Virginal Headlines: Love Between The Headlines Page 4

  Every word she spoke widened the hole I’d dug for myself. I hated that she was right. Hated even more that I was the one who got myself into this by giving up his name. Everything about today was a major complication. An irritant, surely set on breaking me.

  My head fell into my hands.

  “This is impossible, Hazel. I’ve already shot my career in the foot.”

  I heard shuffling on her end. “If you want a shot at this, then I suggest you face everything head-on from here on out. Stop running from the ugly side of emotions. Embrace them. You have an assignment. Treat it as such. Don’t get caught up. Don’t let his charm work. Become a different version of you… like Beyoncé and Sasha Fierce. When you’re with him, unleash the alternate you.”

  A bright bubble of laughter floated to the surface of my throat, but I swallowed it down in an attempt at self-control.

  “And if that isn’t enough to goad your morally pure heart,” she continued, “then think on this—Grayson isn’t an angel. We’ve all read the tabloids. He’s a player. Giving him a taste of his own medicine might be good for him.”

  Maybe she was right. Maybe I was overthinking it.

  “I’m going to call him.”

  Giddy laughter sprouted through the receiver. “Good. And then give me all the details.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  After hanging up, I glanced at his card. Stepped into the shoes of another version of me. Confident. Sure. Determined.

  After I entered his number, he picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello, Grayson. So how about that dinner?”

  Grayson stood outside of the Amazon store as promised when I rounded the corner. Dressed in a pair of dark denim jeans and that same white t-shirt, he looked like he’d just stepped off a billboard ad for cologne.

  A living, breathing ovary buster.

  Every nerve ending in my body sparked with ardent tension as I approached him. Be Sasha Fierce. Be Sasha Fierce, I chanted, letting the words sink into my marrow. I could do it. Of course I could.

  “Hey,” I said, stopping in front of him. Letting the lone syllable drip with excitement.

  I didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up at the sight of me, almost as if he’d just bumped into a long-lost friend. The smile that captured his face did the wobbling thing to my knees again, and I tried not to like it. I mean, who liked perfect pearly whites set behind thick round lips?

  Not this girl.

  Nope.

  “You came.”

  “I did.”

  He ran a hand through his dark hair, a few wispy strands sweeping across his forehead. “Shall we?”

  I noticed he moved through the store like he’d been there a time or two, eyes roaming over the latest bestselling novels we passed. Was he a reader? Like me? Surely not. When could he find time in between all the hearts he stole?

  When he grabbed a newly released Kindle, I implored him that my old Paperwhite was all I needed.

  “But this one is waterproof. And with an Otter Box case, you’ll never have to worry about it breaking again when around me. Which color?”

  He bent, moving his fingers through the boxes of glossy cases.

  The old Prim would have been focused on the fact he’d already pre-planned being around me after this night. Me. And, of course, on the band of his Calvin Klein underwear currently peeking out past his jeans. Jeans that clung to his perfectly rounded ass. Sculpted and tight, as if chiseled by some Greek sculptor.

  Sweet baby Jes—

  My head shook. No. Tonight, I wasn’t the old Prim.

  “How about this one?” I leaned in, letting my hand brush his ever so slightly before retreating. Keeping his gaze for a moment while my teeth pulled my bottom lip in.

  A spiking thrill climbed up my spine when his eyes fell to my lips. A hot flush pressing behind my ribs. That certain something swirling in his gaze… something I’d put there. Something a lot like attraction and desire.

  Maybe being the new Prim could be fun…

  With a swift clearing of his throat, he stood, running his hands down his thighs. “Black, huh? Pegged you as a pink.” He was eyeing my rose-colored jeans.

  Still high off my newfound confidence, I leaned in conspiratorially. “Naturally, I would. But tonight, I’m feeling risqué.”

  With a smirk, he grabbed the case, then we headed to the cashier to check out. After everything was paid for and my new Kindle inside its shiny black case was safe and sound within my tote, we stepped out into the New York night air.

