Hard Facts by Penny Clarke
16
Summer
“You gave him a key.” Liz pulls me into her room after our weekly ABB meeting.
I shove aside a mess of sheet music and textbooks to sit on her bed. When I come across a cylindrical, wooden item with a rather blunt end, I hold it up. “Is this an instrument or a dildo?”
“It’s a kaval.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
She snatches it from my hand and throws it in her nightstand drawer. Strange location for an instrument.
“A key.”
“Yes. You’re right. I gave him a key.” With a lovelorn sigh, I place both hands on my chest. “I let Jesus into my heart. And I vow, on my own oddly shaped sex toys—” I make a show of crossing my legs. “That these shall open for no other man, ever again.”
“Summer,” Liz drops next to me. “Are you sure you’re not letting yourself get carried away with this whole pretend boyfriend thing? Listen, you’re old news around the house now. Why not pull back a bit? Let it fizzle out, with none the wiser. How are your grades?”
Getting better. I can reasonably follow along when Gray rambles on about hypothesis testing.
Still…
“Not good enough for Nolan,” I tell her. He’d called the other day, to deliver that statement himself. I’m almost certain now that he has a direct line to my professors, in order to check.
To reassure my little sis, though, I flip a tangle of curls off her shoulder and give her a confident look. “We’re getting there, though. Stop worrying about it so much.”
“But a key to your apartment, Summer. I just about had a heart attack when I walked in yesterday, and there he was, on the couch—”
“Big fucking deal. It’s just a key. I gave you one, too. My giving it to Grayson was a matter of convenience, it doesn’t have any special meaning.” She opens her mouth to protest, but I halt her. “Liz, you know me. I can handle myself with men. Especially a nerd like Grayson Rowe. The plan’s working, see. So relax.”
She’s torn between wanting to accept it or press her luck debating with me. I roll my eyes. Laying on the bed, I prop my head in one hand and rustle her homework with the other. “How’s the independent study? What are you learning—Okay, that is definitely a dildo.”
Blushing, she takes the long, phallic object I’d uncovered from under the sheet music and hides it in a clarinet case on her desk.
“Band camp taught you a lot of weird tricks, didn’t it?”
“More like being the preacher’s daughter.”
“But you do have band camp stories. At least one, right?”
With a mischievous smile, she tells me three. After giggling over those, we chat for a bit before I have to go.
“By the way,” she says as I rummage through my purse for the avocado hair mask I’d brought her. “I thought Kaylyn was in charge of finding a florist for the homecoming formal.”
“Yeah, um, I’m just helping her out,” I say into the depths of my purse, before brandishing a jar. “Here it is!”
Leaving her only with the promise of deeply hydrated and shining curls, I head home. Driving from ABB to my assigned parking space behind my building, where I hurry up the stairs.
As I put my own key in the lock, I pause. Shake my head of its racing thoughts and turn the knob. I already know what’s waiting for me on the other side. The exact image Liz found the day before.
Gray, on the couch. Feet up on the coffee table. Surrounded by textbooks and notes. Head in his computer.
Until he hears the door shut and glances up. Glasses sliding down to the very tip of his nose, so he has to push them back, as he smiles, “Hey.”
I think that I, too, have a heart attack.
He’s slept over a few more times since the night of the Fundie Run. After the third marveling observation on how silent my apartment is, even I’d started to notice how quiet it can be. Eerily quiet. To the point that I’d brought the topic up to Gray. That if he needs a place to study that’s not his house or the library, he could come over here. I offered the same to Liz last year, whenever she needs somewhere to play when ABB gets too loud or the music hall practice rooms are full.
It took only two days, butting heads over coordinating schedules, and me getting locked out of my own home, before I presented him with a spare key. So, yes, technically, I told Liz the truth when I said it was a matter of convenience.
But that doesn’t explain my racing heartbeat every time I come home to find he’s already waiting for me.
“Francie left dinner on the stove,” he says. “How was chapter?”
“We did trust fall exercises, and Iris tried to drop me. So about as well as expected. But plans for the homecoming formal are coming along…” I summarize the rest, kicking off my heels and shrugging off my coat. When I finish, he’s staring at his computer again, humming that he’s listening, even though I know by now that he’s not. Whatever’s on that screen has his attention, and I don’t mind, because I can stare at that concentrating expression without fear of being caught.
Before long, though, I let my nose lead me to the kitchen. And while the scent of my housekeeper’s chicken orzo is scrumptious, that’s not what draws my focus.
