The Words We Leave Unspoken(33)

“Wow, this is some dinner,” I say with a smile. Emotions overwhelm me but I tap them down. Grey did all this for me. Normally when men go out of their way to impress me, especially when it accompanies the intention of vamping up a casual fling into something more, it sends me in the opposite direction, a complete turn off. But this is different. Grey isn’t trying to impress me. He didn’t take me to a fancy restaurant or fly me to New York to see a Broadway performance on a moment’s notice. He’s trying to make me feel at ease. And although this evening feels extravagant, it is anything but fancy or pretentious. He has taken the fear away, he has made going out on a date with him fun and completely harmless. He gets me, I think again.

He motions for me to sit down and I do, tucking my legs up underneath me in a ladylike fashion, wishing that I’d worn jeans. He sits across from me.

“Are you cold?” he asks. As soon as he mentions it, I shiver and look up to see that the roof is open and the cloudless dark sky is above us.

“A little,” I say. He snatches up the sweatshirt and pulls it over my head. I raise my arms in the air as he pulls the warm and bulky sweatshirt down into place. He grabs a blanket and wraps it around my bare legs and tucks it underneath me, snugly.

Better?” he asks as he leans over and kisses me on the mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer and deepen the kiss, feeling the slow burn warm my insides.

“Mmm, much better,” I mumble against his lips before I kiss him again. He pulls away and collapses on his side next to me, running a hand over my thigh.

“God, I want you so bad. But I don’t want to give poor Marco a show,” he moans.

“So how do you know Marco?” I ask while I run my fingers through his hair.

“Fraternity brother.”

“At UCLA?” I ask as I recall reading his bio when I took the job. Undergrad at UCLA followed by an MBA from Seattle University, which is where he met John.

“Yeah, he owed me a favor.” Grey smiles and I know there’s a story there.

“Do tell.”

He rolls onto his back and folds his arms behind his head. “Well, our sophomore year, he rode his motorcycle to meet us at a bar in this little beach town just south of Westwood. After we’d all had a few drinks, he decides he’s going to ride his motorcycle back to campus and one thing led to the next and we were all daring him to jump his motorcycle off the top of this two-story parking garage. It was right next to the beach, so there was only sand below.”

“Oh my God,” I say in anticipation of the end of the story.

“Well he did it, lucky bastard barely had a scratch on him, but he buried his bike so deep in the sand dune, I thought we’d never get it out. The next thing we know a cop is laying down the law. Marco already had a few ticks on his record and I was sober by this point, so I took the blame. The cop let me go with a slap on the wrist, which wouldn’t have been the case if it had been Marco.”

“What happened to his bike?” I ask.

“We had to dig it out in the dark and park it. Wouldn’t start. The next morning we drove our buddy’s truck back and hauled it back to campus. His parents wouldn’t pay to have it fixed.” Grey laughs. “That damn bike sat outside the frat house for the rest of the school year.”

“He’s lucky he didn’t kill himself,” I say with a frown.

“Yeah lucky for us he’s alive and still owed me a favor.” Grey sits up and opens the cooler, retrieving two bottles of beer. He twists the cap off one and hands it to me and then opens the other and takes a long pull.

“You mean lucky for you, I bet you bring all the girls here.” Images of Grey with other women cloud my mind, spiking a jealous burn. I know of his playboy reputation, but it has never bothered me before. Until now.

“Nope, just you.” He takes another drink from the bottle and asks, “Hungry?”

“Starved.”

He sets his beer down and rummages through the paper bags, pulling out cartons of Chinese food, plates, utensils and napkins. Everything looks and smells delicious and we both eat in silence for a few moments.

“You’re different tonight,” I say and then stuff a forkful of orange chicken into my mouth.

“What do you mean?” he asks, pausing just as he’s about to take a bite.

“You’re always so intense. Like in the office. And even in bed.” My cheeks warm as I admit this.

“In bed?” he asks curiously.

“Yes. You are seriously intense in bed. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

“And tonight?” he asks.

“And tonight, you’re so relaxed and carefree, playful. It’s nice to see this side of you.”

“I’m always playful when I’m with you,” he says a bit defensively.

“Sometimes, but not this much.”

“Well this is what you get when you get to know me,” he says, flashing me a mega-watt smile and opening his arms out to the side. “You like?”

I smile shyly and say, “I like.”

He stuffs his fork in his mouth and chews, his smile still in place as if he’s pleased with himself. And then he takes another pull from his beer.

“I’m the oldest of three boys, so I guess I’m a little intense by nature. My brothers are complete idiots so I grew up always looking out for them.”