The Words We Leave Unspoken(34)

“Where are you from?”

“I grew up in the San Fernando Valley, just north of L.A.”

“Where do your brothers live now?”

“Garrett lives in San Diego. He’s a surfer by day and a bartender by night. And Graham’s on his last year at USC film school.”

“And your parents?”

“They both still live in the house I grew up in. My dad still runs Preston and Simms, although he says he’s going to retire soon. But I’ll believe that when I see it.”

I sit up straighter. “Wait, your dad is Preston of Preston and Simms?”

“Yep.”

Preston and Simms is the largest and most successful investment bank on the West Coast. I wonder how I never put that together. Grey is a financial genius, climbing the ladder to partner at record speed, the youngest at the firm. Everyone in the office talks about it. It all makes sense. Why did John not tell me?

“Wow, how did I not know that?” I ask out loud.

“Because it’s something I don’t like people to know,” he whispers. I’m still staring at him in amazement as he picks at the label on his beer bottle. “Despite what people think, I got to where I’m at on my own. I work my ass off.”

“I’m just surprised is all,” I say.

“So what about you?” he asks.

I set my fork down on my plate and push it away. “What about me?”

“I know you’re from Seaport, and I know you have an older sister, obviously. But what else? Is it just you and Gwen?”

I pick up my beer and take a sip, stalling although I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because it is just Gwen and I. And for as long as I can remember, that’s the way it has always been. I don’t like to talk about my family or my past for that matter. It hurts too much. It hurts to admit that I was never enough to make my father stay. It hurts to think that my own mother couldn’t even look at me after he left, as if it was my fault that her life was falling apart; when in truth, she was the reason he left in the first place.

“Yep, it’s just Gwen and I. My life’s not that interesting,” I say and then I start sifting through the paper bags, looking for something sweet.

Grey laughs and I look up. “What are you looking for?” he asks, slightly amused.

“Dessert,” I say pointedly.

“In the small one,” he says, pointing to a smaller bag behind the cooler.

I reach for it but he grabs it out of my hand before I can look inside. He stands up and makes a show of peeking inside the bag. “Aww, look what we have here.”

“What is it? Is it chocolate?”

“Of course. You think I don’t know about your sweet tooth? I pay attention, remember?” He raises one eyebrow and stares at me, waiting. I jump up and try to snatch the bag back, but he’s too fast. He runs and dodges and I chase him until I’m breathless. I collapse on the field somewhere in the outfield and stretch out on my back, looking up at the sky. Grey walks slowly toward me and sits down beside me. He opens the bag and pulls out a small container. He peels back the lid and holds a brownie with chocolate frosting at my lips. “Want some?” he asks.

I nod and open my mouth and he very delicately feeds me a small bite and then another before devouring the entire thing himself. I lick the frosting from my lips and Grey leans over and kisses me softly. He tastes like chocolate. I bring my arms down from behind my head and run my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until he’s lying down next to me. I feel his hand slowly trail up my leg until he’s gripping my ass underneath the fabric of my dress. Our breath becomes desperate, our kiss more heated as my body thrums under his touch. We lay like this for awhile, in the middle of the outfield, all hands and tongue, but nothing more.

Just when I feel as if I might explode if Grey doesn’t take my clothes off and soothe the unbearable ache, he pulls away and mumbles, “Well at least I can say I made it to second base at Safeco Field.”

I punch him in the arm but he only kisses me again.

“Grey, take me home. I need you,” I whisper against his lips.

He slowly stands and grabs my hands, lifting me from the ground until I’m standing on my own two feet. He slips his arm around my shoulders and we walk slowly back to our picnic. I pack up all the garbage and stuff it into one of the empty bags while Grey folds up the blankets and grabs the cooler. I pull the thick sweatshirt off, feeling warm from chasing Grey all over the field, and fold it over my arm. We make our way back to the gate and he sends a text to Marco. Marco appears to unlock the gate.

“Thanks, buddy,” Grey says as they do some kind of handshake.

“Anytime,” Marco replies. “Nice to meet you Charley.”

“You too. Thank you,” I say.

We walk through the gate, Grey leading me with his hand on the small of my back and for most this would seem like the most natural thing in the world but I can feel his hand there, searing through the fabric of my dress, through my skin. Grey’s presence colossal and intoxicating.

Marco locks the gate behind us and calls out, “Have a good night.”

Grey waves his hand overhead as we continue to walk back in the direction we came. He reaches for my hand, intertwining our fingers and all I can hear are our footsteps until we get closer to the car and the loud noise of bar patrons fills the streets.