Page 31 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter nineteen

RYLEIGH

“What movie did the leukemia patient watch last night?” I ask, fighting to hide my grin.

Grayson sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Finding Chemo.” I laugh, clutching my stomach until my sides ache, mostly because I know how much my jokes annoy him.

Sure enough, when I glance over at Grayson, I don’t get so much as a lip twitch. “Oh, come on,” I say, lifting my legs from where they’re slung over his lap on the couch. “You know that was a good one.”

“Is she telling cancer jokes again?” Mom bustles through the living room with a laundry basket clutched to her chest.

It’s been more than a week since the party, and in that time, Grayson has somehow become a permanent fixture in my home.

Even on game days, he’s here, usually before he plays, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s using me for something to occupy his time and stay sober or if staying sober is the natural byproduct of his time spent here.

Either way, my mom loves Grayson. I have yet to reapproach the trip with her, but I will soon.

I’m feeling optimistic, and with any luck, my scans will come back clean and give her just another reason to let me go.

“Yep.” Grayson grins, and I reach across the couch and pinch him. “Ow!” He laughs.

Snitch , I mouth.

“Just so you know, I plan on folding laundry while watching my soaps,” Mom says, scooping the remote up from the arm of the couch. “So, unless you’re interested in helping and seeing if Marcum finally chooses Beatrice, I suggest you skedaddle.”

I grimace. “We’re going,” I say at the same time Grayson says, “We don’t mind.”

I stare at him wide-eyed. “Uh, yes, we do. We mind very much.” I nudge him with my socked foot, imploring him to get up.

The last thing I want to do is fold laundry or watch her stupid soaps.

I narrow my eyes when he doesn’t budge, wondering if Grayson secretly likes the soaps, when he stands and stretches, reaching his arms in the air with a groan.

A sliver of tan, toned skin peeks out from beneath the hem of his shirt and my gaze lingers a little too long on the thin smattering of dark hair disappearing below his waistband.

I shift my attention back to his face and find he’s watching me .

My cheeks flush at having been caught, but he just smirks and pulls his shirt down before he nods toward the hall. “Wanna listen to some music?”

He might as well ask me if I want to get naked for how hot my cheeks are burning right now.

Actually, in my mind, he did ask me if I want to get naked.

“Uh, sure.” I stand and grab his hand, dragging him from the living room toward the hallway as Mom shouts, “Door open!”

“Okay!” I yell back.

It doesn’t take long to get to my room, since our house is so small, but once we’re inside, I turn and shut the door behind us.

Grayson laughs. “Didn’t your mom say to keep it open?”

I roll my eyes. “Kiss-ass.”

“We could’ve stayed and watched her soaps. I don’t mind,” he says, taking two steps toward my bed, then flopping down on it like he owns the place.

With his large body sprawled out over the mattress, it looks more like a twin, not a full-sized bed. I’d like to say I don’t enjoy the sight of him where I sleep, but it would be a lie. Sometimes at night, after he leaves, I bury my face in the blankets and breathe him in.

I bite my thumbnail as I take him in. From here, I can make out the shape of his pecs and the subtle ripple of abdominals beneath his shirt.

Maybe coming to my room was a bad idea. I can’t seem to pull my head from the gutter today .

My gaze drifts back to his. “I mind, Grayson. I mind very much. We’ve watched soaps with her twice already this week, and if I have to hear about Beatrice and Marcus—”

“Marcum,” he corrects me.

“Whatever.” I throw my hands out. “If I have to hear about those two one more time, I’ll go insane.”

“Isn’t the whole point to be around her, though? So she can see us together, get to know me, build trust. Blah blah blah.”

“Yes, but I think she likes you more than she likes me at this point, so mission accomplished,” I say, feeling irritable for no reason.

Grayson laughs, and I snatch one of my throw pillows off the bed and toss it at him.

“Be serious,” he says.

“Oh, I am. I wanted to finish off the last of that fluffy strawberry fruit dip last night, and you know what she said? She gave me this haughty look and said she was saving that for you because it’s your favorite.”

Grayson tips his head back, laughing even harder now and clutching the pillow to his face to smother the sound, and even though I’m annoyed, I have to admit, laughter from Grayson is so hard won it lights me up from the inside out like a human lightning bug.

“She did not,” he says, more serious now.

“She did. I had to eat my apples plain.” I grimace to emphasize my displeasure.

