Page 12 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

Gen

I watch the two of them, jaws tense as they look over the menu.

Will gives Olivia a sidelong glance, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, and she just rolls a shoulder away from him.

I’m on the verge of saying something snarky, something that’ll cut, when I feel Andy slide into the booth beside me and distract myself by greeting him instead.

Except then I can’t even do that, because Grant is here, stealing every thought and breath I have away.

He has no business being this handsome, all of a sudden.

The cut of his sleeve highlights his brawny arms, his broad shoulders setting him apart from the rest of the men at the table.

He’s the same height as Will, but sitting across from him he seems more commanding, more capable.

Feeling myself blush I turn away from Andy, clinging to the only lifeline I have at this table—Will.

“Do you know what you’re getting?” I ask him, ignoring Olivia.

He starts to answer, but it would take a force of nature for me to ignore Grant’s eyes on me, not notice the way his gaze heats my skin.

But I don’t dare look his way. I don’t trust what I’m going to say or do if I interact with him right now.

The dynamic we have with this group of people is so different from the one we’re developing when it’s just us two.

It’d be one thing if we’d just hooked up and moved on, if I wasn’t constantly texting him.

That’s really the problem. If I could just stop responding, I could move on from this.

Maybe find another perfectly built, stupidly handsome guy to have a one night fling with.

But even that gives me pause because now I want to sleep with him, specifically.

Unfortunately for me, Grant actually is a nice guy.

He’s responsive, and thoughtful. He listens and remembers things, pays really close attention to things I half remember saying.

I almost think it would be better if he was just a hot, insufferable asshole I could barely stand to speak to.

Andy’s moaning interrupts my momentary spiral, and I know he has to have ordered the nachos. I peek at his plate, unsurprised to find oversized tortillas chips individually loaded with too many, but just enough toppings. Truly incredible—but his reaction is not.

“We could do without the grotesque sound effects,” I say, my face contorted in exaggerated disgust, if only to remind myself not to ask the server to bring another one.

“Awe come on, Gen. Don’t take your sexual frustration out on poor ol’ Andy. If you’re in need of hearing a man groan, I’m always?—”

Scott’s date cuts him off, smacking his arm, and here we go again .

Shooting me a look he thinks is endearing but is actually irritating to me, he croons, “Gen knows I’m kidding, right?”

I just ignore him, over his commentary, so done with the thinly veiled, disgusting things he says to me.

Thankfully, Will puts him in his place, and Scott sits back in his spot, taking a defeated sip of his drink.

I grab my vodka soda, shaking it off and turning back to my best friend, shaking off Grant’s tense presence just a person away.

I can practically feel his irritation, despite the Andy sized barrier between us, his fist still slightly clenched on the table from Scott’s remark.

I realize I’m staring at his indecently oversized hand and look back at Will, only to see his jaw tick, the conversation having turned to his poor performance at practice. I know that tick; it’s his tell.

“Olivia, are you fucking deaf?”

I wince, his tone slicing against me even though his question was directed at Olivia.

I watch Grant shoot up from his spot, sliding out of the booth, his gaze finding mine, and my heart feels lodged in my throat. Between Will’s mood and Grant’s attention, I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin.

“I’m getting a drink,” he says directly to me, and I freeze. “Gen—do you want to join me?”

Yes , I want to say, the deep beat of my heart practically begging me to follow him to the bar.

I’m on edge, between pretending I don’t know Grant any better than I did a few weeks ago and Will’s shitty mood tonight.

At this moment, all I want is to escape into the comforting warmth of a conversation with Grant.

But I can’t do that—won’t do that. It would be confirmation of who I’ve been texting, which would lead to questions I don’t want to answer.

This thing with Grant is supposed to be a secret, something just for me , something temporary, a blip.

In another life, I’d want nothing more than to talk at the dimly lit bar with him but in this one, the one where he and Will barely tolerate each other, I need him to follow my lead.Why is he intent on making this more complicated than it needs to be?

“I’m good,” I answer without looking at him.

Instead, I give Will a look that I’m hoping comes off puzzled, and when he smirks at me, like we’re both in on a joke, I huff a nervous laugh.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Grant walk away and I know I’m not imagining the hurt that seems to be billowing off of him.

Fuck .

This feels… bad. Nerves settle in my stomach as I jump back into our conversation, my hands gripping the table like it will ground me. I hear my laugh as if it’s coming from someone else and try to throw myself back into my body, hastily downing my drink before calling for another.

When Grant finally comes back to the table, he doesn’t even spare me a glance.

I deserve that , I think to myself, self-loathing trickling down my spine as I sip my new cocktail.

The server comes around with checks, and we clear out, apparently heading to a bar down the street. Naturally , Olivia doesn’t want to come, but I’m too consumed by my own shit to care as much as I usually would.

“I’ll give you a ride back,” Grant says, suddenly beside her and my skin feels hot with shame when I realize he still won’t look at me. This invitation to Olivia feels like a punishment, something Will would do if I’m being honest, and all I can do is try to protect myself.

I turn on my heel, dragging Will by the hand and he stumbles, laughing as he rights himself. We join the rest of the group and head down the road, but not before I spare a glance back at Grant as he ushers Liv into his car.

We finally lock eyes, for the briefest of moments, and where I expect to see hurt in his eyes I instead see disbelief. My breathing hitches as he looks me over, pushing the door shut.

“Where’s Gen?” I hear Andy wonder in the distance.

I watch Grant pause at the driver’s side, his mouth open like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He gets in the car and drives away without a single glance.

If I hear Scott’s irritating chortle one more time, I’m going to shred his vocal cords myself.

I slide my gaze to where he’s leaning against the hightop, a beer sloshing in his hand. Will’s egging him on to join the impromptu cotton eyed joe happening in between tables, and apparently it’s the funniest shit Scott’s ever heard.