  Neither of us moved from our stance near the building as bodies moved past us. This was the part I feared. When awkward crept into my old friend silence. Did he still want dinner? Should I ask? Was that something Sasha Fierce would do?

  Panic fluttered awake within my nervous system, sending out a warning flare to my thoughts.

  Get it together, Prim.

  Pulling on the strap, I said, “Thank you again, Grayson. Though I would have been fine grabbing a book off my shelf at home, nothing compares to the handiness of this gadget.”

  The smirk he shot me twisted my thoughts. It should be a crime to have a smile like that. “Don’t mention it.” A small pause. “So… you hungry?”

  I couldn’t stop the grin that took flight across my lips. “Starved.”

  We started forward, falling into the stream of people. I stuck close to Grayson to keep from losing him. At my height, it wasn’t hard to do.

  “Do you like tacos?”

  A snort ripped from my nose, followed by a nervous hiccup. “Sorry,” I said quickly, the back of my hand covering my mouth as heat pressed against my cheek. “I… umm… I’m a bit of a food geek, and tacos… they’re at the top of my list.”

  He offered me another shot of his chuckle, which was like liquor to my veins. Warming me. Loosening me up. “Same.”

  “Really?”

  His hands were shoved in his pockets. “Yep.” He stopped outside of a bar. A flashing neon sign above read Risky Hearts. “They make killer tacos here. The owner and I go way back. You down for grabbing a drink?”

  “Please.”

  Be brave, I thought as he reached for the brass handle to the door. You’re doing good.

  But all that illusory bravery scampered away the moment the door swung open. The stale stench of cigarettes and hops puffed out in acrid clouds. I wasn’t prepared for the noise that struck me square in the chest. Confined spaces with a hoard of people wasn’t my ideal hangout. There was a small dance floor in the middle of the space. Various neon signs in purples and whites hung from the walls with words like Cherry Bomb and Stay Wild and Sinners.

  Music thumped at a blaring rate. A loud din of voices bounced off the brick walls. My stomach clenched with panic as I tried to weed through the crowd. As bodies brushed against mine, closing me in, vacuuming what little air was left for me to breathe.

  And then Grayson took my hand in his.

  “Don’t worry. I got you.”

  Five words and one small touch was all it took to return the air to my lungs. Everything dulled around us, disappearing, as if his hand was the centermost point of the universe. As long as I stayed connected to it, I’d never find myself lost again.

  “How about there?” He pointed to a couch spread along the far wall. Tucked in the farthest corner, away from the crowd.

  My head dipped in acceptance a little more quickly than I’d intended. I didn’t care where we sat so long as I could regain my bubble. I’d been a fool for thinking I could handle a place like this. Though I’d been out a time or two, bars really weren’t my scene. Never had been.

  “Here we go,” he said as he let go of my hand. A small chill seeping into my flesh where his warmth had been.

  The moment my back was pressed to the wall, I let out a sigh.

  “Not much for crowds?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  “It gets overwhelming for me sometimes, too.”

>   My eyebrow dipped. “You? Grayson Pierce?”

  There was that chuckle again. “Yes. Even for me.” He paused, chewing on a thought, and then leaned forward. “You know, you don’t have to call me by both my names. Grayson works just fine.”

  Roses bloomed in my cheeks. “S-sorry.”

  He smoothed his hand over mine. “And you don’t have to keep saying sorry, either.”

  “Sorry.” My hand shot to my mouth again. Laughter, somewhat manic and fluttery, ripped out of me before I could contain it. There was no pinpointing the why. Whether it was his hand touching mine, the nervous state of being near him, or my sudden awareness of just how reflexive it was for me to say the lone word—it didn’t matter.

  I feared he’d think I was crazy, but when his lips moved in their usual upward curve, I noted a subtle change in shape—ease. A small round of bawdy chuckles met my own laughter head-on, his shoulders slipping into a more appeased state.

