The Words We Leave Unspoken(32)

“Okay last one,” he says loud enough for James to hear.

We both pick up the next and, hopefully, last shot of the night and Grey asks, “What’s your favorite song of all time?”

I stare at him, my mind drawing a blank.

“A song that no matter how many times you hear it, you never get sick of it and it instantly brightens your mood.”

“‘Jack and Diane’ by John Cougar Mellencamp,” I blurt out. It’s the first song that popped into my head.

He pulls his face back and says, “Really?” as if he completely disapproves.

“Hey, you asked.”

“You know he goes by just John Mellencamp now, right?”

“Whatever.” I shake my head and then ask, “What’s your favorite song of all time then?”

He thinks for a minute and then says, “‘Fight For Your Right’ by the Beastie Boys.”

“Okay that’s pretty solid,” I say, picturing Grey yelling the lyrics in a crowded bar with his fisted hand waving in the air.

“See, a true classic,” he says and then holds his glass against mine. “To learning something about you while we’re still wearing clothes.” He winks at me seductively as he clinks his glass against mine and I suddenly welcome this shot. His words settle in my gut, twisting it in knots as I begin to question his intentions all over again.

“One more round,” I call to James as I slide my empty shot glass down the bar.

Grey smiles at me in approval.

The next round arrives and Grey turns to me and asks, “What’s your favorite color?”

I set my full glass down and sigh. “Really? We’re gonna do this?”

“Uh-huh.” He nods, sets his shot glass down next to mine on the bar and spins my stool back toward him.

“How about, favorite position in bed,” I say, cocking my head to the side playfully.

“How about I show you that later,” he counters.

“Promise?” I say and bite down on my lip.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he says as he smooths his thumb over my lip.

“What?” I ask innocently, getting lost in his dark eyes as the tequila goes straight to my head.

“You’re trying to get out of these questions, out of dinner, this whole date by seducing me. You want me to throw you over my shoulder and take you back to my place and fuck you senseless.” His tone is seductive and yet he is mocking me.

His words and the images they provoke make my thighs clench and at the same time the truth of his words makes my heart sink. Because without even realizing it, that is exactly my intention. I want something familiar, I want to keep this thing with Grey on my level. The way Grey is looking at me now, I know that although he is teasing me, he means what he said. And I feel somewhat ashamed. Surely I can have dinner with this man, or whatever it is that he has planned.

“As a matter of fact, I want to end this interrogation because I’m starving,” I say but he only raises his eyebrows and looks at me like, exactly, misconstruing my words until I clarify. “For food. Are we actually going to eat on this date?”

He eyes me warily and then glances at his watch.

“Yes, dinner is next, I swear.”

We both drain our glasses and then Grey throws a couple hundred-dollar bills down on the bar and calls out, “See ya James.” James waves as we head toward the door. My body is feeling tingly and warm, my head a little dizzy from the tequila.

Grey takes my hand and laces our fingers together as we step outside. The cold air feels good on my flush skin, clearing my mind. We walk a few blocks until we are standing at the entrance to Safeco Field. Grey pulls his phone out and begins to text someone.

“What are we doing? You do know the Mariners’ season is over, right?” I ask, wondering what in the world he has planned.

“Come on,” he says ignoring my comment. He grabs my hand and leads me to the nearest closed gate.

A guy appears on the other side out of nowhere and unlocks the large iron gate, its hinges groaning in protest as he swings it open wide enough for us both to walk through.

“Hey Marco,” Grey says as they hug briefly, giving each other a man-pat on the back. Grey steps back and ticks his head toward me, “This is Charley.”

“Nice to meet you Charley.” He holds his hand toward me.

“Nice to meet you too, Marco,” I say, shaking his hand gently.

“It’s all yours, I’ll be in the office. Just let me know when you’re ready to leave,” he says to Grey as he turns the key in the gate, locking the three of us inside Safeco Field.

“Thanks, buddy.”

I am silent as my mind runs through all the possibilities of why Grey brought me here.

He tugs on my arm and leads me down the corridor, down a huge staircase and through a door. We are suddenly standing on the baseball field, the bright lights glaring overhead in the eerie quiet of the empty stadium. Grey leads me out toward center field and I can see a blanket spread out near the pitcher’s mound.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“We’re having dinner,” he says, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

When we reach the blanket I see a few paper bags filled with takeout food from a local restaurant. A large hooded Mariner’s sweatshirt, a stack of blankets and a small cooler sit off to the side.