Sloane waits until six p.m. to inform me she told Emmett we’d go to Malone’s—our local bar of choice—to settle our debts from moving. I don’t have any issue with thanking him and Noah for lugging our possessions around. I do have an issue with going out with Gray Phillips—who I’m certain will be there too—but I can’t say so without undoing years of denial, so I have no choice but to agree to the outing.
For the second time today, I spend too long deciding on what to wear. I also put on heels, which I hardly ever wear. They pinch my toes, but they also make my legs look miles long. Sloane gives me an approving nod before we leave the house.
When we walk into the bar, it’s already packed. Malone’s doesn’t run the tightest of ships when it comes to enforcing the drinking age, meaning the dark stone walls are hardly visible past the crowds. Not only with college students home for the summer, but also with young professionals reliving the nostalgia of coming here and hoping not to get carded.
A long bar dominates the center of the room with a chalkboard menu that displays tonight’s specialty cocktails. We shuffle between the crowded barstools and the circular leather booths that line the walls.
“There are the guys.” Sloane makes a beeline toward the back of the bar.
I take a deep breath, then follow her over to the booth, where Noah, Emmett, Gray, and the fourth member of their usual crew, Harrison, are all sitting. Gray and Emmett have their backs to us, but Noah spots us right away and smiles. He and Harrison move further into the booth, so Sloane and I can sit. I sink down onto the buttery leather immediately, grateful to be off my feet.
My seat is directly across from Gray, who’s typing something on his phone. My throbbing toes remind me I’m wearing these death traps because of him—because I want to appear older, wiser, and closer to his towering height—and it pisses me off for multiple reasons. Mainly because he didn’t even notice.
I know almost everything about the human heart. Its anatomy, its flaws, its cadence.
I can’t figure out how to fix mine. To make it stop beating faster for the one guy it shouldn’t.
A waitress appears by our booth. “Hey, y’all. What can I get for you?”
She’s pretty. Young and blonde and cheery. All four guys perk up, but her gaze is on Gray. Unfortunately, he’s the sort of attractive that is every girl’s type, that stands out in all the right ways.
Gray looks up from his phone and grins, a slow, lazy one that takes its time unfurling across his face. “What do you recommend?”
She cocks a hip. “What do you like?”
For fuck’s sake. “I’d like a whiskey sour, please.”
Reluctantly, the waitress peels her eyes away from Gray’s perfect bone structure to jot down my order. Sloane chimes in with her request, and the rest of the guys do the same.
“Got any plans while you’re back, Gray?” Noah asks once she’s left to fetch our drinks.
Gray looks at me, and for one wild second, I think he’s going to bring up his invitation to me to hang out. The one I’m almost certain wasn’t genuine. “Your little sister just got in the way of one.”
Nope, he’s talking about getting laid. As if he’ll have trouble finding another willing female to take home tonight.
I snort. “I’m thirsty. She was here to take our drink order. And if that was the extent of your game…you’ve got bigger problems than me interrupting, Phillips.”
Gray leans back and spreads one arm across the back of the booth. He’s still wearing the same light-blue button-down from the party. The move stretches the cotton material taut across his chest, teasing at what lies beneath. I have his full attention, and it comes with a heady, thrilling rush of significance.
“The extent? That wasn’t even the start, Collins.”
He says my last name with the same taunting lilt I spoke his in. I roll my eyes, acting unaffected by the erratic pounding of my heart. It almost feels like he’s flirting with me, which is an event worthy of a national holiday.
The first Saturday in June is now Gray Phillips Flirts with Evie Collins Day.
The parade I was planning is canceled when Gray gets lost in the waitress’s cleavage. Or at least, that’s what it looks like when she returns with our drinks and selectively bends over to deliver them.
I look away and sip my cocktail, hoping she didn’t spit in it. The whiskey hits my tongue with a smoky burn that sears my stomach and slowly trickles into my bloodstream. I down it quickly, mostly for something to do while I people-watch. The guys are discussing sports, and Sloane is messaging her surfer guy. I feel light and loose by the time the glass is empty.
