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Cue all the self-pity.
As it turns out, Thomas says he’ll spring for a car so we can all partake in a glass of wine. Instead of wine, however, I plan to partake in some vodka.
Stat.
Grayson isn’t there yet when we arrive, and lucky me…Beck leaves the seat between us open, which means the very second the man walks close enough, I can smell his familiar woodsy scent.
Just like the first time, it still does things to me.
“Mrs. Maxwell,” he says, greeting my mother. “It’s been far too many years. How have you been?”
“Much better than I once was,” she says with a smile as she hugs Grayson.
Ugh. Why does it have to feel like he’s already part of the family?
Why do I feel like I want him to reach over and slide his hand along my thigh?
Why do I wish I never gave him up?
He hurt me, yes. But we all make mistakes. Even me.
And I think it’s a mistake that we haven’t fixed this yet.
I haven’t shared a meal with him in months. It’s been easy to pretend it’s nothing when I’m at work and he’s at work, and we haven’t been in this close proximity except when he runs over to greet me on game day. Somehow he’s sent me two tickets every single week for the same front row seats, and he always has a backup jersey to pass over to me just in case I don’t show up in the one he leaves on my counter.
It's these little things that mean so much, but it’s the big things that really matter.
Dinner turns out to be less awkward than I had anticipated. Thomas seems to be a really great guy, and between having him and Grayson at the same table, it's like some sort of intense battle of charisma for who can carry the conversation the most.
I think maybe Grayson is winning, but then Thomas starts in with another story that has us all laughing. Thomas is long retired, but he worked in education his whole career. He’s a former high school principal and has eight grandchildren of his own—all of which my mom, who just has two, has met.
His whole family resides in New York, and his kids attended the rival high school to my own. I vaguely recall playing volleyball against a girl who I think might be his daughter. As I recall, she was aggressive and mean as a teenager…but I’m sure she’s nice now.
Once that revelation came out, I couldn't help but think what a small world it is. Who would've ever guessed that my mom would end up with a guy like this when she seemed so vehemently against any sort of relationship after we lost my dad?
It's kind of a lovely thing to see, and it's also kind of pulsing this different feeling in me. It’s a reminder that life is short and unexpected things can happen. Do we really want to waste time when we're not guaranteed tomorrow? I think I finally have my answer to that, and I want to talk to Grayson alone.
I want to tell him how I'm feeling. I want him to know that I never stopped loving him.
I don't get a chance to, though.
“Sorry to cut out early, but we have early practice in the morning. I need to get home and get my solid eight.”
Beck stands to give him one of those bro backslaps. “What a great dinner, man.”
“It really was,” Grayson says, and he glances over at me. He seems to say something with his eyes, but I'm not entirely sure what he's trying to say. He presses his lips together into a sort of apologetic smile. “Good seeing you, Ava.”
I stand, and he gives me a hug. The way his arms wrap around me is more than just a friendly hug goodbye.
His lips find my jawline—not quite my cheek, not quite my neck—and he gives me a short, quick kiss before he backs away. It’s too short. Too quick. I want more. I want it all. With him.
But it’s not in the cards tonight. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer.
“We’ll be at your game Sunday, and are we still on for lunch Monday?” Beck asks.
Grayson nods, and his eyes find mine again. “I’d love for you all to come. There’s this great little place on the Strip that’s brand new. Come check it out with me.”
“I’ll be there,” I murmur, transfixed by the way his eyes are silently begging me to come.
