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Or did it? I look over at Grayson, his face illuminated for a moment by a street lamp overhead. His silver-gray gaze remains as unknowable as ever. If he weren’t moving, I might think he had fallen into a coma. Is he really that placid, or does something else boil inside of him?
Something else about me, maybe?
I remember how he made me feel at the party, saying that it was worth all the trouble just to see me in my dress. I want that feeling back in the worst way, but I don’t know how to get there.
Maybe I can get him to open up a little, and tell me what he’s feeling.
“So,” I say, my voice dropping like a big rock into a still pond, destroying the silence. “Have any cool stories about your time in the CIA?”
He glances over at me for a moment, and I think I detect a trace of amusement in his silver-eyed gaze.
“A few.”
He grows silent again, but I’m not giving up that easily.
“Can you tell me some?”
“Yes, but then I would have to kill you.”
I groan at the cliched joke.
“You should try and come up with some new material, you already used that on me once.”
He heaves a long sigh, and then shakes his head, eyes glued to the road.
“The fact is, being in the CIA isn’t nearly as fun or exciting as people think it is. In fact, it’s downright boring most of the time.”
One hand on the wheel, he uses the other to gesticulate.
“I mean, a lot of the time you’re doing surveillance, which means basically sitting around waiting for something to happen. Only you can't just let your mind drift off. You have to stay focused in case whatever it is you’re waiting for actually happens.”
I snort. “Way to go, reducing one of the coolest jobs in the world to sitting around. Come on, Grayson. I know you did a lot more than just push papers around and surveil people. Give me some meat!”
My face burns as I realize I’ve just made an inadvertent double entendre.
“I mean, give me a story with some meat, please,” I say, trying to recover. But I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me, he caught the slip.
But was it a Fruedian slip? I’m definitely into Grayson, but it’s too early to be thinking about getting physical…
Isn’t it?
“All right,” he says, letting me off the hook. “There was this one time in a certain, unnamed country on the Red Sea where I drove a motorcycle with a bomb in the back about thirty miles.”
My mouth falls open.
“Shut up. How did that come about?”
“I was working undercover, and took the place of the intended suicide bomber. Instead of driving to the middle of a crowded square like I was expected to, I took the motorcycle out into the middle of the desert.”
“Wow. That must have taken…”
I almost say balls, but catch myself.
“...some intestinal fortitude. I’d freak out just knowing there was a bomb in the same city I was in.”
He chuckles. “I will admit, I clenched up on every tight turn.”
“No way. That would be the same as Grayson admitting he’s a human being like the rest of us, and that’s not going to happen.”
