Fly Bye
: Chapter 8

I climb out of the Uber and glance around the quiet, dark street. Sloane and I ended up in a more family-centric neighborhood. It’s after midnight, and the only place with lights on is ours. I paw through my clutch until I replace my house key and unlock the front door. I step inside and turn on more lights.

When Sloane mentioned to Noah that we were going out tonight, he offered to take care of Skye in the morning. I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to sleep past seven—and unpack more than a few boxes. My new bedroom resembles a storage container at the moment.

I kick off my heels and pull my hair off my sweaty neck. Sloane and I danced for the past two hours straight, up until she left with her bartender beau, and I ordered a ride back here.

As I walk through the house, I flick on more lights. Sloane is neater than me, so the living room and kitchen are both clean. I pour myself a glass of water and text her.

Evie: Just got home.

Evie: You good?

In response, she sends a photo of the bartender making her a drink…shirtless and in what must be his kitchen. I laugh at it and then switch over to my thread with Gray. He hasn’t sent anything since our exchange earlier. I type out my address, send it, and then toss my phone on the counter and head for the bathroom. After dancing in the bar for a couple of hours, I feel sweaty and gross.

I shower and shave all the necessary spots, stepping out of the stall right as the doorbell rings. My towel is missing from the hook. Sloane must have washed it. Considerate and really inconvenient right now. I dart down the hall, almost wiping out twice before I reach the hall closet and replace a towel.

By the time I make it to the front door, my skin is still damp, and I’m out of breath. I peer through the peephole before I open the door.

Gray is leaning against the doorframe with one shoulder, looking like he’s been standing out here for hours, not minutes. He takes in my wet hair and bare feet and heaving chest. I’m guessing most of his late-night hookups look a little more put together. A hint of amusement forms in the corners of his eyes and the curve of his lips.

“This your thing?”

“Huh?” I ask eloquently.

“Answering doors, wearing a towel. This is the second time it’s happened.”

“This is the second time I’ve ever answered a door, wearing a towel,” I reply. “Guess it’s just your lucky night.”

“Yeah, it is.”

He leans forward and kisses me before strolling inside, which I was not expecting. I shut the door and turn around to watch him take in the front hallway. There’s not much to see, just a striped rug and the hall table Sloane brought from her old place. Framed prints lean against the wall, waiting to be hung up.

“Decorating is a work in progress,” I explain as we walk down the hallway and past the kitchen. “My room is down here.”

It feels strange having him here in my space. Even weirder than when he was in my childhood bedroom. Gray spent plenty of time at my house growing up. Not because of me, but still, he was there. This room is all me. The only reason he’s here is me.

“Wow. You have a lot of books.”

There’s not much else to comment on in my bedroom. The walls are bare with the exception of a few pink sticky notes bearing scribbled reminders, and most of my other belongings are still packed away in brown boxes.

“I know. There was a used bookstore right by my place in Boston.”

“You hauled these all the way from Boston?” Gray’s eyebrows rise as he takes in the high stacks. I pulled a bunch out earlier to try my new seal on.

“Yeah. I’ve only read a few of them. I had so much reading to do for school that whenever I had any free time, it was pretty much the last thing I felt like doing.”

“Huh.” He looks around some more. “And…why are they all on the floor?”

I sigh. “I bought a bookcase, but I haven’t had time to put it together.”

He looks at me.

“I couldn’t figure out how to put it together,” I amend.

Gray laughs. “Where is it?”

“The closet.”

He walks over and opens the door. I follow, peering under his arm at the scraps of wood that haven’t moved since I dumped them in there the day the bookcase arrived from IKEA.

“The box didn’t come with instructions. After spending twenty minutes on hold, a nice woman named Susan said she would mail them to me. But I still haven’t—”

Gray starts pulling pieces of the bookcase out of the closet.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting it together.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” He takes a seat on the floor.

“Seriously. What are you doing?”

“I like a challenge, remember?” He flashes my favorite grin. Which leads to the realization that I have a favorite grin. That I know his different facial expressions that well.

“So… I should put clothes on?”

“Clothing is optional for construction.”

I roll my eyes as I walk over to a box and pull out an old T-shirt of Noah’s that I swiped in high school. It’s oversize and soft, and it fits over the towel before I drop it. Not that there’s anything Gray hasn’t seen before.

Gray glances up as I walk back over to him. “Nice T-shirt.”

I can’t tell if he’s being serious or teasing me.

“It’s Noah’s.”

“No, it’s not. It’s mine. I went to Glen Ridge Basketball Camp. Noah must have borrowed it and never given it back.”

“Oh. Do you want it back?” I ask and pray he says no. I had no attachment to this T-shirt until right this second, when I found out it was his.

He shakes his head with a small smirk.

I take a seat on the hard floor beside him, tucking my legs up underneath me. “Does it feel weird to you?”

“Does what feel weird?”

