Page 17 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

Gen

I can spot them a few rows in front of me, Will’s arm lazily slung over Olivia’s shoulders, casually playing with the ends of her hair. Just as my gaze lands on him he turns slightly in his seat, scanning the room until he spots me.

He gives me that little nod he’s always reserved for me, but it’s more hesitant than usual.

My mind flashes to the game as I nod back and quickly look toward the professor, wanting to avoid Olivia Beckett’s wrath this evening.

My phone buzzes in my bag and my stomach does a little flip as I hope and pray that it’s Grant.

That he’s finally responded to me. I understand why he wouldn’t, after I—for not the first time—iced him out because of Will.

If he would answer, I feel like I could explain.

It’s not him, though. It’s Will.

Will

Are you avoiding me?

I glance back at where he’s sitting and see him shift in his seat, the way he does whenever he’s antsy.

It’s bothering him—the suspicion that something’s going on with Grant—just like I knew it would.

The tenseness in his shoulders is visible from where I sit, and as much as I wish it wasn’t because of me, I know it is.

Nope, just trying to pay attention!

I catch him relax in his seat as he sends his reply.

Will

I miss you Genny.

I huff out a breath, feeling spun. Because I’ve been missing him for a really long time, but it’s the threat of someone new that’s finally enough for him to try to come back to me.

It wasn’t always this complicated with us.

Once upon a time, we were all the other one had.

He was all I had. A new school, a new state, an entirely new class of people—it was a lot for an eleven year old still grieving her dad.

Suddenly, I was in the throws of wealth and abundance at Lexington Prep, all expenses paid by a new stepdad.

I can still feel the itchy blazer we had to wear, the nerves from that first week, a constant buzz beneath my skin even now.

The voices that insisted I remember I was an outsider in this new world.

I remember the way Will burst into my field of vision that first day, me sitting alone at a table, content to just be ignored.

The alternative was worse, and it’d been happening all day: where are you from, why did you move, how do you get your hair so curly, what’s it like to live in the Bronx?

I didn’t bother telling them I wasn’t actually from the Bronx.

It took me all of an hour to realize that rolling my eyes and smirking would fend off the nosy suburbanites .

But Will just sat down at my table, not at all put off by any part of me.

Pulled me into his little circle, made room for me in his life from that moment and every day after.

I remember us like that so clearly—me with my slicked back, curly ponytail, him with his perpetually tousled hair, the real life version of a boy band poster.

Trading the turkey slices my mom would pack me for lunch for his mountain of fries, making plans after school between my ballet and his basketball. Slowly becoming intertwined.

The buzz of my phone has me blinking back to reality, and the same phone number that made my heart flutter all those years ago appears on the screen. And it’s still butterflies in my stomach when I see his name. I wish they would die off already.

Will

Seriously, are we good?

I sigh, pretending to organize my notebook and pens to avoid his gaze.

Are we good? I’m longing for a text from his brother’s best friend.

The same brother whose return has thrown Will totally off kilter.

Not to mention said brother’s best friend is the only guy I’ve seen Will literally sneer at.

And yet, he dragged Grant off the court, stepped in when he didn’t need to.

This feels like the last thing I should type out, so instead I settle for a lie by omission.

It’s Nutcracker season, things have been crazy. We’re fine.

Finally dismissed, I get up to leave and see Will turn toward me, as if he’s going to walk my direction.

I pick up my pace, tossing my books in my bag and quickly walking out the door.

The cool air hits me and I feel my phone buzz again against my palm just as the familiar warmth of Will’s hand wraps around my arm.

I look around for Liv, surprised to see her already gone.

“You don’t have rehearsal tonight,” he says on a laugh, a question lodged in the depths of his olive eyes.

“Uh, yeah, no. I don’t,” I tell him, refusing to answer the implication. I don’t want to hurt him, and I will if he pries anymore.

“We should grab dinner.” His eyes search mine as he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, anticipating my response in a way he hasn’t in years.

It has tears gathering behind my eyes, because it’s always when I don’t want his attention that it seems to land on me, so I check my phone as a distraction to buy myself time.

“Let me just—” I start, indicating that I need to look at a calendar or something I most definitely don’t use, like a phone planner, as I come up with a reason not to grab dinner with him.

The notification from moments ago snags my attention, Grant’s name soothing the anxiety creeping up my spine, despite not knowing what I’ll find.

Grant

Where are you? I need to see you.

A wave of relief washes over me, and I realize I need to see him, too. Need to feel the calm comfort he seems to bring me.

I just want this dread to wash away. I want to stop feeling like I’m doing something wrong.

Where are you?

Grant

Pub 24.

“Gen?” Will’s voice has me snapping my attention back to him.

Hands in his pockets, jaw hard and set, his golden hair falling across his brow, gaze searing into me—he is devastating.

And I don’t want to grab dinner with him.

Don’t want to sit there and feel like pursuing myself, for once, is a bad thing.

I clear my throat like it’ll brush the thoughts away. “Where’s Liv?”

“Newspaper.” His throat bobs, waiting.

“I have…plans,” I tell him, surprising myself. I watch for the suspicion to roll in, wait for him to ask a follow up.

“With Jean?” There it is.

“With friends,” I supply him with, my tone clear, that's all I’m going to say.

