On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

“I didn’t mean it like that.” My voice trailed off. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Don’t be.” He turned off the car. “Answer my question about the date.”

“Grayson, I promise it’s not personal.”

“It’s beyond personal.” He leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, setting every single nerve in my body on fire.

“No.” I sighed. “No, I wouldn’t really go on a second date with someone like that.”

“And you’ll never go on a date with someone like me either?”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“We haven’t,” he said, locking his eyes on mine. “We haven’t talked about anything because you still refuse to give me your phone number. You also have yet to accept my friend request on Facebook.”

“I barely use Facebook.”

“That’s not the point.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “But just so you know, I’m not the quitting type. So, if you think I’m going to stop pursuing you, you’re sadly mistaken, and you’re about to learn a few things about my stamina.”

I blushed. “I’m sure your stamina is quite impressive, but—”

He pressed his lips against mine, cutting my sentence short. I sucked in a breath as he ran his fingers through my hair, as he bit my bottom lip before sliding his tongue against mine to control the tempo of the kiss.

“Wait.” I pulled back, temporarily caught off guard. “Are you really that upset about me not giving you my phone number?”

“No, I’m not upset at all. I’m fucking livid about it.” He pulled me close again, and I gave in and kissed him back. I shut my eyes as he softly bit my bottom lip—instantly making me wet. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he continually ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me like I’d never been kissed in my life.

Several minutes later, he slowly pulled away from me and kept his eyes on mine. “Just so you know,” he said, his voice hoarse, “yes, I’m jealous as fuck about your date. But I can guarantee that your next one, whoever he is, will never kiss you like that.”

I didn’t get a chance to respond. He got out of the car and walked over to my side, opening the door for me. He held an umbrella over my head as I stepped out and walked me to the entrance.

I tried to find something—anything, to say, but I couldn’t think of a single word.

“I’ll see you Tuesday.” He held the door for me and watched me until I stepped into the elevator.

GRAYSON: THEN

Seven years ago

Pittsburgh

KISSING CHARLOTTE JUST made this shit worse.

I was sitting in my living room, days later—unable to fully focus on the game tapes because all I could think about was her. My mind was alternating between the memory of kissing her in my car and processing the fact that she was a virgin.

The latter was normally an automatic deal breaker for me, and if she were anyone else, I would've stopped pursuing her at once, but for some reason, I was even more intrigued. Still, I wasn’t used to being rejected time after time, and I wasn’t used to caring about being rejected. I was accustomed to women saying “yes” to me within seconds, and I’d never had to work this hard just to get someone’s phone number.

“Does this text message say what I think it does, or am I still dreaming?” Kyle stumbled into our living room and plopped onto the couch. “In my dream, I had an inflatable hot tub in my bedroom, so I’m not sure if I’m completely awake yet.”

“You really do have an inflatable hot tub in your room, Kyle.” I glanced down our hallway and noticed a blonde tiptoeing out of his room.

Why is she climbing out of the window?

“Okay, so I am awake.” He laughed and held his phone in front of his face. “But your text message has to be a joke then, right?”

“Forget I ever sent it.”

“How can I convince a girl to give me her phone number?” He read my words aloud and laughed even louder. “I could’ve sworn you were the one who said we weren’t in high school anymore.”

“Go back to sleep, Kyle.”

"Trust me. I will." He was still laughing. "To answer your question, though. You say, Hey. I'm Grayson fucking Connors, and I want your phone number. That works ninety-nine percent of the time."

“I’ve already tried that on this girl.”

“Then try it on another one.” He shrugged. “There are way too many girls here to get attached to one your senior year, especially right before you head into the league. But hey, if you are trying to get attached to someone, keep that line of thinking far away from me because I’m too busy trying to break a personal record this year.”

“How’s that going so far?”

“I’m about five behind from where I was at this point last year.” He pulled out his phone and tapped his screen. “But according to my calculations, if I attend a few additional showings of The Vagina Monologues, there’s a high chance I could surpass last year’s mark by this weekend. Would you like to see my spreadsheet?”