“What’s happened between us lately. We’ve known each other for most of our lives, and now, we’re…now, it’s different. For now.” I add the last part quickly, so he knows I’m not harboring any delusions about where this might lead.

“No. It’s the opposite of weird.”

I tilt my head. “What is the opposite of weird?”

Gray shrugs as he starts assembling the base of the bookcase. “Not sure. Usual?”

“I don’t think I want to be usual,” I protest.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he counters.

“I guess not.” I watch him work, deft movements shifting wood and sorting screws.

“Which one of these”—he gestures toward the stacks—“is your favorite book?”

I flip through the closest pile. “No idea. I told you, I haven’t read most of them.”

Gray chuckles and leans past me to grab one of them. “No way. You bought the sex books?”

My cheeks burn as I snatch my copy of Fifty Shades of Grey back from him. “Just the first one. I wanted to know what all the hype was about.”

“Did you read it?”

“I started it,” I admit.

“Got too graphic for you?” he teases.

I toss the book back. “If you’re so interested, why don’t you read it?”

He pages through the beginning, like he’s actually going to. “From the Library of Dr. Evie Collins?”

I’m sure I’m blushing again. “It was a graduation gift. I just got it, and I’m trying it out.”

“Didn’t you graduate almost a month ago?”

“Uh, yeah.” I play with the hem of my—well, Gray’s—shirt. “It was from Logan. He moved, so it got lost in the mail. It just arrived today.”

“Hmm.” An innocuous sound that hints at a lot.

I fall right for it. “What?”

“I guarantee he’s had it this whole time. He just wanted to figure out where you two stood first.”

Male insight is welcome even if the only guy I’m really interested in analyzing is him.

“How do you know?”

“You broke up with him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He gave you time to miss him, and now he’s testing the waters.”

“I think he’s dating someone. The chef, remember?” I hurriedly continue since the context of that conversation isn’t one I want to dwell on. “We were friends before. He’s just being…friendly.” I think.

Gray scoffs. “If you say so. But I’m guessing he’ll try to get back together with you.”

“It’s not going to happen,” I tell him. Despite what I told Sloane earlier, I have no regrets about ending things with Logan. Not to mention, I’m more interested in analyzing the fact that Gray is analyzing things than his actual analysis.

“Did you love him?” Gray’s not building my bookshelf anymore. He’s completely focused on me.

These aren’t things you talk about with a one-night stand, right? Or a three-night stand, which is what we’re up to?

It’s an immensely personal question. One I wouldn’t ordinarily answer. But something about the way that he asked it—like he cares what the response might be—causes me to reply.

I shake my head. “No.”

Based on the way his body relaxes, that’s the answer he wanted. “Is that why you didn’t sleep with him?”

“Maybe. But it was more… I don’t know. I didn’t want it to just be a physical thing. Not a fairy tale, but someone familiar. Someone I trusted. Someone I wanted enough not to freak out about it.”

He assembles two shelves before he speaks again. “I’m sorry I was such an ass before, at Malone’s. I was in a bad headspace, but still…it’s no excuse. You deserved better. Deserve better.”

“You already apologized. You don’t need to again.”

“Yes, I do.” His face and voice are fierce. “Don’t let people treat you that way, Evie.”

“I don’t, Gray. If anyone else had said those things to me, acted that way, I would have never talked to them again. Much less slept with them.”

“Then, why…”

I crawl into his lap. He shifts to accommodate me, his hands sneaking under the cotton and settling on my hips. The simple touch sends shivers up my spine. Metal clanks as the screws on the floor scatter. I don’t want to reply to him; I want the release my body has come to crave from his. Lust pools in my lower stomach as I grind against him, seeking friction.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, Gray.”

His eyes meet mine, blazing with questions and understanding. “This shirt looks good on you,” he whispers before he kisses me.

The kiss is full of sensation. It’s also brimming with emotion. I didn’t know you could convey words with a kiss until right now—this exact second.

I know what a kiss means. Something. You don’t kiss someone for no reason at all. You’re chasing a feeling. You’re not saying anything.

Except…Gray is saying a lot.

So am I.

With our hands. Our lips. Our moans and groans.

But we don’t actually say anything at all.

I wake up to dim light. I blink a few times, experiencing an uncomfortable flash of déjà vu. The decision on whether to roll over or not becomes an internal battle.

“Don’t let people treat you that way, Evie.”

Maybe he’s trying to push me away.

Slowly, I turn onto my back. My head moves even more gradually. Inch by inch, the view of the ceiling shifts to my wall. Shifts to the guy beside me in bed.

The light is coming from a lamp.

He’s holding a book, not a phone.

I exhale, relieved.

Gray glances over. “Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

I shake my head, then squint at the cover of the paperback. Laugh.

He shrugs, not at all embarrassed. “I was curious. It has my name in the title.”

Without really thinking about it, I move. I drape my arm over his stomach and rest a leg between his. “Did you learn anything?” My voice is sleepy. Anxiety has drained away, leaving contentment behind.

