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I’ll duck out of work for lunch…or I’ll quit or something. Anything to be there Monday, to have the chance to sit beside Grayson, maybe to have the chance to pull him aside and tell him the things that have been playing on my mind all through dinner—all through the last few weeks.
I have a text from him when I wake up in the morning, and it tells me he got up even earlier than I did.
Grayson: Dinner last night felt like old times, didn’t it?
I’m not quite sure how to reply. On the one hand, I want to let him know how I’m feeling, but on the other, I don’t want to distract him ahead of tomorrow’s game. And I don’t really want to say anything over text.
Me: It really did. I had a lot of fun sitting next to you.
His reply doesn’t come for about twelve hours, but when it does, it’s in the form of a phone call.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hi. How was your day?”
“It was good. I made a ton of cookies and worked on two cakes. How was practice?”
“Good. We’re ready for the Jaguars tomorrow.”
“Are you at a hotel tonight?” I ask. He once mentioned that the entire team stays at a hotel the night before a game, even if it’s a home game, so coaches can make sure players aren’t distracted.
“Yes I am. Got a room all to myself this time.”
“Nice.”
A beat of quiet passes between us, and then we both start to say something at the same time.
“Grayson…”
“Ava…”
I clear my throat. “I feel like I have a lot I want to say to you, but I want to do it in person.”
“I want to do it in person, too,” he says lewdly, and I chuckle at his joke. “In all seriousness, we can talk tomorrow night after the game. Does that work?”
It does, but I have an idea.
I have no idea how much trouble he’ll get into, but it’s worth a shot anyway. We need to have this conversation in person.
“Yes,” I say instead of any of that. “So tell me about your hotel.”
He launches into a story I’m half-listening to while I pack a quick bag, and then I wish him luck at his game tomorrow before I tell my mom I’m heading out for the night.
And then I drive.
Chapter 61: Ava Maxwell
You Have a Guest
Nerves tackle my spine as I get closer and closer, and once I’m there, I pull into a spot at the back of the lot.
I look up at the large buildings sprawling out in front of me, and I pull up a map to try to figure out where I’m going.
He told me his room number when I asked about the hotel. He has no idea I’m showing up tonight.
I count buildings, and then I count windows, and rather than go inside where I might get caught, I toss a little pebble at the second-story window when I think I’m in the right place.
The curtains slide to the side a moment later, and oh shit, it’s Patrick Harris.
