Grant's body moves to the music, our fronts facing one another, and I decide to go with it. Even though Marissa pretends to be upset, she'll enjoy having Ryland here when he shows up later... probably sooner than later. The feeling catches me off guard, but I'm glad Grant is here rather than on another continent. A rave-warehouse isn't where you'd expect to find him. Unless Grant is hiding a secret party guy persona underneath all that L.L.Bean, I have to assume he's here for me.Strictly in a friend way of course.I take a sip from the cup and spit the clear liquid all over the floor and Grant's shoes. Marissa laughs and shrugs at my confusion. He looks down on his leather sandals that probably cost more than a month's rent but doesn't yell. Instead he shakes his head and points to my glass. I hand it over and wait for him to sip the straight vodka. He doesn't spit it on the floor, but his lips pinch together in confusion and he hands the plastic cup back.The music goes on and
"I can't believe you took the time and materials to build your outer walls of smooth stone." Grant stops his character's movements to admire my work.The smooth stone towering high in the sky sparkles in the light. Some people paint. I build castles in online games. It's my masterpiece. I don't mind him appreciating the work."Why? What's yours made from?" I've heard about this huge castle Grant and the guys are so proud of."Cobblestone. The building block of all good castles."I laugh and take my character off the staircase to the second floor. "You mean the building blocks of all lazy castle builders.""How long did it take you?"I stop my character and bite off a piece of the turkey sandwich room service dropped off five minutes ago. "Months. Maybe longer. I made the structure out of cobblestone and then replaced each block as more smooth stone became available."I'm not sure if my dedication to this castle shows my good work ethic — I quarried the stone myself over m
There is a snapping sound beside us and I whip my head in the direction of the sound. Grant rips the corded controller from the Super Nintendo console he keeps next to the newer Xbox. He wraps the long cord around his hand and then jerks the other free.Earlier I questioned the older system, which he reassured me he needed because it had the best versions of Mario and the original NHL hockey game. There definitely wasn't extra money in our budget for game systems growing up so I have no choice but to take his word for it."What are you going to do, tie me up with a controller?"With the sweep of his hand he brushes the wireless Xbox controllers out of his way. "Precisely.""No, really?"Grant closes half the distance between us on his knees. "Do you trust me?"My first response is to say no. I don't trust anyone. But I trust Grant."Sure.""Then take off your bra because you won't be needing it anymore tonight."I reach back, unfasten the material and let the straps f
The stark white ceiling is too bright. Do hotel staff repaint it every year? It wouldn't surprise me if they did. The bright morning sun reflects off the white surface. The thick curtains used by normal people to block out the morning light hang open and I roll over to try and hide from the sunny rays. My stomach rumbles as I bury my head in the pillow.If I didn't know better, I'd think I had a hangover.But all the choices I made last night were with a straight head. The vodka I consumed earlier in the evening had burned out of my system long before we reached this hotel room. If I'm suffering from a hangover, it's the emotional kind.Grant pulls on the covers, and a short snore escapes between his lips as he rolls further away. The loss of his body steals my warmth with him. I'm too old to continue playing this game. What in the hell am I doing in Grant Moore's hotel room?Again.I roll to my back and stare up at the ceiling resigned to the fact I'm awake.This.This r
He says "regular suite" like regular people will ever get to watch a game from one of them. I stalled for as long as possible, but we still made the game in time. Grant took a shower at my place even though I freaked out he wouldn't find it clean enough. His bathroom is spotless because someone cleans it for him every day. Drew and I argue over who has to wipe his spit off the mirror.While Grant showered, I hurried to try and sneak out before he finished. I was super close to making my escape, but Drew stopped me at the front door. I'm beginning to think he's on Grant's side in this whole debacle.He used a guilt trip of epic proportions, the size of which I haven't seen since he needed me as his wing man to help him score a date with Charlene Wilkinson back in twelfth grade. A few compliments on her new school wardrobe was all it took to get her to Mrs. Haverbush's house for an afternoon. But my work blew up on our faces when she realized we lived in a foster home. Drew couldn't
The ice in my drink clinks against the glass as my hand catches on the deep red tablecloth when I put my cloth napkin in my lap. I can't remember the last time I ate in a restaurant that had cloth napkins.The whole place screams money. From the dim lighting illuminating the space below us from a crystal chandelier to the open glass view from the windows we're next to. Through the window the city's lights slowly trickle on as twilight turns to night. My head swims. A few quick blinks don't alleviate the problem so I pull my head away from the window and high view. Why do rich people want to be so damn high? Do they enjoy the fantasy of looking down on the peasants from high atop their castle restaurants?My own knight, known for his skill with a sword in a video game rather than real-life sits across from me. The small, thin menu held in front of his face blocks my view of his blue eyes. You'd think rich people would want more options in their dining experiences, but he seems fine
Even as a companion to Grant I'm not good enough for him."Ahh. It makes sense now, Grant." He claps him on the shoulder like they're best buddies. "How much has she squeezed you for in donations?" He laughs like it's the funniest joke anyone has ever heard.It stings. Obviously he thinks the only reason Grant would be seen with someone like me would be over work with the center. There's not a chance we'd be a couple or anything. It's like watching every single fear or insecurity I've had about Grant and me played out before my very eyes.Grant leans forward like he's about to stick up for me or do something worse like introduce me as his girlfriend. I'm not particularly fond of either option."Grant and his friends raised over one hundred thousand dollars for the center earlier this year. He's quite the philanthropist," I say patting him on the arm."That he is. I've never seen Grant make a bad investment."The deep mahogany covered walls move a few inches closer and the a
Clare Cunningham, daughter of Theresa Washington, is forgettable. Everyone who doesn't meet the Cunningham definition of acceptable isn't worthy of his time."What happened? What did I do to upset you?" Grant pleads, but it only intensifies my cries as the minutes pass.The cab slows. I take my head off Grant's shoulder and pretend I didn't get his suit jacket wet from my crying. I don't wait for Grant to pay before I jump out of the cab with my fingers crossed Drew is home.The heavy wooden door bangs on the wall as I shove it open and call out to the empty living room. It takes me three more times before Drew runs out into our shared hallway, his eyes wild ready to take on an attacker.I fall into his arms and Drew squeezes me to his bare chest. "What the hell did you do?" One hand releases me and flies toward Grant hitting him in the upper chest.Grant takes a step back. "I don't know. Everything was fine and then she started crying. Ran from the restaurant.""It was him