“Sure, if you want to experiment with safe words.”

I laugh before I close my eyes. His chest rises and falls as he breathes. I can hear the swoosh of his heart. Rather than lull me to sleep, it keeps me awake. I like listening to the rhythmic, reassuring whoosh.

After a few minutes, I slide out of bed. Goose bumps rise as the air-conditioning hits my bare skin. “I’m getting some water. You want anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

I nod before walking into the hallway, turning lights back on as I go. My glass from earlier is still sitting out on the kitchen counter. I refill it and retrace my steps back to my bedroom. Rather than head straight for bed, I linger in the doorway.

Gray hasn’t moved. He has one arm tucked behind his head, making his bicep bulge. Either he’s actually absorbed in the book or he’s a really good actor because he doesn’t look up as I continue staring at him. The lamp by my bed illuminates the tanned skin of his bare chest and the brown hair I made a mess of with my fingers.

I might be drooling a little bit.

The glass of water gets set on a box, and then I climb back into bed.

He looks over as soon as the sheets shift. “You didn’t want to take a picture?”

“Shut up,” I grumble as I lie down and cross my arms.

Smug satisfaction radiates off him.

The paperback hits the comforter with a soft thud.

“You tired?”

“No,” I admit. I should be exhausted; it’s the middle of the night. “I have to go feed the cat at seven. My parents won’t be back for a few more days.”

His brow creases with confusion. “Why did you tell me to come here, then?”

“I figured you’d prefer it. You know…it’s cleaner.”

“Cleaner?” he echoes.

“Easier,” I amend.

“Easier?”

“Stop repeating everything I say!”

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re saying.”

I sigh. “I know you said you don’t think it’s weird, but I do. Having sex with you in my childhood bedroom is weird for me. Having sex with me next door to the house you grew up in must be somewhat strange for you.”

He’s silent.

“You’re barely in Charleston. I live here now. It’ll be easier to…move on from this if there aren’t reminders of you everywhere.”

Although it’s probably too late, I realize. He’s invaded my work, the car I’ll probably buy, Malone’s, my parents’ house, and now, my new home.

When he speaks, it’s anticlimactic. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. We can have sex wherever you want. I’ve already fucked you on a bathroom counter and the floor when there was a bed right here. Obviously, I’m not picky.”

That wasn’t exactly the point I was trying to get across, but it doesn’t really matter. I can set as many boundaries as I want. Gray won’t be any easier to forget.

He rolls, so he’s above me—heavy, hot, and hard. I move to kiss him, but he dips his head before I can, skimming my jaw with a light brush that licks at my skin like an open flame.

“So fucking sexy,” he murmurs into the crook of my neck. “You should never wear clothes. Except maybe scrubs.”

“Scrubs? Scrubs are not sexy.”

“On you? Yes, they are.”

He moves away. I start to protest until I realize where he’s headed. The journey down my chest is leisurely and teasing. He pauses at my breasts before kissing a line down the center of my stomach.

“Almost as bad as that red bikini.” He swears, either at the memory or in response to the wetness between my legs.

I gasp his name at the first swipe of his tongue. Last time he did this, I was a mess of nerves. Now, there’s nothing but anticipation as his mouth works me over with the same expert touch he does everything else. Callous palms part my thighs, keeping them spread as he licks and swirls at sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure everywhere. My skin feels so hot that every touch sizzles. I thread my fingers through his hair and pull him closer as the pressure builds and builds and explodes.

I don’t care to stay quiet. His name falls out of my mouth over and over again as waves of release wash over me.

Gray gives me no chance to recover before flipping me over. The crinkle of a wrapper is my only warning before he slides inside me in one slick stroke. It’s not soft and slow and languid, but rough and deep and desperate. Faster than I thought possible, I’m coming again. Gray growls before his hips still and he jerks inside of me.

Harsh breathing is the only sound. He moves off of me and heads into the hallway, probably to use the bathroom. I roll onto my back, feeling the cool rush of the air-conditioning hit the sweat lingering on my skin.

The bed dips when he returns. I don’t move at first. When I finally look over, he’s mirroring my position, on his back with his arms at his sides. His eyes meet mine. It feels right, everything between us. Comforting yet thrilling, never uncomfortable or forced. Warmth unfurls in my chest when Gray spreads his arm away from his side in a silent invitation. I take it, resting my head on his chest and tangling my legs with his.

“How did you know I love carrot cake?” I whisper. It’s bothered me since he said it, and this feels like one of those rare moments where words can be said without repercussions. They’ll drift away into the darkness of the room, forgotten come morning.

“Because that’s what you request for your birthday every year. Including when you turned thirteen. Your mom forgot to buy carrots, so she called my mom, who thought she had carrots but didn’t. Rather than tell your mom that, she sent me to the store. It took me an hour to bike there and back.”

I’m silent.

I don’t know what to do with all these emotions. So, I shove them down. Far away. As far as they’ll go. Because sometimes—always—that’s easiest.