The bottle of beer shatters in his hand.
I yelp, dropping the knife and staggering back from the counter.
“Granger. What—” I sputter. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” he says dully, his eyes kind of unfocused. “Don’t come over here. You’ll step on the glass.”
His odd tone of voice throws me off for a few beats, but I shake myself and get moving, crossing to the front door and slipping my shoes back on before returning to Granger who is still standing eerily still. I pick up one of the kitchen towels and crunch toward him in the shards of beer bottle, making sure there is no glass in his cut before wrapping the towel around his hand. “Granger.” Why does the sight of him in pain make me want to sob? “You need stitches.”
“No.” Visibly, he pulls himself back together. “No, I’ve needed stitches dozens of times in my life. This is just a scratch.” His eyes bore into me and I start to shake. Not out of fear. Out of…being drawn so deeply into a moment with another person that it feels like the world is no longer turning. “What did you say to this co-worker when he asked you to dinner?”
In all of the commotion, I forgot what we’d been talking about prior to the bottle shattering. Surely he isn’t upset over Paul asking me out? “I said no, of course. I’m not ready for that.” Anxiously, I watch the kitchen towel turn red. “Anyway, I’m not…”
“Attracted to him?”
“No. I’m not.”
All over my body, even in my most private places, my skin feels warm just from having this conversation. Growing up, I didn’t fit in very well with the other girls in the trailer park. The girls who lived on the nice side of town called me names at school, like trashy. The girls from my side of town thought I was snooty. Having fallen somewhere in the middle of those two groups, I never had another female around to confide in. Talking about attraction for the first time, especially with someone as magnetic and good-looking as Granger, makes me feel even more vulnerable than usual.
Still, he never makes me feel awkward or judged or like I’m overreacting. Maybe fate made me wait this long for a friend because I was going to receive the best one of all. “What…” I lick my lips. “What does it feel like, when you’re attracted to someone?”
All he does is stare at me. Hard. For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer. “For a girl? It depends how attracted you are.” His voice is like gravel. “Sometimes you can be objective about a person. You might think they have a pleasant face or a fit body. But you don’t get, uh…” He stops for a long breath, his gaze traveling down the front of my T-shirt and pajama shorts, resting on the seam. “That wet clench between your legs that can’t be ignored. When that happens, it’s a different kind of attraction.”
Before I can stop them, my thighs shoot together and I cross my ankles, squeezing. Not…not because I’m experiencing the very thing Granger is describing. Right? No. No, it’s just because this whole conversation is indecent.
That doesn’t stop me from wanting to learn more.
“A different kind of attraction,” I repeat slowly.
“Mmm.”
“If you can’t ignore it, what…what do you do?”
Granger takes a step closer and my tummy turns ticklish on the inside, the sensation reaching up to my breasts and making them fuller, more sensitive. “If you can’t ignore the attraction—and it’s the same for him—then you fuck, honey. If the man knows what he’s doing, you’ll get a nice reward for being so wet and sexy.”
I can no longer control my breathing. I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this. His voice is wrapping me in some kind of spell, a bead of sweat rolling down my spine. “And th-the reward is…”
“An orgasm, Peyton. For both of us.” A long pause drags out and I notice perspiration has formed on his upper lip. “I meant, for you and this man you’re attracted to, of course.”
Swallowing hard, I nod vigorously, wondering if I’m coming down with the flu. I’m having hot flashes and my muscles are tense, jumpy. What is wrong with me? “Anyway,” I say, forcing a laugh. “I don’t even feel the objective kind of attraction for Paul, so it’s a non-issue.”
“Hmm.” Am I imagining things or does Granger seem extremely wound up? Like coiled metal primed to spring. “Will you save me a plate? I’m going downstairs to work out.”
“Oh.” I frown as he pivots on a heel and stalks to the door. “Didn’t you work out this morning?”
“Yeah.”
The door closes on that single growled word and I’m left wondering what the heck just happened. I’m not sure, but something tells me it was significant.