Soft, slender petals tickle my skin as I bury my face in a bundle of subtly sweet fragrance. Abundantly dense blooms, bright and bountiful in burgundy hues. Gathered in a short, round vase.
The first bouquet appeared shortly after the day I gave Gray the key.
I’d been confused at first, coming home to him on the couch and them on the kitchen island. Even more confused at the tiny card tucked into the stems. The one that read, Black-eyed susans. Its roots have been used to help earaches.
“Did you get these?” I’d set the vase on the coffee table. For me? I’d been too afraid to ask.
Only he’d glanced up from his textbook, stared quizzically at the bouquet like he’d never seen it before, and said, “Huh. That’s weird. Looks nice there, though. Hey, did you know black-eyed susans are a favorite of bees?”
A couple of days later, the next bouquet appeared. Dainty clusters of purple. And another note. Did you also know bees favor violets, too?
Which I did, since he’d told me that very fact. The day we met.
There’s no set schedule. No rhyme or reason to each arrangement’s appearance. Just that they do, and always with a note and a fact. Crisply sweet-smelling and eye-catching blooms, adding tiny spots of color to my once too-white apartment.
Orange asters, on the front table where I’d dropped my purse (Cousins to the sunflower). Rich red dahlias for the bathroom counter (Can be found in any color except blue). Bunches of multicolored marigolds on the windowsill (Produces lutein, a vitamin that benefits eyes).
Taking another deep breath of this latest assortment, I find its note. Chrysanthemums were scientifically proven by NASA to purify the air.
I glance at him again. He’s still lost in his homework.
I take the note to my room. Place it on the small stack of others like it on top of my nightstand, and spare a moment to, once more, admire my violets. The only ones I’d brought back here, out of the main living area. So I can reach out, before I go to sleep or the second I wake up, to pet their velvet petals with the tip of my fingers.
“Why?” I’d asked Grayson again, after a gift of lush coral peonies (Their plants can live for up to one hundred years), which I’d switched out with the black-eyed susans on the coffee table.
This time, instead of being coy, he’d looked me right in the eye to explain, “It’s what a boyfriend would do. Theoretically.”
I’m beginning to despise that word.
And I’m beginning to think I was mistaken when I told my little sister that I can handle this man.
There’s been no repeats of that night. The night I almost jumped Grayson’s bones. Now, when we kiss, I pull back first. To stop myself from pushing for anything else. For wanting what I know I can’t have.
I didn’t think it would be so, so—difficult. Because I’ve always gotten what I’ve wanted in the past. Because if not for that one stupid word, I’d almost think Gray was wooing me with all his flowers and facts. Because I find that I like the idea of being wooed.
Because he’s the best damn theoretical boyfriend I’ve ever had.
But I want more.
Falling back onto my bed, I release one pent-up sigh. Then, recognizing what’s going on, I sit right back up. No. This isn’t happening. I’m going to change into comfy leggings and wool socks and a fluffy sweater. Eat some of Francie’s home cooking. Maybe start a little homework. And pretend like I wasn’t just moping in my bedroom about a guy not liking me back.
So I do all that, dropping onto the couch minutes later with a warm bowl of food and my statistics textbook. Resolute in my promise to keep away from Grayson.
Which would all work so well… if he didn’t immediately scoot to the spot right next to me.
“I’ve been working on my cover letter for the internship,” he says, thigh pressing on my knee. “And I need a second opinion.”
“Read it to me.” How easily do I break my own promises, as I readjust my body to lean against his. Listening to his voice, following along with the document on his laptop screen, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to cuddle up next to him.
“I like it,” I applaud when he finishes. “Good uses of detail and facts. The application deadline’s coming up soon, right?”
“Next week. But this…” Gray nods, editing in one last change. “Is ready now.”
“Oh, oh, wait!” My stats book thumps to the floor, and I almost spill my food on the coffee table in my rush to jump to my feet. Hurrying to the kitchen, I grab my phone from the counter and a small bottle from the fridge. I throw myself back on the couch with both. “Okay. Now do it.”
He hits submit, and I pop the champagne. Real champagne, that I’d bought just for this very occasion. Gray chuckles, shaking his head when I pass him the bottle. “I have a work shift soon.”
“Like those frat guys aren’t already going to be wasted for their tutoring lessons,” I roll my eyes. “Besides, this is barely a glass. You’ll get a full-sized one when you get accepted. Drink up, Rowe. We’re celebrating.”