  A second later, a waitress sidled up to the table. The moment her eyes preyed over Grayson, her smile widened. “It’s been a minute since we’ve seen the likes of you, Grayson Pierce.” Her tone was thick with familiarity.

  “Hi, Emilia.” I didn’t miss the tension in his words—tension that spoke volumes.

  She moved closer to him. Ran a finger over his forearm, oblivious to my presence. “You didn’t call.”

  “I never said I would.” He moved his forearm. Offered me a tense smile.

  My eyes shot to the table, wide and focusing on anything but the awkward encounter in front of me. Was this something I’d have to get used to if I actually succeeded with making him like me? Bumping into his old flames? Maybe that was a good thing. A consistent reminder of just who Grayson Pierce truly was.

  His hand extended across the table, entering my line of vision before enveloping mine with a light, encouraging squeeze.

  Against my better judgement, my gaze wandered back to his.

  “Prim, this is Emilia. Emilia, this is my date, Prim.”

  The shock that flittered across her face probably matched my own.

  Date? Is this really a date?

  She pulled back, glancing at me for the first time since she walked up. Eying me like a viper in a cage.

  “What do you like to drink, Prim?” Grayson asked, oblivious to the stare down.

  I straightened my spine as far as it would go, facing her with a thin smile. “A vodka and orange juice, please.”

  “Same,” Grayson said, keeping his focus on me.

  I didn’t miss the roll of Emilia’s eyes as she stalked off.

  “She’s totally going to spit in our drinks,” I said as soon as she was gone.

  The tension that released from his throaty chuckle was endearing, burning through the residual veil of discomfort. “Nothing like an awkward encounter to set the mood.” He reached for a coaster and spun it in his hands.

  “You know, me an awkward go way back?”

  “Oh yeah?”

  I matched his warm grin. “Most definitely. I put the aww in awkward. For instance, the other day, I was checking out at this deli, right? I always get this panicky feeling when the cashier says something to me because I just know I’m going to mess it up. And, sure enough, she said hi and I responded with a I’m good. You?”

  That small confession earned me another few seconds of his encompassing laughter.

  “Ha, I bet I can top that,” he said, settling into the moment.

  “The floor is yours, sir.”

  “Try this on for size. Have you ever heard of the restaurant Five Guys?”

  My head shook.

  “Well, it’s this burger joint that, I swear, makes the best damn burgers around. Anyway, so I was out with a bunch of my friends drinking and playing trivia one night when I said, Man I could really go for Five Guys right now. I swear you could have heard a pin drop. All their jaws dropped open and, the kicker was, at first I didn’t get why.”

  A bubbly burst of laughter cannoned past my lips before I could contain it. The kind that came from the root of one’s soul, textured and wild. “Oh my God,” I said, a hand shielding my mouth as tears formed in the corners of my eyes. “Five guys… I’m dead.”

  “Try explaining it to your buddies. Now, that’s a case of awkward I’ll never live down.”

  As my laughter simmered into a slow giggle, I found his gaze studying me with honest curiosity and looked away.

  Another round of heat swarmed behind my cheeks.

  “My sister used to love vodka and orange juice,” I said, thinking about the night Sarah, the eldest, came home drunk off her ass. Anything to keep my thoughts off the inky depth to his gaze. “I had to sneak her into my room to keep my parents from hearing her drunken babble.”

  After that night, she never touched vodka again.

  “You have a sister.”

  “Sisters. Plural. Four of them.”

  His syrupy eyes widened.

  “Yeah. I feel the same. I’m in the middle of them. Learned early on to hide anything sacred to me. Otherwise, it was theirs.” I picked at the bent corner of the menu. “How about you?”

  I knew the answer. He was an only child. But it was weird admitting that. Weird treating him like an open book I’d already read.

  “Only child.” There was a note of sadness buried deep beneath his words. “My father never wanted kids. I was a bit of an unpleasant surprise to him.”

