Greyson
“Next thing you know, you’ll be going to fucking church on Sunday to sing choir,” Derek cackles as he drives me over to Melanie’s parents’ house.
Why is he driving me to her parents’ house, you wonder?
Because it looks like I’m doing brunch today.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl.
Derek chuckles and shakes his head, and I stare morosely out the window.
“Aaaaahhhhhh, god, I can’t believe this,” I tell myself as I rub my face and look down at my clean clothes. I took the risk of not wearing any weapons and I feel beyond naked—I feel stupid. Like some prom boy about to pick up his date.
There are some things that you just know are right or wrong. And I know that sitting at a Sunday brunch with a woman’s parents is not where I belong.
My crewneck itches. I angrily tug it as I walk up to their townhome. I know exactly where their home is because I’ve hacked Melanie’s every system, read every page, receipt, and article with her name on it. I could be a plague on legs approaching the two-story home, that’s how out of place I feel as I rap my knuckles on the door. There are flower beds nearby. It smells . . . of freshly mowed lawn. I almost remember helping my mother mow our lawn thirteen years ago. In a home like this. It’s been thirteen years since I stepped through doors like these, in a neighborhood like this. I don’t fucking belong here anymore.
Derek waves at me from the car and I flip him off, then call, “I’ll bring out a doggie bag for you.”
He flips me back. “I chomped on a burrito at the gas station but you sure are the epitome of kindness this morning, boss.”
Ignoring the jibe—because of course I wasn’t my sunniest on our drive here, hell, I never am—I knock on the door a third time.
I’m not really certain how Melanie will react to my being here but I’m going to give her a little help and act like I already know she’s going to be fucking delighted to see me. Period.
A servant opens the door. “Yes?”
She runs her gaze over me as if she can’t help herself, then I hear a voice, similar to Melanie’s. “Who is it, Maria?”
“Thank you, I’ll find my way.” I ease into the house and head to the noise, bursting into the dining room with ease.
Melanie’s father pushes up from his chair, surprised, though not alarmed. Silver dusts a full head of hair, and he has the kind of face that perennially wears a smile. Melanie’s mother, on the other hand, remains seated and wide-eyed, a beautiful woman with a pale, sensitive expression and eyes almost the exact shade as Melanie’s.
“Melanie?” her father asks. I roam her body with my gaze, and when our eyes connect, I see her lightly tugging on a loose tendril of hair, nervously looking for an explanation. What? Now she’s leaving me here like an idiot? Currents of electricity crackle between us, and I feel my body respond.
“Mr. and Mrs. Meyers,” I say to the people seated at the dining table. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Mom and Dad, this is Greyson. He went with me to Brooke and Remy’s wedding. He’s . . .”
She raises her face to me for help. Her eyes wide and bright, and god, she screws my brain. My mind flashes with images of her—the playful woman, the siren in my bed, the nurse who wrapped me up and kissed me after, and I can feel the fire in my gut blend into my soul.
Quietly I say, “I’m her new boyfriend and it’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
I pump her father’s hand and hold his gaze. Her mother launches herself at me and almost disintegrates in my arms. “So nice to meet you!”
Uncomfortable as fuck by the immediate warmth around me, I pry myself free and head over to Melanie. My body feels charged just being near hers. Now lust, I can understand.
“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just a friend,” Melanie laughs, playing a role for them. With an amused smile, she looks at me, then quips, “Change of plans?”
I pull out the chair next to hers. “Looks like.”
Her mother claps delightedly. “Oh, we’ll have a new member to play charades with!”
Fuck. Me. Standing.
I haven’t had a family-style dinner in my entire life, not even when my mother was with me. Never with both my parents at the table. I don’t eat at tables. I don’t hang out with families. In their homes.
I don’t know why I followed her here.
Bullshit. I do know.
She’s my mark, but she’s marked me. Guilt, an emotion I’m not familiar with, niggles in the back of my mind when her parents instantly begin listing all of Melanie’s talents for me. I guess I look like a decent guy. I look more than decent. They think if she likes me, I deserve her. Fuck, it hurts.
“Greyson King, hmmm . . . I’m trying to think of any Kings I know?” Her father scrubs his chin. “We are in King County, after all. What about the KING-5 TV station . . . ?”
“No, I’m not from around here.”
“Greyson, can I just say our little grasshopper is not only an amazing decorator, she makes perfect homemade ice cream from the days when Lucas and I had a little gelato place. She can actually cook, this one can!”
“Only when forced to,” she says, grinning.
Fuck me again, but she looks adorable, somehow vulnerable and playful.
She makes me fucking hot.
Hard.
Possessive.
Protective.
What the fuck?
“So how did you two meet?” her mother wants to know.
Melanie sighs. “He saved my car from the rain one day.”
Her mother’s eyes turn huge. “When you found yourself standing in the rain?” she asks Melanie, as though they’ve discussed the night we met.
Melanie flushes—how can I miss the way her cheeks flare bright red? The fire in my gut grows even more when I realize she’d talked about me to her mother.
“Greyson, I hope you don’t think we’re being overly enthusiastic but Mel’s never brought a boy home in twenty-five years. Even a friend.”
“Twenty-four,” Princess corrects.