There’s no hesitation this time, as he grabs the bottle by the neck and downs a swig. As his nose wrinkles from the bubbles, I call up a number on my phone. “Tammy? No, I don’t want to speak to him. Actually, I’m calling because a very close friend of mine…”
Moments later, I hang up, with Nolan’s assistant promising to contact human resources and review one internship application for Grayson Rowe, first thing in the morning. Tossing my phone on the coffee table, I wave for him to pass me the alcohol. “It’s done. You’re in. Or, well, you will be. At eight am. California time. Expect a call soon.”
“As easy as that, huh?” He heaves a deep breath of relief, now that the application’s out of his hands.
“Grayson James, don’t you know by now that everything’s easy with me?” I give him a flirty wink as I take another sip.
He reaches over. Slowly removes the bottle from my lips. Glides the tip of his tongue over the round rim, before he brings his mouth down, right where mine had been before it.
All the while, his eyes never leave mine.
And I’m supposed to just sit here and resist that?
Really, a girl can only take so much.
“So,” I rush to say something, anything, before I throw myself in his sturdy arms and maul the hell out of his My chemistry puns get no reaction shirt. “Are you ready for the homecoming formal? If you haven’t rented your tux by now…”
“Oh,” Grayson blinks. Then his smile curves down in a wince. “Right. This weekend. About that—”
“You forgot.”
“No,” he’s quick to assure. “It’s just—We’re having our Halloween party. At the house.”
“Halloween’s not for another couple of weeks.”
Shutting his computer, he sets it and the empty champagne bottle on the coffee table to pull his backpack over and rummage through its pockets. “Morris and them have an away game that weekend. Of course, the football schedule’s the only one Natalie ever checks, but—Here. She wanted me to personally deliver this to you.”
He hands me an orange and black scrap of construction paper. An invitation, I realize when I take it. Addressed to Gray’s girlfriend.
Well. Better than rich girl.
Gathering his homework supplies, Grayson doesn’t look at me when he says, “It’ll just be us and some guys from the football team, a few cheerleaders. I think Kennedy and Rylie invited some friends, too. Just a typical party, with beer pong and, you know… beer. And costumes. Natalie’s been baking all week. But I told her we have the formal. So don’t feel pressured to go. Unless you want to go. Not that you should give up your sorority thing, or—”
“You should go,” I interrupt all that rambling.
Clearly, he has a preference. Far be it from me to tell him he can’t spend time with his friends.
This is what I should be doing, after all. Keeping him away. Letting it fizzle out.
I nod, as much to convince myself of that as to tell him I don’t mind. “Yeah. You should go. I mean, we don’t have to do everything together, all the time. Liz told me herself, we’re old news around the house. And besides, you’ve already gone to so many of ABB’s things, you won’t be missed at this one.”
Wrong. His nonattendance will definitely be noted.
Most especially by me.
And I shove aside the vision of the dress in my closet. The lavender tulle confection. That I bought, despite its lack of pockets, since I thought the wildflowers embroidered into the bodice might make his honey-brown eyes light up.
“You’re sure?” Grayson asks slowly.
“Yep.” I flip open my stats book to the latest chapter and shove a spoonful of lukewarm food in my mouth so I don’t have to watch that wrinkle form between his eyebrows. “Have fun. Tell me all about it on Monday. I want to know, to the exact nanosecond, when Levi takes off his shirt.”
Standing, he zips his backpack. “Yeah, I’ll for sure keep my eyes peeled for that.”
I lay out on the couch. Propping up my stats book, I pout at his sarcastic tone. “Why do you tease me so, Grayson James?”
No response. When I set the text down, using my boobs as a bookmark, Gray glances quickly away, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Then he’s off in a flurry of activity. Yanking on his coat. Pulling on his backpack. Knocking over the orange asters in his rush to shove his shoes on. I giggle to myself when he catches them, mopping up spilled water with his sleeve, then turn back to my chapter on intervals.
“Summer?”
I peek over the textbook. “Hmm?”
“Thanks,” he says in a single breath, and I set my book down again to squarely meet his eyes. He nods at my phone. “For your help.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to quip something back. Quid pro quo, Rowe.
Instead, I tell him, honestly, what I think. “If anyone deserves a spot in that internship, Grayson, it’s you.”
Ugh, that grin. So open and pleased and downright happy. And he takes it with him as he leaves for work. So that the second I hear the bolt turn, I’m tossing aside my textbook and heading to my room, to that secret box under my bed.
Like I was actually planning on studying after a smile like that.