“Come on.” I nudge Sloane’s arm. “Let’s go dance.”
She perks up immediately, giving me a delighted smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I’m usually the one suggesting we head home early. Not that we wade into the pool of wandering hands and sloppy lines that often exist on a bar’s dance floor.
“Later, boys.” She slides out of the booth, and I’m right behind her.
I don’t know the name of the song playing, but it has a steady, sultry beat that’s easy to move in time to. I focus on the rhythmic pulse, letting the glimmer of warmth in my veins guide my movements. I only allow myself one glance at Gray. He’s deep in conversation with Emmett.
“Now’s your chance,” Sloane tells me between songs.
“My chance for what? To show off my shopping cart?”
She snorts at the mention of my trademark dance move. “No. Your chance with Gray Phillips.”
I tense and learn it’s difficult to dance when your body feels like it’s been encased in plaster. “I don’t want a chance with him.”
Sloane gives me her patented I don’t believe you look. “I don’t believe you. You’ve had a thing for him since we were kids.”
“I had a thing for him when we were kids,” I correct.
“Same difference. You need a rebound after Logan. Gray is hot, and he’s only home for a little while. I think it would be good for you. Like a summer fling.”
I scoff. Thankfully, the pounding bass of a Lady Gaga song saves me from any more of a response. I’m no longer loose and pliant. I can’t return to my easy, relaxed state after Sloane’s suggestion.
I’m attracted to Gray. He’s no stranger to short, emotionless flings. If I actually made a move, what would he do? We’re both single. Both adults. Maybe I need to shatter the fantasy once and for all. Knock him off the pedestal I placed him on the day we met.
But I know myself. I might be confident in certain areas of my life, but love and romance are not one of them. I never know the perfect outfit to wear on a first date or the right thing to say or the proper etiquette for texting. And like it or not—I don’t like it—Gray Phillips has always been that guy for me. The one who throws my world off-center and reorients it around himself. If I were to gather the confidence to seduce a guy, it wouldn’t be him—the man who makes me forget basic facts by being in the same room.
Is his effect on me healthy? No.
Reasonable? Also no.
But that’s the elusive, infuriating thing about love—it can’t be controlled. You can’t channel it where you want it to go. It chooses its own path.
I’m not in love with Gray. I used to think I was. But it means something different now than when I used to doodle his name in the margins of my notebooks. It’s a heavier word with weighted meaning. It doesn’t mean those juvenile feelings have faded away, though.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I tell Sloane.
As I hobble off the dance floor in my heels, she nods, already heading for the group of guys who have been watching us for the past ten minutes. I wish I had a quarter of her self-confidence.
The hallway leading to the restrooms is empty and smells faintly of harsh antiseptic. Better than other scents, I guess. Although it does remind me of work.
I lean back against the cool stone wall opposite the restroom door, seriously contemplating kicking off my heels. A questionable stain on the floor makes me second-guess that option. I sigh and tilt my head up to study the white plaster ceiling as I wait for the red above the handle to turn to green. The thick wall I’m leaning against muffles the commotion on the other side. Away from the activity and noise, I feel warm. Relaxed. A little sleepy.
Footsteps sound to my left. I’m annoyed by the irritating tap that signals an interruption from the moment I was having, making prolonged eye contact with the ceiling. The restroom door before me stays shut, meaning I’ll probably have to make small talk. At the very least, it’ll be weird if I just keep staring straight up. I roll my head to the side for a glimpse of who’s approaching.
My heart takes off at a gallop.
“Had your fill of dancing?”
Awareness skates down my spine and spreads through my senses as Gray stops beside me, adopting a similar pose against the wall.
I shrug like I’m too nonchalant to care he saw where I went. “Just needed a break.”
“Breaks are good.”
The air around me feels weighted and heavy, filled with possibilities. I can’t recall the last time Gray and I were alone together. Paired with Sloane’s suggestion and the fact that he looks more comfortable to lean against than this wall, I’m the closest I’ve ever been to crossing a line I never thought I would—unless he crossed it first.
