But it was only momentary.
“I hate that store,” I said, standing up. “Can we get out of here now?”
Brooke finished the rest of her lemonade with a loud slurp, tossed it in the trash, and we left.
“So let me guess. You’re some skating genius too,” I said, surprised by Grayson’s choice of evening entertainment. I was also secretly excited because, well, I could skate. I’d had five years of basic-level training when, once upon a time, I had wanted to be the next Sasha Cohen. And while I’d pretty much quit after my body, as my mother politely put it, filled out, I thought I could pull out a decent scratch spin or something that might at least be a little impressive.
He stood up, the ice skates giving him another three inches of height that made him wobble.
“I think I was about a foot shorter the last time I did this.”
“It’ll come back,” I said as I finished lacing up the rentals. I hopped to standing, a move that surprised him. “C’mon, let’s see what you got.”
It was painful. Not inching-along-the-rink-wall painful, but painful. We glided along the ice. Well, I glided. Gray shuffled unsteadily. It was the first time I felt like I had the upper hand, and I wasn’t going to let that get away from me. After our third trip around the rink, I crossed in front of him and skated backward, holding both of his hands in mine.
“So about that favor for Luke,” I said, trying to playfully bring up the subject. I’d spent the afternoon on the phone with Jazz and Maddie, getting their opinions on Grayson’s mall scene. Maddie, who was head cheerleader for Team Grayson since he’d invited us to Andy’s party, told me to let it go. Grayson was the kind of guy who girls noticed, and we weren’t officially together, so for now it was okay. Her take on it made me feel hopeful.
Jazz had the opposite opinion. Suddenly Grayson sounded like the sleazy boyfriend in Adventures in Babysitting, the one who cancels his date with sweet Chris Parker in order to date the sexy girl who puts out. I was starting to agree with Mads’s opinion that Jazz needed to enter the new millennium and stop living her life according to eighties movies. Even if what she said haunted me a little.
I was somewhere in between, because right there, in that moment, I was holding hands with a dark-haired, brown-eyed boy who looked so deliciously vulnerable, he was worlds away from the slick guy who was doing a favor for Luke in the store this morning. This was the Grayson I knew. The Grayson I wanted to be around. I tugged on his hands to propel him, and he lost his footing.
“We have to talk about this now?” he asked, scrambling to stay upright.
“That’s why we’re here, is it?” I asked, leading us around a turn. “To completely avoid talking about what you were doing at the mall?”
“Why does anyone go to the mall?”
“You know what I mean,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him and speeding us up slightly.
“This is a side of you I’ve never seen. Very sexy, devious,” he said, narrowing his eyes back at me and flipping his bangs away from his face.
I let go of his hands. He was not going to get away with not telling me. No matter how hot he looked when he pulled that bang-flipping move.
“Wren,” he said, shuffling a little to get his balance.
I sped away from him, weaving my way through other skaters to put some distance between us. When I caught up to him again, he nearly knocked into a little girl in a sparkly, aqua skate outfit who scrunched her face at him.
“Ready to talk?” I asked, adjusting my speed and grabbing his hand. His fingers tightened around mine.
“Okay, but there’s really not much to talk about; I already told you I was doing a favor for Luke.”
“Right, Luke who has trouble talking to girls . . . go on.” He scowled. “I’m serious. He’s interested in that girl and just wanted me to talk to her to see if she was, you know, available.”
“Did he want to know if her hair was soft too?”
“Wren.”
“Isn’t he with Ava?”
Grayson snickered. “Luke has a pretty wide definition of being ‘with’ someone.”
I let that one sit a minute as our blades scratched across the ice. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a wide definition of being with someone?” His eyebrows rose at the question, but he didn’t answer right away.
After a pass around the rink, he spoke. “I’ve never really been with anyone.”
“No way!” I said, so loud that a couple skating by turned to see the commotion. After they faced forward again, I spoke. “Really, that can’t be possible.”
“Skate in front of me again.”
I waited until we rounded the edge of the rink to cross over and switch my direction. Grayson’s eyes were serious.
“I’ve been with girls, but it’s always been . . . more physical. Short-term.”
Physical and short-term. I stumbled. “Okay, you don’t have to go into it.”
“That’s just it. With you? I want to go into it. I want you to know me, but I don’t know where to start. Wren, you’re so . . . honest and funny and . . . I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met.”
I stopped pumping my legs. “Really?”
“Yes. So I’d say my definition of being with someone is tiny. Miniscule, really.”
We slowed down. I held on to his hands and broadened my footing as we hit the straightaway. He inhaled, keeping his eyes steady on mine. “I want to be with you. Period.”
I bit my lip, aware that we’d come to a full stop as others scratched by on their skates. He kissed me, soft and light, just a whisper on the mouth that left me wanting more. If he was playing me, he was damn good at it.
“I think I like that definition,” I said.
“Why don’t we get out of here before I crack my skull?” he asked, teetering as someone sped by us.
We returned the rentals, and I made a quick stop to the ladies’ room, mostly for damage control, as skating always had the lovely side effects of a runny nose and a glaze of sweat. I took lip gloss from my pocket and freshened up, wondering what the rest of the night held. I tried to focus on the sweet things Grayson had said and not on what he meant by short-term and physical when describing his past relationships.
I left the ladies’ room and saw Gray across the lobby. He was leaning against a column and talking to a girl. I’d been gone for five freakin’ minutes. I ran a hand through my hair, stood up straighter. Talking to a girl or not, he was with me. And I wanted to be with Gray. And it was time to go after something I wanted. This was something—Gray and girls—I was going to have to get used to. As I got closer, I noticed she was a bit older, maybe Brooke’s age, and was vaguely familiar. He pointed in my direction. The girl peeked over her shoulder at me.
“Hey,” I said.
“See you ’round, Mike,” she said, carrying her skates toward a bench.
“Who was that?”
“Waitress at Leaning Tower,” he said. “She never remembers my name.”
For some reason that made me feel better.
“So where to?” I asked. “Or was that our big date?”
“You can still hang out, right?”
“I’m all yours.”
“Great. Feel like going to my house?”
Alone. With him?
“Yes.”
EIGHTEEN
GRAYSON