  I knew the headlines. The affairs. His father spent more time globetrotting than at his actual home. One night, a fire broke out at his residence where his second wife was living. A wife he’d married only six months after Grayson’s mother passed away.

  And Grayson just so happened to be there.

  It was an incident that solidified Grayson’s place in the bad-boy book. An incident that led to him spending a few days in jail, only to be bailed out by a friend rather than his father. It was never proven whether Grayson had actually started the fire, but proof didn’t matter in the wolfish world of gossip.

  To the world, Grayson was guilty.

  When asked about it during a television interview, Alan, Grayson’s father, spoke against Grayson. Called him a disgrace. He even mentioned Grayson’s deceased mother and how ashamed she would be.

  That was when Grayson disappeared.

  “So…” he said with an inhale. “What do you do, Prim?”

  “I… umm…” I tucked my hair behind my ear, keeping my eyes on the table. “You know, I’m actually in the process of landing a job.”

  It wasn’t the entire truth, but it was good enough. I didn’t want him to know about Virago. Especially not with my piece.

  “What about you?” I tossed the hot potato of a question back at him before he could ask for details.

  He smirked. “This feels weird, doesn’t it?”

  “What?”

  He waited a beat. Leaned his weight on his elbows. “How much do you know about me? Well, the tabloid version of me?”

  “Ah,” I said with a small grin. “The elephant.”

  “He’s massive, isn’t he?”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “You work at Stud.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a reformed serial dater, and you wrote a great memoir about what you went through with your father.”

  “Yes, and…” He paused, head tilting slightly. “Wait, you read that thing?”

  “Every heartfelt word.”

  “And here I thought it was just sitting around collecting dust.” Letting out a small sigh, he leaned back in his seat. “You know, when I wrote that, I was in the worst parts of my life. I’d lost my mother. The media had turned entirely against me. My contract was broken. And to top it all off, my father had made a tour of slashing my name.

  “No one would touch me. Not until Harrison came into my life. He gave me a good kick in the ass, then offered me a job in return for rights to my memoir. It’s funny really, when you think about it. Bartering the most sacred parts of me
just to get by. If it wasn’t for discovering how much I enjoyed writing, I might have said no. But for the first time, I finally felt proud of myself. That I was doing something tangible and real. Not just smiling for a camera.”

  Emilia appeared with our drinks, then disappeared just as quickly. I wrapped my lips around the straw to keep them occupied while I tried desperately to gather my emotions and thoughts into a much-needed huddle. I liked this version of Grayson in front of me. Peeled open and relatable.

  The real Grayson.

  And that was bad. Very, very bad.

  He watched me for a moment, his eyes piercing through every layer, right down to the very heart of me. “Have you ever…” He broke off. “Never mind.”

  “What?” I asked, wanting to know what he was thinking.

  His head tilted to the side a little. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but I feel like I know you. Like I can really talk to you. Have you ever… do you feel that way?”

  I toyed with the straw as another wave of heat struck my cheeks. “Yeah,” I admitted, the stirring in my stomach increasing. Meeting his eyes, I finished, “I really do.”

  We spent the next hour deep in conversation. I managed to plow through two drinks before devouring a plate of the most delicious tacos. Grayson laughed when I managed to spill some of the salsa onto my blouse.

  Classic Prim.

  I learned a lot about him in that brief time frame. Like how he could finish a taco in two bites. Or how he devoted his attention entirely to whomever was in his presence. Multiple times his phone went off, but not once did he check it. He asked question after question, as if I were an enigma he couldn’t get enough of figuring out.

  And, in all honestly, it felt good.

  Grayson liked the ocean, but he’d only been twice. He hated sports except for the Olympics. His best friend owned the bar we sat in, and his idea of a perfect date was watching movies and sharing a pizza. The more I learned, the more I realized just how in trouble I was because I liked him. And the more I was grateful for the alcohol swimming in my veins, dulling my guilt over the assignment. Pushing all thoughts of it to the back of my mind.

  I would enjoy the moment. Enjoy him.