“Probably been a while since you’ve been to a bar, huh?”
He tilts his head to smirk at me. Lazy heat traverses my veins.
“Sure. At least twenty-two hours.”
Riiight. “I figured you just got home.”
“Been back since Wednesday.” His green eyes flick down to my heels and back up so fast that I almost missed the glance. It was far from a heated perusal, but he definitely looked. “Last time you went out?”
I can’t even remember, but I’m not admitting that to Gray. “I go out.”
“I didn’t say you don’t.”
“Your face did.”
He chuckles. The sound slides over me like the burn of whiskey—smooth, languid, and potent.
Amusement disappears as he assesses me, focusing on my face. “You look different.”
“It’s been years.” I don’t specify I’ve kept track of how many. Don’t mention the bangs, either.
“Yeah, it has, huh?”
“You seem different too.”
“I never had bangs.”
Dammit, that is what he was talking about.
“I said, you seem different, not that you look different.”
Although he does, especially up close like this. The line of his jaw looks sharper, his eyes appear greener, and his hair is long enough to run fingers through. You know, hypothetically. That’s definitely not what I’m imagining doing right now.
“Are you happy to be home?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just shifts positions against the wall beside me. “No. Not really.”
“Why not?”
The restroom door opens. If Gray wasn’t standing beside me, I’d think, Finally. Since he is, I’m tempted to shove the two girls stumbling out right back inside to prolong this moment. Both girls gawk at Gray before walking back down the hallway. The general consensus among the female population seems to be that Grayson Phillips is the sort of gorgeous that makes bad decisions seem like the best ideas you’ve ever had. For once, Mr. Flirty barely spares them a glance. His gaze stays focused on me, and it’s one of the most thrilling things I’ve ever experienced.
Sloane’s voice echoes in my head. “Now’s your chance.”
“Being here…” He pauses. Studies me. Weighs something. “It’s just boring.”
That’s not what he was going to say. We both know it. I feel like I failed a test without being asked a single question. Fell short without knowing where the finish line was.
“Oh.” I flounder for something else to add. I thought he might mention his ongoing rift with his dad. Thought we might discuss something of significance.
Gray straightens abruptly. “Go ahead.” He nods toward the empty restroom.
I don’t move. “Are you—”
“Or I’ll go.” That’s what he says. Conversation over, is what he means.
“Go ahead.”
He hesitates. For a few seconds, I think he might change his mind. Then, he walks into the restroom, and I realize he was just giving me another chance to go ahead.
I let out all the air in my lungs with a long exhale. There’s a hum under my skin that wasn’t there until I saw who was walking down the hallway, and it hasn’t abated now that he’s gone.
Gray opens the restroom door a few minutes later. “All yours.”
I nod, unsure of what I might say if I open my mouth. His face is guarded. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, what he wants. But my feelings toward Gray have never been about what he wants from me. They’re about what I want from him. So, when he steps out of the restroom, I do the stupidest, most impulsive thing I’ve ever done in my life.
I close the gap and kiss him.
Really kiss him.
It’s the furthest thing from a slow inching toward someone. That moment where you hesitate, where you gauge the other person’s reaction and try to remember when you last brushed your teeth? I erase it. I toss should haves and might haves and maybes up in the air, light them on fire, and kiss Grayson Phillips.
My childhood idol.
My middle school crush.
My teenage fantasy.
And to my complete and utter shock, he kisses me back. I didn’t think he ever would. But I didn’t think I would ever kiss him either.
Am I dreaming? If so, I’d better have forgotten to set my alarm.
Chemistry combusts. The kiss turns greedy. Dirty. Hands are wandering. Tongues tangling.
My brain completely shuts off, too overwhelmed to process everything that’s happening. I’m a slave to sensation, barely registering we’re moving until the restroom door slams shut, sealing us in the smaller space. I’m right up against another hard wall, and this time, I’m being pressed by a body that feels deliciously warm and distinctively male. He pins me against the back of the restroom door as he continues to kiss me.
