“I call the wall side,” I yelled, running toward Gray’s bed. I liked to lie against the cool wall at night. As I made a mad dash past him, Gray grabbed me by the waist and tickled me until I screamed out for him to stop.

“You can have any side you want, Sinister.” He pulled off his clothes and flopped down next to me, pulling the covers over us.

It was a matter of seconds before I was underneath his body. This time it was different.

He made me feel delicate as he slowly moved inside me. Gray propped his elbows on either side of my head and focused on my eyes with every gentle pump. Smoothing my wet hair from my face, he laid kisses across my forehead and cheeks.

This wasn’t rushed. This was slow and loving. He was overwhelming me with intimate whispers into my ear.

He told me I was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. He told me my mouth was sweet and addicting. He told me he wanted me from the first day he’d met me, and it’d never stopped. My reaction was to groan underneath his body. Eventually, he lifted my hips, hitting me at just the right angle until I tumbled over the edge. Not long after, Gray let out a string of choppy, shallow breaths, and on the last one, his body relaxed over mine.

He stayed several seconds with his head against my chest, pressing his ear to my skin. My heart thumped so hard I expected his head to bounce up and down, but he wrapped his arms under my back and pressed his ear deeper against my skin.

“You should record your heart beat,” he whispered so low it felt like a voice in my head. “You could use it in one of your mixes. The sound is so rhythmic and intoxicating. I never want to move my head.”

Combing my fingers through his tangled hair, I couldn’t suppress my grin. This moment was perfect. I was used to okay, and I was used to just fine, but I wasn’t used to perfect. “I’ll think about it, but one day you’ll have to move your head because your massive noggin is crushing my lungs.”

He laughed and kissed my breasts before sliding over on his stomach next to me. Letting out a yawn, he wrapped his arms under his pillow and watched me as I stared up at the ceiling.

“You gonna come to my game Saturday?”

“I don’t know.” I would never have entertained the idea before, but that sentimental organ in my chest was pumping harder than ever, and it was all Gray’s fault. “Going to games seems very… official.”

“I know,” he said, smashing his excited little boy smile into his pillow. “But I want you there. Bring a friend.”

Flipping toward him, I smashed my excited little girl smile into my pillow. “I guess I might make an appearance, but I’d have to go alone. My friends aren’t really into football, except Allison maybe.”

Thinking about Allison made my stomach churn, and the smile fell from my face. My reckless words had hurt her. I could only assume she knew they were from me, Sunday Lane.

Gray pulled an arm from under his pillow and drew my body to his chest. “What’s wrong, Sydney?”

I marveled at his strong jaw and his tight chest. He was beautifully built, and it felt wonderful locked in his embrace, but even that couldn’t take away my guilt.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking about Allison. Jack was really upset.”

I closed my eyes, trying to formulate a plan, which was nearly impossible with two hundred pounds of hard muscle surrounding my body.

“Everything will be fine. I’ll talk to Katharine,” he said, lifting my bruised hand to kiss my knuckles. “I’ll set her straight.”

“No,” I snapped, a wave of fear crashing over me. “Don’t talk to Katharine. I’ll talk to her myself. This is girl stuff. You don’t need to concern yourself.”

He bunched his eyebrows together, listening to the urgency in my tone.

“You look like an old man when you scrunch up your face.” Lifting my hand, I smoothed his brows back down. “You know I can handle myself just fine, but I appreciate the offer.”

“I know, Sydney. I won’t say anything.” Slipping out of bed, he walked over to his desk and turned on his reading light. “Got your favorite,” he teased, pulling a can of Pringles from his desk drawer.

Sitting up, I wrapped the sheets around me and held out my arms. “Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

Gray threw the can, and I popped it open.

“This is sooo much better than that steak dinner you promised me.” I popped a triple stack into my mouth. “Wish you had gummy bears, though,” I mumbled through dry fragments of chips in my mouth. It was all very sexy. Trust me.

Gray hopped into bed and stole the can from my cheese-coated fingers. “Only the best for my girl, but I’m not made of money, gold digger. Gummy bears are for our second date.”

My chewing slowed to a halt, processing what he just said. My girl. Gray caught my stunned expression and shoved a chip in my open mouth. “That’s right, Sinister, my girl. Don’t worry. I call all my conquests my girl. Now chew.”

I smacked him playfully in the stomach, and as directed, I chewed, finally taking a good look around Gray’s room. This was the first time I’d been here without feeling like death had sucker-punched me with a massive hangover. Abstract artwork covered the walls, and my mind returned to freshman year.

“You draw those?” I asked, pointing to the wall opposite the bed.

“I wish,” he said, tucking my hair behind my ear. “That’s Color Field artwork. You know, abstract expressionism. They were my grandpa’s old prints from the ‘50s. That one.” He turned and pointed to what looked like a target with a bull’s eye. It was simple and had varying swirls of black, white, red, and blue rings. “That’s a reprint of Kenneth Noland’s Beginning.”

“It’s beautiful. It looks like a patriotic vinyl record,” I said, and he laughed. “Beginning, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s one of the reasons I chose Art History as my major. Well, actually, Grandpa was the main reason. When he retired, he became all artsy fartsy—but he said it was the best time of his life.”

I tried to contain my surprise, but I couldn’t help my wide eyes. “Art History?”

“Yeah,” he said as if I should already know this. And maybe I should have. He’d hinted at it freshman year. “I’d stay summers at Grandpa’s cabin and paint with him. He had that print in his room, and I’d stare at it for hours.” He regarded the picture with watery eyes, and I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest.

“Anyway, my usual medium is oil pastels. If you ever saw me on campus, you’d notice the smudges all over my fingers, but I guess we never cross paths.” He blinked a few times, and I pretended not to notice.

“Who knew Gray Peters was closet tortured artist?” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

His grandpa had obviously meant a lot to him, and I knew what it felt like to lose someone you love.

“Yeah, well, I’ll never make much money.” He grabbed a bottle of water off his nightstand and handed it to me. “But it’s what I love. I’m sure you know the feeling, DJ,” he joked, and I smiled, taking a sip. “And what’s life if you can’t do the things you love, or be with the ones…?” He stopped himself and cleared his throat, but he didn’t have to finish his sentence. His unspoken sentiment was pounding in my ears.

Run, Sydney, he’ll only crush you again. That was my first thought. But as he squeezed me tightly to his side, my defensive wall began to crumble to pieces, and I was surprised my first reaction wasn’t to grab brick and mortar and frantically rebuild. Instead, I welcomed the wrecking ball with open arms.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Panic set in when I woke to no Sydney.

I lay in bed for a minute, hands clenched into fists, wondering what happened. Yesterday had been so perfect. Where did it go wrong? Probably because I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut and nearly admitted my undying love. Now she was scared as hell.