you were here.

Gianna: Not as much as I do, I promise you that. Who are those people? Specifically, the three guys who are not Gray.

Me: Gray’s brother, Hartley, is in the flannel shirt. His best friend Brooks is in the navy T-shirt. Their friend Jasper is wearing the cowboy hat, and the girl with him is Meadow. I haven’t decided whether they’re dating or if she just wants to date him.

Gianna: She wants to fuck him. He’s not into it. Look at their body language.

I lift my sights to the two of them standing next to Gray. Meadow’s hand is casually placed on Jasper’s shoulder, but he’s leaning slightly away from her. If that means anything, then Gianna is right. Wonder what she would have to say about my body language with Gray?

He catches my attention and mouths, “Are you good?”

I grin and nod.

The sky is an art piece as the sun dips just above the brick buildings lining Sugar Street.

Vivid oranges and pinks, with flashes of electric purple, paint a spectacular background for the Sugar County Fair.

Lights flash from food trucks offering grease-soaked and sprinkle-covered snacks.

Children’s joyous shouts ring out as they risk their lives on various rides, especially the one that tips them upside down.

Chimes ring somewhere in the distance as someone wins a cheap prize that took twenty bucks to win—and it’s wonderful.

Blissful, even. Things hit different in this small town.

Even the people.

Me: Sometimes I wish I was as bold as you.

Gianna: *pops collar* Thank you for that compliment.

Audrey: You don’t have to be bold, Astrid. Just be you. That’s enough.

Gianna: *gags self with spoon*

Audrey:

Gianna:

Me: I’ll keep you posted on the events of the evening.

Gianna: Feel free to send pics. Nudes (not of you), preferably.

I snort and darken my screen.

“Here you go,” Hartley says, holding a funnel cake in his hand. “Beer and funnel cake go together like beans and cornbread.”

“Really?”

“Nope. Not even a little bit.” He laughs. “But the line for lemon shakeups was outrageous, so you get what you get.”

“You’ll hear no complaints from me,” I say, taking it. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.”

I rip a corner off the confection, getting powdered sugar all over my fingers, and pop it into my mouth. The dough is sweet and slightly crispy. I haven’t had one of these in forever.

Hartley sits beside me, watching his brother and friends trade stories. He folds his hands on the table. “I’m glad you came by with Gray today. It was nice meeting someone from his life.”

I take another bite. “Does that not happen often?”

“Nah, Gray keeps his work life and home life separate. Always has. But once Mom and Dad died, he definitely pulled away.”

My throat tightens right along with my stomach. I set the funnel cake on the table and dust my hands off to the side. I knew they had passed, but I didn’t expect anyone to bring it up, and I surely wasn’t going to poke around about it.

“How long have they been gone?” I ask carefully, unsure how alike he is to his brother. Will he flip-flop from hot to cold? Clam up? Or speak freely? I have no clue.

“It’ll be eight years this fall.” He exhales, and the heaviness of the topic is written in the lines around his mouth and eyes. “I worry a lot about Gray, and I try to keep in contact with him as much as he’ll let me. But, if you haven’t recognized, he’s a pain in the ass.”

I grin at Hartley. “I have recognized that, believe it or not.”

He chuckles. “He’s happy with you around.”

I flinch, pulling away from him to get a better look at his face. Surely, he’s joking. “I think he’s just happy to be home.”

“No, I think it’s you.” He smiles at me. “You’re good for him. And you must have the patience of a saint to put up with his shit, so thank you for that.”

“He’s not that bad.” Now that we’ve stopped fighting all the time, anyway. The thought makes me curious, and I take a swallow of beer to help make me bold. “Can I ask you something, Hartley?”

“Sure.”

“Before Gray came to Nashville, he had a reputation for being … difficult. I’m sure you’ve seen some of the headlines written about him.”

He nods, staring off into the distance.

“I’m having a hard time making sense of the fact that the Gray in those reports is the Gray I see in Nashville, who is the same Gray that’s here tonight. So what gives?”

Hartley leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. His palms scratch down his thighs like I’ve seen Gray do a million times. All the while, I pray silently that I haven’t overstepped my bounds and put my nose where it doesn’t belong.

“My dad always said two things when it came to other people,” Hartley says, drawing his attention back to me.

“The first was to always give people the benefit of the doubt. Think the best of them, if at all possible. The second was that the way someone treats you is who they are. You judge them based on what you see and not what you hear.”

There’s a depth to his gaze, drawing me into the moment, making me contemplate his words. It’s a steady, gentle look that still holds a magnificent amount of weight. He thinks what he’s said is important and clearly wants me to understand that.

Point received.

The band begins to play on the stage, which is just the bed of a semi-truck with a few plants and advertisements from local businesses hanging from it. The song they start with is an oldie but a goodie. I recall it playing at my grandma’s house when I was a little girl.

I sigh, swaying softly to the music and contemplating Hartley’s words. There’s more to it than meets the eye, but I can’t sort through the beer-induced fog well enough to get to the nugget of truth.

“Astrid, do you want another beer? Bottle of water? Anything?” Gray asks, suddenly appearing at my side.

I smile up at him. “The ground is already a little wobbly, so I think I’ve had enough.”

“I’m going to go grab another one. Be right back.”

Hartley stands. “I’ll go with you.”

Couples begin to dance on the closed road in front of the stage, their arms draped around each other.

Everyone in Sugar Creek seems so … happy.

No one is rushed or busy. Even the children who speed by—all hyped up on candy—seem to be living their best life.

It’s a relief—better than I could’ve imagined.

A long, deep breath fills my lungs, going deeper than any breath has managed in a long time. It slows my heartbeat in a way that yoga, medication, and a caffeine-free lifestyle all failed to accomplish. How is that possible?

“You.” Brooks’s smile is full of mischief as he sets his sights on me. “Come on.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dance with me.”

Dance with him? I glance over my shoulder and spot Gray watching us. “I think I’ll wait here.”

Brooks leans closer, giving me a wicked grin. “Look, as Gray’s best friend and the only person who probably knows him better than he knows himself, you need to dance with me. Sometimes it takes a little competition to spur men into action.”

I laugh, leaning forward on my elbows. “You see, Brooks, for that to be true, you must assume that Gray hasn’t already sprung into action or that I want him to.”

“You see, Astrid, I know he hasn’t sprung into action because I’ve been talking to you for three minutes and I can still chew my food properly.” He chuckles. “And I know damn good and well you want him to because if there’s anyone that I can read better than Gray, it’s women.”

“Oh, please,” I say, laughing. “You don’t have a confidence problem, do you?”

He leans back and holds out his hand. “What’s not to be confident about? Now, are you going to dance with me or not?”

I glance at Gray again. He has a marker in his hand, signing a shirt for a little boy. An older woman is standing entirely too close to Gray to be comfortable, and Gray’s clearly not happy about it—the tension in his body proves that—but he’s occupied.

“Fine,” I say, getting to my feet. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”