I can’t pull in enough air, can’t breathe anything but him. My heart races, and blood rushes. I feel like I’m drowning. Everything is muffled, except for burning need. Not for oxygen—for him.
Can a kiss make you feel this way? Apparently.
My legs are on solid ground. I can feel the pinch of the heels that I no longer regret wearing because they’re making his mouth more accessible. But I’m also floating, flying, and falling. My surroundings are a blur, and my mind is a mess.
I can taste the smoky burn of tequila on his tongue. He smells like expensive cologne and sweat. One hand lifts the hem of my dress to slide between my legs, and I forget where we are. Who I am. Everything I thought I knew about lust and desire and arousal flees like pappi on a windy day.
Is there a moment more powerful than having a wish fulfilled? Mine isn’t altruistic or commendable or worthy of winning a Nobel Peace Prize. It’s selfish and silly and senseless. But it’s mine, and I’ve protected it. I haven’t let the rationality that governs the rest of my life reach how much I hoped to one day experience a moment where Gray treated me as anything more than his best friend’s little sister. I think this qualifies.
Fantasies don’t have to make sense. They often don’t—that’s the point. And they rarely become reality. Yet somehow, I’m living mine now.
I dig my fingers into his thick hair the same way I was imagining in the hallway, running the tips of my fingernails lightly along his scalp.
“Fuck,” Gray rasps. The low, masculine rumble ignites new heat that fizzles in my stomach. It sinks lower when he slips one finger inside me, then two. “You’re so tight. Like you’ve never taken a cock.”
My body responds to his filthy words and confident movements, coating his fingers with evidence of how I’m responding to his touch. Words I don’t mean to say follow; my tongue loosened by heady sensation and the lingering buzz of alcohol in my blood. “I haven’t.”
It takes a few seconds for those two words to register. As soon as they do, Gray freezes. Drops his hand. Moves away. “You’re a virgin?” He says the question like lack of promiscuity is a contagious disease.
I jut my chin out defiantly. “So what if I am?”
“Shit.” He takes another step away, shaking his head and gripping the back of his neck with one hand. “I almost deflowered little Evie Collins.” He says the words to himself, punctuated with a small what the hell were you thinking shake of the head.
I’m embarrassed and pissed. I step away from the door and yank down my dress so fast that I’m surprised it doesn’t rip. “You didn’t seem to think I was so little when you had your fingers in me a minute ago.”
He snorts and turns toward the sink. Forget whiplash. I feel like I was just spun in circles and then shoved out an airplane.
After he washes his hands, Gray turns back around. There’s a smirk on his face and a teasing glint in his eyes. “Did Boston convert you to Catholicism? Or were you just too busy studying?”
“You’re such an ass.”
“You knew that when you kissed me.”
I pick my dignity up from the dirty floor. “Temporary lapse in judgment. I’m drunk”—more on him than anything else—“and you’re decent-looking, I guess.” Heartbreakingly handsome would also apply. “You can go now.”
Gray doesn’t move. “Weren’t you with that guy in Boston for, like, a year?”
Under other circumstances, the fact that he’s paid any attention to my love life would send a stupid thrill through me. But I know where he’s going with this, and it eradicates any excitement.
“None of your business.”
He crosses his arms. “Felt like my business a minute ago.”
I snort. He waits. Silence drags until I crack, caving like a poorly stacked house of cards.
“We were together for ten months, if you want to get super specific.”
“Ten months. And you never…”
“Nope.” I pop the P for emphasis.
“Jesus. Was he gay?”
I scoff. “No. He was a gentleman. I think he’s dating a chef from Cambridge now. She owns her own restaurant.”
Seeing that photo proudly posted on social media didn’t bother me half as much as the waitress flirting with Gray did.
“So, he could get it up?”
“Get. Out.”
“I hope you—”
“The only thing I’m hoping for is that this is the last time I see you until you ship back out to the middle of fucking nowhere,” I snap.
