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Gray frowns. “No. Never. But that’s kind of the point. I’ve never wanted to stay with just one girl, so why put myself in that situation?”
“I guess that makes sense.” The hollowness grows. Which is ridiculous. Gray’s an awesome friend, and that’s all I need.
“What about you?” he asks far too casually, as if this conversation has grown uncomfortable for him too, but he can no more stop than I can. “I’m guessing you’re pro-boyfriend.”
“That such a bad thing? I’m not into hookups.”
He flashes a quick, tight smile. “I can see you, Miss Monogamous, going through a string of boyfriends.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve had one boyfriend, smart-ass. Senior year of high school.”
Gray’s brows lift. “One boyfriend? That’s it?”
“Yep.” I steal his beer and take a long sip.
He watches me do it, amusement dancing in his eyes. It hits me anew, the way he makes me feel utterly at home, yet excited. Which is strange; we’re just sitting here, talking and eating. And all I want to do is drink in the sight of him, the way the corners of his mouth curve upward in a perpetual little smile, the strong cords of his neck, or how his evening beard dusts his jaw like raw sugar glinting in the lamplight. My tongue can almost imagine how it would feel to lick that stubble—rough, delicious.
Wait. What? No. There will be no licking of Gray’s jaw.
As if he notices my sudden flush, he peers at me, inspecting my face.
“What?” I ask in a sad attempt to escape my inappropriate thoughts.
“Nothing.” Gray gives the back of his neck a scratch, and I ignore his flexing muscles. “I just find it hard to believe you’ve been single all this time. You’re...well... You’re great.”
“Thanks, Cupcake,” I say in the face of his blush. It’s cute. And because it’s Gray, I feel comfortable enough to tell him the truth.
“I’ve had guys interested. But it soon becomes apparent that they were just as interested in my dad, or rather, who he knew. It would always come up. Could I get them tickets to such-and-such sporting event? Did I know Peyton Manning? Or Eli? Was that really my dad in a picture with LeBron James? Had I met him? And when I answer yes, it’s all they can think about.” I shrug. “I know, I know, hard problems to have.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking,” Gray says softly, his expression somber. “I was thinking that those fuckers missed out.”
Again I shrug and pick at my food, unable to face Gray just then.
“So,” Gray says. “This high school boyfriend wasn’t into sports?”
“He was. But his father was a record producer so he had his share of fame.”
Gray’s brows rise and I feel the need to explain further.
“We lived in Manhattan at the time. Life is kind of different there.”
“I bet.”
Not wanting to go on with my tired poor-little-rich-girl tale, I hurry to finish it. “My boyfriend was fine. We hung out. He took my virginity. The act sucked enough that I didn’t ask for a repeat. I left for college. End of story.”
“Sounds awesome,” Gray deadpans.
I leave that one alone.
“No one in college or London, either?” Gray presses, looking shocked.
I resist the urge to toss my spoon. “I met guys, sure. But no one that I wanted to start a relationship with, okay?”
“Okay.” He says it as though he’s placating me. Which makes me want to snarl more. But I don’t. Instead, we eat.
Until Gray starts shifting in his seat, getting antsy, his thumb tapping out an agitated rhythm on the table.
“What now?” I ask him.