“Well, her dip is my new favorite. It’s fucking epic. ”

“Yeah, well, I polished it off when she was in the shower this morning,” I say with a grin.

Grayson gasps. “How dare you!”

I shrug, feeling rather good about myself.

“Aw, is someone feeling jealous?” he teases. “Worried I’ll replace you and become the son your mom never had?” he mocks.

I scoff. “As if.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m just annoyed because you’re a pain in my ass right now,” I say, smacking him in the arm.

“Take it back,” he says, his tone a warning.

“Never.” I lift my chin, and before I know what’s happening, Grayson lunges for me, tickling me under my arms until I fall back on the bed.

I gasp when he moves to my ribs. “Stop!” I manage between cries of laughter bordering on pain. “Stop—stop it nowwww!”

“Say mercy.”

“Never!”

Keeping his weight off me, he straddles me while I writhe and try to get away from him. “Come on, Sinclair. Concede.”

I shake my head, kicking out my legs, unable to control my limbs when he moves to my neck, then back to my underarms again. Shrieking, I hold out another couple of minutes until I can’t catch my breath. It’s physically not possible. Any longer and I won’t be able to breathe.

“I. Can’t. Breathe,” I gasp .

Grayson’s eyes widen and he jumps off me like I’m on fire.

Panting, I lay there motionless, sucking in wind and releasing a torrent of coughs until I roll onto my back and meet Grayson’s stormy gaze.

He plants his hands on either side of my head, caging me in, his breathing shallow as he stares down at me. “Shit, Sinclair. I’m sorry.”

Energy snaps between us, sharp and thick. I’d be pissed at myself for ruining his jovial mood if it weren’t for his arms boxing me in.

I still can’t breathe, but it’s no longer because he’s tickling me.

My gaze drifts down to his mouth, those full pouty lips I’ve only revisited in my dreams, and I wonder what he’d do if I leaned up and closed the gap, if I crushed my mouth to his.

As if he can read my thoughts, his eyes heat, the blue darkening against the gray like a restless ocean.

My heart threatens to beat out of my chest as I part my lips, watching as his pupils dilate.

Kiss me.

Seconds pass with nothing but the sound of our breath between us before he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts, then sits back on his haunches.

I want to both cry in relief and scream in frustration at the same time.

I know I shouldn’t want him. I shouldn’t want anyone when I don’t know what my future looks like, but just because I shouldn’t doesn’t mean I don’t. You can’t stop the heart from wanting when it has a mind of its own.

Each day Grayson’s been here, we’ve watched movies, played cards, and binged television shows.

We even got through the first three seasons of Vampire Diaries , which he’s never seen before, much to my horror.

Just last night, he stayed for dinner when his game got rained out, and each and every time he comes over, it gets easier to pretend.

We both grow a little more comfortable. Mom grows a little more comfortable.

I can tell by the way she doesn’t bother changing out of her clay-splattered work clothes—aka her old pajamas—when he’s around.

And all the while, we’re joking and playful, laughing and touching and talking.

He can hold my hand or hold my legs over his lap on the couch, but the one thing he can’t apparently do is kiss me again, and heaven knows he’s had plenty of opportunity.

For as much as we’ve been around my mother, we’ve also been alone, yet we haven’t even so much as talked about what happened at Kip’s.

Any time the party comes up in conversation, both of us just dance around it.

And it’s driving me fucking mad. Literally.

I rise from my spot on the bed and stomp over to the speaker on top of my dresser, flicking it on before I slide my phone from my pocket and choose my spiteful playlist. With a smirk, I wait as the first notes of “Since You’ve Been Gone” by Kelly Clarkson blast into the room.

I’m being unfair, I know I am. This thing between us isn’t real. I’m well aware of how completely amazing Grayson is, and at one time I might have been in his league, but I’m not fooling myself enough to know his league is light years away from mine now.

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to at least acknowledge the kiss.

Did he think it was awful? A mistake? I’m dying to know why he left just after it happened.

Add that to the fact that I had my scans on Monday, and I’m a giant ball of nerves, overwrought with anxiety. In a few days, we’ll know if the chemo helped, or if all of this was for nothing.

Annoyed with myself, I take a spot at the end of my bed and glance back at him.

I need to get my mind off this and on to something else.

“So, tell me about George Mason,” I say.

“What about it?” he asks, picking at a loose thread on my bedspread.

“Why there? What do you like about it?”

“Who says I like anything about it?”