“Felt more like you were hoping I’d be the first one to fuck you when you were dripping on my fingers.”
I flush, both from anger and the crude description. He has a dirty mouth, and if I said I hated it, I’d be a liar. “Unless you want Noah to know exactly how you know that, you’ll never mention this again.”
Unease flickers on his face at the threat, and I almost take it back. Grayson Phillips might not care about much in this world, but he values his friendship with my brother. He knows how protective Noah is of me. And if we want to get technical, I kissed him first and have no business blackmailing him. But embarrassment and lust make people say stupid things, and I’m flooded with plenty of both at the moment.
“Now, get out.”
He leaves without another word.
I place my hands on either side of the porcelain sink and stare at myself in the mirror, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself.
He kissed me.
Touched me.
I’d dreamed of that happening for years. Disappointment is winning out over other emotions. Because for seconds—a thrilling, uncountable number of them—I thought it might actually happen. That we might actually happen.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, I chastise myself.
It’d never happened before; why would it happen now? It’s unhealthy, ridiculous, and futile, allowing Gray to have this much of an effect on me. But if I knew how to turn it off, I would have years ago. And if his rejection isn’t enough to curb my attraction for good, I don’t know what will.
I use the restroom and wash my hands. Three women are waiting in the hallway when I open the door. They all give me annoyed looks before one rushes in. I guess my emotional turmoil took longer than I thought. Or they saw Gray leave and think we made a mess of the restroom. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to lose my virginity in a bar restroom before. This is the only time I would have gone through with it.
I hurry back to the booth, worried Noah or Sloane might have noticed how long I was gone for. But everyone is busy drinking and joking when I slip back into my empty spot. There’s no sign of Gray.
Sloane glances over when I take a seat beside her. Her face is flushed from dancing. “Everything okay? You were gone for a while.”
“Fine.” I force a smile. “Long line. Like always.”
She nods.
“Had your fill of dancing?” Without meaning to, I echo Gray’s earlier question and immediately wish I could shove it back into my mouth. It’s an unwelcome reminder of what just took place.
Sloane swirls the amber liquid in her glass and sighs. “Yeah. Those guys watching us were less promising than Todd.”
“Todd?”
She sips some whiskey, then nods to her phone. “Surfboard guy.”
I roll my eyes, and Sloane smiles. Of course his name is Todd.
For a split second, I consider telling her about Gray. Not now—because Sloane has never been one to react subtly and Noah is sitting a few feet away. But then I spot Gray leaning against the bar, talking to the blonde waitress. She rubs his arm as she leans forward to whisper to him. He doesn’t move away; he says something back.
Emmett’s spotted them too. He shakes his head with a grin. “Phillips is going to get that poor girl fired. He can’t wait to get laid until the end of her shift?”
Harrison chuckles. “Poor girl? She’s all over him.”
I rub at a puddle of condensation on the table and study my empty glass like it’s a work of art. Jealousy unfurls in my stomach, along with distaste and disgust. Noah and Sloane are watching the flirtfest unfold now too. I have nothing else to focus on.
“We’re never going to get refills,” Harrison grumbles.
“I’m kinda worried about him,” Emmett states. “He’s been…intense ever since he got back on Wednesday. Surfing at the crack of dawn. Drinking. He brought two girls home last night. Haven’t seen him do that since college.”
“Dude.” Noah nods toward me and Sloane meaningfully.
Emmett and Harrison shut up. I don’t even care if that means they think we can’t handle hearing about sex.
I wish they’d stopped talking sooner. I definitely could have gone without knowing Gray had a threesome recently. The hottest moment of my life probably doesn’t even rank in the top hundred of his.
Even though I should probably regret kissing him, I don’t. It doesn’t even have anything to do with Gray. I took a risk, put myself out there. I wanted to kiss him, and I did. What followed doesn’t have to ruin that satisfaction of successfully crossing the line separating my comfort zone and things I never thought I’d do.