“In a little over a month it’ll be twenty-five,” her mother says, rolling her eyes and then peers through her lashes at me. “Our Mel always throws a celebration,” she tells me, her hands in prayer mode under her chin. “This year we can’t wait to see what she plans!”
For the first time I notice my party girl seems at a loss for words. “I might pass this year, everything’s so expensive.”
“Nonsense. It’s twenty-five big ones!” her father says.
Melanie’s silence is weighed down with a grief that’s palpable. Suddenly, I’m honed in on the fact that the three of us are watching her while she looks down at her plate, her lip caught under her teeth. My fingers twitch at my sides, and a flash of concern hits me as I realize she’s sad, the flash of pain followed by a flash of determination to make it better.
God, she brightens the room. When she’s sad it’s almost as if a light just turned off. I live in darkness enough and I’ll be damned before I let her see her light turn off.
“All right, so charades it is!” Her father claps with mock enthusiasm.
Under the table, I steal a touch of Melanie’s thigh and rub up and down in a slow, soothing motion I’ve never used on a woman before but that she brings out in me, nonetheless, and I get high when her cheeks redden and she smiles again, her sadness forgotten. I swear her smile shoots straight up to my head like an upside-down thunderbolt.
I should feel like a thief, like I’m stealing this moment that doesn’t belong to me. Instead it’s too damn easy to pretend it’s rightfully mine.
“Grasshopper, what do you say, boys versus girls. Huh, Greyson?”
Soon Melanie’s walking around sticking out her neck, puckering her lips, and leaning forward and pecking in the air. She’s sexy, and fun, and silly, and what she’s doing somehow shoots like a gallon of blood straight to my dick.
So apparently this game includes cards. We picked a category. The dad went for animals. And she’s acting like some weird animal.
“The team who guesses the most wins,” her dad tells me, slapping my arm. “Don’t worry, our little grasshopper never guesses correctly—a crane!” he suddenly yells out.
“Yes!” she cries.
“You go first, or should I?” her dad asks me next.
“By all means, sir. I’m not dying to make a fool of myself just yet.” He laughs and pulls a card out and I see it’s a bear.
He spreads his arms out and walks around. “Gorilla!” Melanie cries. He grins at me and lifts his arms up in the air, higher.
“Stallion!” Mrs. Meyers cries.
Mr. Meyers spares me a glance and lifts his eyebrows up to his hairline in a way that says, See? These women are clueless.
He continues acting until I’m chuckling, watching them, until it’s my turn. I sneak a glance out the window and make sure I’m not visible—if Derek sees this, it’s the end of Zero. No more respect for Zero.
I pull out a card and get dog. I start snarling and do the first thing I can think of, grab a pillow and chew on the corner.
“Wolf!” her mother cries.
I clamp it between my teeth and shake it from side to side.
“Oh dear,” her mother says.
Melanie is laughing her ass off, and I feel like a dickwad. Hell, I want her to guess, but fuck this, I’m not gonna whine like some dog.
I drop the pillow and give up, and she’s clutching her stomach, laughing, and so hot as she comes over and takes the pillow away, playfully running her fingers through my hair. I can see the family dynamic now so clearly.
“My grandma used to say,” she tells me, with one last ruffle of my hair, “those who play together, stay together.”
She’s been protected all her life. Happy. Playing an innocent, fun game. She shines. They all shine. They’re ridiculous and stupid and I have never in my life wanted to be ridiculous and stupid. I kill, blackmail, and con the ridiculous and stupid.
“The one who can do the best trick gets the last brownie!”
“Now, son,” her dad tells me after that announcement, “any trick you can do, now’s the time to do it. Those brownies are killer, I tell you.”
“You go first, Dad!” Melanie cries.
Mr. Meyers begins to do a Russian dance, hut noises included. Her mother makes a realistic gorilla. Melanie looks at me, then she cups her mouth and starts a donkey call. Finally, they all look at me.
Fuck. Seriously?
This is so fucking stupid.
But . . .
It’s the way she is looking at me, curious, happy. It brings me back to where she is. And it makes me study the dining room to see what the fuck I can do. I spot a vase with daisies on the table. They’re hot pink—so princess.
Grabbing a steak knife and backing up several paces, I fling it across the room, past them. And pin the center of the daisy to the far wall.
Silence.
“Holy guacamole!” her dad cries.
“That’s an incredible trick!” her mom cries.
Melanie brings me the brownie as I unpin the daisy, and as she hands over the sweet, I hand her the flower.
“That’s an interesting trick,” she says, surveying me and smelling the flower. “They teach you that at security school?”
“They teach you donkey speak in Decorating 101?” I want to make her flush, and it works. She laughs.
My effect on her is like a drug and it shoots straight to my head, dizzying me.
“That was one cool trick,” I hear the father whisper to the mother, but I’m consumed by my fucking filthy-mouthed princess standing close, panting and excited, playful and warm and full of promises of the things I’ve never had in my life.
I offer her some of my brownie, and she bites into it. I start to brush her hair behind her forehead, and when I look up, her parents are watching us with these huge smiles on their faces, like they’re thrilled their grasshopper has finally found a guy “friend.”
And I see, right here and now, that this is what the Underground took from me.