Lips pressed together as he glances away, he nods. “Okay, Genny. Got it.” He starts to walk away, pausing before doubling back. “Be safe. Okay?”

My heart trips over itself, catching me off guard. It’s these small glimpses of who he’s always been to me that hurt the most. Because of course, they show up now. A streak of frustration rips through me, and I finally type back my response.

Be there in 20.

The dim bar is washed in the pinkish, orange glow of neon signs.

I recognize this place as being the hot spot for washed up college graduates, not the typical location for the spawn of the elite and I let out a small relieved sigh, feeling much more comfortable in this atmosphere.

The bars near campus always leave me feeling so naked, so perceived—like any misstep is going to be catalogued and added to my sheet of transgressions, whatever those are.

The usual tenseness in my spine relaxes when I realize no one will know us here.

And then I spot Andrew Spellman shooting his shot with a drop dead gorgeous blonde who is most definitely too cool for him.

My hand grips the strap of my bag harder. A montage of Will’s disappointed face flashes through my mind, every moment someone let him down, and it makes my stomach sink, all the excitement from moments ago seeping out.

I wade deeper into the room, my gaze finally landing on Grant, a warmth I’ve come to associate with him radiating from my chest. The corners of my mouth tug up at the sight of him not in athleisure.

It’s rare to see him out of his typical athletic garb, save for a few galas where you can tell he’s uncomfortable, his broad shoulders crammed in a suit.

But something about the sight of Grant in jeans and a light gray henley has me sucking in a breath.

He has a backwards hat on, his honey brown waves peeking out the edges, his boyish dimples directed at whatever Andy is saying to the blonde even more heart stopping.

Then he spots me, his blue eyes, almost navy in the dark glow of the bar, locking with mine.

Over the din of the music, I barely register what he says to the girl, but he never takes his eyes off me.

I feel weightless, like I could float to him if I wanted to and I move toward him without much effort, the force of attraction doing all the work.

They’re all looking at me when I finally enter their sphere, and that nervous tension I usually get around my peers tracks back into my neck.

Grant’s arm loops around me, pulling me into him in a casual hug, but when his thumb brushes back and forth against my arm it’s like he’s forcing the walls back down.

“Hi.” The word comes out breathier than I mean it to, as if I’ve been holding the air in my lungs since I stepped in.

“Hey, Gen.” The low timber of his voice is soft and deep, and my cheeks warm in response.

A small squeal of excitement pulls me out of whatever dreamlike stance I was in with Grant, and I find the movie star worthy blonde taking me in, the corners of her eyes crinkling as a broad smile takes form on her perfectly pouty lips. I tense without realizing it.

“Gen! You don’t know me but I’m pretty sure my brother is minorly obsessed with you.

He’s been starin’ at his phone all night, clearly thinking about you.

” She throws her arms around me as I register the words brother and obsessed , and I quickly put together that this must be Sloane.

Of course, it’s Sloane. The tall leggy blonde with the deep blue eyes and golden tan could only be Grant’s twin sister.

I was so wrapped up in him that I didn’t even put two and two together.

I step back, trying to pull confidence into my face and force it into a smile, my drive to win her approval floating to the fore of my mind. She’s looking at me with antsy curiosity, her bubbly excitement contagious, and I realize she's looking at me like I’m anything but a bitchy ice queen.

“Obsessed?” I send a coy glance Grant’s way, testing the waters, a shiver running through me when he doesn’t argue. “You must be Sloane.”

“The one and only!” she says, tossing her hair with unbridled flair, and I love it. Love her, already. “Don’t let him deny it either. He is obsessed . ”

Andy clears his throat beside her, reminding us that he exists and reminding me that this will all get back to Will. Based on how he’s staring past me I can tell he’s uncomfortable, too.

“Oh, do you know Andrew?” Sloane perks up, as if she could be any perkier.

“I do.” My tone comes out flatter than I mean it to and Grant chuckles.

“Hey, Gen,” Andy says, like he didn’t even notice.

“I feel like I never see you out without—” he stops himself, awkwardly clearing his throat just as Grant furrows his brows at him.

“Jean. I was gonna say Jean?” I laugh despite myself and lean into Grant, suddenly hyper aware of the subtle press of his thigh against mine.

He leans back, doubling down on our proximity.

“I’m missing something,” Sloane says, eyes darting between the three of us.

“Nothing important,” Grant says with this definitive air that says he’ll handle this and anything I could ever need, and I realize that maybe he’s already forgiven me. That inviting me here was his way of saying, ‘let’s just forget that happened.’

Grant grabs the darts from Andy’s hands and bumps him with his shoulder before bending down to say something in his ear. Andy swallows so deeply, it’s comical.

“Gen, I’m really excited that you’re here and I wouldn’t dream of saying anything.” Andy wears this exaggerated smile and I spot Grant’s amused face behind him, a sheepish grin replacing it when he meets my eyes.

“I didn't take you for being so easily intimidated,” I say, grabbing the last dart he’s grasping in his palm.

“Especially by this big teddy bear.” I use the voice I make when I see an adorable puppy at the park as I approach Grant, the deep waves of his laugh massaging any remaining tension out of me.

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me a little closer and it feels like I just click into place.

Like I was always meant to be perfectly nestled into his side.

He calls back over his shoulder to Andy and Sloane.

“Two on two?”