Sloane smirks. “That’s sweet that you’re censoring yourselves, but I’ve heard worse. And your sister is a doctor. She practically looks at dicks for a living, Noah.”
I roll my eyes as Emmett and Harrison laugh. “I’m going to be a cardiologist, not a urologist, Sloane.”
She sucks down the rest of her drink. “Same difference.”
“There’s definitely a difference,” I reply.
“Do you think something happened?” Harrison asks after a pause. “On his deployment?”
Emmett shrugs. “He hasn’t said anything—not that he would. You know how he is.”
“He must see all sorts of shit, right?” Harrison questions.
“Sup, boys?” Gray chooses this moment to reappear, dropping his tall frame down onto the leather of the curved booth. Right next to me.
There’s more space on this side, but it still feels like a deliberate move. Or maybe he’s just drunk. He smells like tequila. His arm brushes mine as he settles against the leather. I jerk away like I’ve been burned by an iron. “Boys” feels like a dig at me—although I can’t figure out what he could possibly feel entitled to be mad at me about.
“The boys were just updating us on your sex life, Gray,” Sloane says.
I keep my gaze on the table but smile when I hear her emphasis.
“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” she adds.
“Were they?” He says the words in an easy drawl but with an underlying tang of annoyance.
No one else seems to catch the undercurrent.
“It’s not boring at the loft when you’re in town, Phillips—that’s for damn sure.” Emmett drains the end of his drink and stretches. “I’ve got to head out.”
“It’s barely eleven,” Gray states. “When did you become such a responsible lightweight, Baker?”
“When I co-founded a business that requires me to get up at the ass crack of dawn on Sundays,” Emmett replies. “Not all of us are on a vacation, man.” Emmett’s tone is teasing.
“Vacation. Right.” Gray’s is not. Bitterness lurks beneath sarcasm.
I’m not the only one who catches it this time. Sloane’s eyebrows rise. Noah taps the side of his beer bottle.
“Can I catch a ride, Emmett?” I ask.
“Yeah. Of course,” he replies.
“You’re leaving?” Sloane pouts, but she doesn’t sound surprised.
“I’m exhausted,” I tell her. Which she knows. She’s heard me stumble around the apartment in the early mornings all week.
“I thought you were off again tomorrow?”
“I am. I’ve got a ton to do, though. Unpacking boxes. Packing to stay at my parents’. That bookcase arrived earlier. I have to start looking for a car and—”
“Okay, okay.” Sloane waves her hand. “Get out of here. Listening to you stress is stressing me out.”
I laugh. “Okay. Should I worry if you don’t make it home tonight?”
“No. If I do, it’ll mean the photo was more than five years old. Thirty is still a hard limit for me.”
“Text me?”
“Yeah.” Sloane gives me her best mock glare. “And next weekend, we’re finding you a guy, got it? I liked Logan, but I kind of got the feeling he didn’t know what he was doing in bed.”
“Jesus,” Noah groans. Because he—like everyone else at this table, with one very new exception—thinks I would know how Logan is in bed.
I act like she didn’t say anything. “Enjoy the rest of your night, guys,” I say, then turn toward said exception. He doesn’t move. “You’re blocking me in.”
Gray holds my gaze. The longer it lasts, the faster my pulse pounds. Being near him is a vigorous cardiac workout. There’s something unsettled in his expression, like he’s searching for the right way to say something but can’t summon the words. Or can’t say them in front of my brother and his friends. Our silent stare-off lasts a few more seconds before he finally moves. I swallow a groan as my bruised feet protest standing. I stumble as I slide out of the booth, wobbling in the heels. Gray grabs my elbow, steadying me. His touch hits my nervous system like a shot of adrenaline.
“Look at Phillips, being a gentleman,” Emmett teases.
“First time for everything,” Gray replies. But he’s not looking at Emmett.
He’s looking at me.
“You ready, Evie?” Emmett asks.
“Ready.” I yank my arm away from Gray’s hot touch and follow Emmett out of the bar.
