He stops my heart for a beat with a stretch of white teeth and full lips.
Wow. That’s just not fair.
“’Sup, Rhys.” He nods, his smile melting a little every few seconds and a small pull of his brows making me wonder what Rhyson’s saying. “All right. Yeah. We’ll grab something to eat. I got you.”
He offers one more grunt and a mumbled “peace” before handing the phone back to me.
“Hey,” I say once I have the phone back.
“Yeah. Hey,” Rhyson says. “I actually did have dinner planned for us. You still like Mexican?”
“I love Mexican.” I’m pleasantly surprised that he remembers.
“Well, maybe we’ll get to try this place before you go back, but with the emergency on this project …” He sighs heavily. “Anyway Marlon will take you to eat and then bring you to Grady’s and stay with you ’til I get home.”
“He doesn’t need to do that.” I hate feeling like a burden to anyone, and right now, I feel like the egg baby project Grip has to keep alive. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Marlon doesn’t mind,” Rhyson assures me. “He has stuff to do for Grady anyway. He helps with one of his music classes.”
I just bet he does. Lies. I glance at Grip’s profile, a study in impassivity.
“Gotta go,” Rhyson says. “See you later if you’re still awake when I get home. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
“Yeah. More hungry than anything.”
“Marlon will take care of you.” A voice in the background interrupts Rhyson. “Hey, I need to go. See you tonight.”
“Okay. Tonight.” I hold the phone to my ear for a few seconds after he’s gone just because I don’t want to talk.
I finally drop the phone to my lap, processing the longest conversation I’ve had with my twin brother in five years. I have no idea what’s going through Grip’s mind. It’s too quiet, so I break the silence with the lightest question I can think of.
“Marlon, huh?” I ask with a smile.
“Only Rhyson calls me by my real name.” He keeps his eyes ahead on the road, grimacing good-naturedly. “And my mom.”
“And Grip, where’d that come from?”
“I was in a talent show or showcase or some shit when I was a kid.” He laughs, shaking his head at the memory. “I had to recite a poem and was so nervous, I kept holding onto the mic even after I was done. Just wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was like my safety blanket. Who knows? One of the kids started calling me ‘Grip’ after the show, and it stuck.”
“So even then you were craving the spotlight,” I tease.
“I guess so.” His smile fades after a few seconds. He looks briefly away from the road and at me. “I don’t mind, ya know. Staying, I mean. There’s things I can do in the rehearsal room at Grady’s house.”
I don’t bother arguing, because I seriously doubt I’ll change his mind now that Rhyson has asked him. I just nod and pretend to check the email on my phone.
“We’re here.” Grip pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine.
I look up from my phone, surprised to see the length of pier stretching from the shore out over the Pacific Ocean.
“Where’s here?”
“Mick’s. Jimmy, one of our good friends, works here. Food’s good.”
“Well that’s all I care about.”
As we’re walking up the boardwalk toward a sign that reads “Mick’s” I feel overdressed. In my sleek leather jacket and ankle boots, both black, I’m so very New York. Everyone’s milling around in bikinis, tank tops, board shorts, and flip-flops. Once we’re seated at a window booth with an ocean view, I slip the jacket off. I sense more than see Grip’s eyes linger on my arms and shoulders bared by the sleeveless shirt under my jacket. I force myself to keep my arms at my side and not cross them over my chest. I block his line of vision with the huge menu and feel as if I can breathe a little easier with it between the heat of his eyes and my skin.
“So what’s good?” I ask.