I glance over my shoulder and around the bar, wondering how early is too early to leave. Nothing about this place is appealing to me right now. As if he read my mind, Will knocks me with his elbow, his warmth seeping into my arm as he moves closer.

“Don’t leave me,” he pleads in my ear, turning so I can see his mossy, puppy dog eyes.

I cross my arms, looking up at him through my lashes. “If I’d known you were inviting Scott tonight, I wouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“Come on, Genny,” he says, guiding my gaze over to where Scott is attempting some archaic dance move. “He’s a fun time.” He shrugs, grinning at me like that’s justification enough.

Forget that I don’t like Scott, or that he’s constantly making some off-collar joke at my expense—‘he’s a good time’.

So I should just get over it, I guess. But I’ve been accepting whoever Will wants to pull into our little circle for years without so much as a complaint because I refuse to be that girl.

Still, I’m feeling prickly after dinner, my thoughts continuing to circle back to Grant and how I might’ve made him feel.

I want to text him and explain myself, but every time I begin to, I realize I don’t even know what excuse I have. What I did was shitty.

“I mean look at him,” Will chuckles, raising his beer can in Scott’s direction as he shimmies behind Andy.

“He’s immature,” I deadpan. He moves so that he’s behind me now, his hand cupping my shoulder as he leans down, his mouth almost brushing against my ear. It’s not overtly intimate, and he’s been drinking, but shivers run down me nevertheless, and I swear I feel him smile.

“You’re more uptight than usual tonight. We should dance,” he says quiet enough so that only I can hear him. The hand on my shoulder runs down my arm, his large palm curving around my waist. Conflicted desire swirls in my chest as I grasp his bicep, stilling his movements.

“Will…” I trail off, my mind warring between the dream of us I’ve had since childhood and the reality that makes it obvious I shouldn’t let him do this.

“We always had so much fun dancing,” he reminds me, a smile in his voice.

And I remember the times we’d go out or end up at some crazy house party; when he’d pull me in close as we shouted the lyrics to whatever song was playing, grinding against each other and pretending it didn’t happen the next morning.

I let him guide me onto the dance floor, spinning around to put some distance between us, because we’re not sixteen anymore.

We can’t just tip headfirst into each other whenever it feels convenient, like we used to.

Mild annoyance flashes in his gaze as he pulls me close, only a few inches between us, he wraps his arms low around my waist.

“Now, was that so hard?” His mouth pulls into this coy smile, the one that’s always disarmed me. I roll my eyes, letting a smile flit to my lips, taking a breath like it’ll blow all the tension out.

“Is it your mission in life to piss Olivia off?” I can’t help but feel a twinge of glee, the image of her slyly whispering something in Ben’s ear at the bonfire flashing in my mind. Her discomfort at mine and Will’s relationship feels like karma, even if it shouldn’t.

“Not everything is about her. Maybe,” he steps into me, his lips brushing my ear as the rest of him presses against me, exhilaration rushes my system.

I glance to my left, then to my right, and realize we’re just nameless bodies in the sea of people now crowing this bar.

“Maybe I just wanted to dance with you .”

I gaze up into his green eyes, green the way the ocean sometimes is, before I land on his mouth. My lips tingle with the urge to press them against his; lips that look like they’re begging to be kissed. Instead, I press mine together. Because it wouldn’t change anything—it never has.

I step back, replacing the distance he eviscerated, and try to change the subject. “Remember how much we danced that last summer?”

Sadness shades his eyes, and even though it shouldn’t, it bothers me that we can’t reminisce on that time. On her.

He stands up a little straighter, something in his gaze shifting focus.

“The before times,” he says, unable to even say her name.

As much as I didn’t like that Lily and him were together, I loved that he was happy.

If I would have known that she would stay with him for this long…

I wo uld’ve done things differently. I could’ve done a million things differently, but I didn’t.

“You know, it’s really okay here—in the after times. If you could just?—”

“I’m—” he cuts me off, looking past me, “not doing this right now, Gen. Not tonight.”

A shiver runs across my shoulders, and I feel iced out of my own best friendship. Like I offer him this olive branch only for him to snap it on his way out.

How long am I meant to wait for him to deal with his shit?

My eyes narrow on him, my sneer padding the hurt I feel. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Don’t,” he says with a nonchalance so brutal, I feel it beneath my breastbone. I’d usually stick around for his mood to get better but I can’t—not when I just chose his feelings over Grant’s.

“Yeah. Okay, well…I’m gonna go.” A curt smile pulls across my face as I wedge my way through the crowd, grabbing my clutch from the table top.

“Gen, I didn’t—” he sighs, following close behind.

“I have a headache. We’re good,” I lie, still unable to truly leave him on bad terms.

“Yeah?” His boyish grin feels out of place right now, but I love it. I always have.

“Yes, Chapman,” I look up at him, fishing his keys off the table before making a show of dropping them in my bag. “Text me when you get home safely.”

I shove the door of the stingy bar open and suck in a breath.

It’s exhausting, carrying this baggage for him—baggage he should have dealt with years ago.

We should have told Olivia about the summer we spent with her best friend, Lily; we should’ve told her how Lily talked about her, told us about the girl she loved more than anything but refused to bring around us; should’ve told her about the way Lily and Will’s love crashed and burned at the end of that summer.

But we didn’t, because he told me not to. She told me not to, before she died. When I think of that July, it’s the three of us on the shoreline that I see, etched in my mind.

I release a shaky breath, shocked to feel its reverberations across my body.

This ancient pull Will has on me tries its best to tug me back into the bar, back to him.

But this newly minted corner of my brain, the one seeking the sense of autonomy I felt after leaving Grant’s the other night, tells me to walk the fuck away.