Page 133 of Just for the Cameras
I nibble on the corner of my lip, wondering if I should send it or not, but then I just say “fuck it” in my head and press send as insecurity laces my insides.
I wait for a response.
And wait.
And after what feels like ten minutes but is really more like ten seconds, he texts back.
Graydon:Um, pretty sure I was topless in mine.
My cheeks flame with heat as I scoot down lower on the couch, attempting to…hide? I don’t know what I’m trying to do. This entire week, he’s been doing a whole lot to my body without actually doing anything. Just using his words.
Graydon:Also…single and ready to flamingo? Last time I checked, you aren’t single.
God, I hate that I’m smiling like a fool.
Maple:Fictitiously, I’m not single. Also, do you really think I’m going to send you a topless photo?
Graydon:A man can dream.
My teeth roll over my bottom lip, and my courage starts to ramp upbecause from the kiss the night of the fundraiser, to the touching and all the flirty texts he’s sent, there’s clearly something here. There’s interest on his end, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t interest on mine. Because there is.
And it’s been a really long time since I’ve been on a date or haveeventhought about dating someone. I mean, there was a time when I was in Peru and had a bad crush on Hank, but I realized that since we were working together with no end in sight, it would be a bad idea.
But Graydon’s different.
I’ve never met someone like him before.
Broody, but sweet.
Introverted, yet flirty.
Standoffish, yet so attentive.
He’s a mystery that I want to solve.
And after the night of the fundraiser, the kiss, the way he pressed his hand into my skin, this week’s nighttime text messages, I think I’ve found an opening, and…I’m going to take it.
Maple:What are you doing tomorrow? Maybe we can get brunch or something.
After I hit send, I toss my phone to the side and cover my eyes. Oh my God, I can’t believe I just asked him out on a date.
What if…what if he says no?
What if I’m reading him all wrong?
I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the embarrassment.
My phone buzzes, making my nerves scream with dread.
Please don’t be a no.
Please don’t be a no…
I pick up my phone and go to his text.
Graydon:I have plans, but I’ll pick you up Monday for training camp.
My heart sinks as my imagination considers every possible scenario for what he’d be doing on a Sunday. I’m trying to convince myself thatit has nothing to do with me. That he’s probably going to hang outwith friends or something, given that it’s his only day off. Why would he want to hang out with me when he sees me every day of the week? But it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like an idiot for even asking.
