Bounce (19 page)

“My ex hated it,” he says, “and we broke up a year ago.”

“That's so weird!” Beth says. “My ex hated Dos Equis, too! Like,
hated
it. How can beer fill someone with wrath?”

And they make some kind of instant pinky-shake pact to forevermore call it
Dos Exes
.

Titus barely nods my way as he steps inside. He and Beth move into the kitchen like a developing hurricane, where Mia's opening a bottle of wine.

Skyler leans toward me. “What. Just. Happened?”

That tiny gap between her teeth kills me. It gives her the sweetest damn smile. A smile that makes you smile back.

“What we just observed were literal sparks flying. Kind of like when we first met. Except we were sparkier.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes. I already told you so. I made you melt, remember?” We both know we had mad chemistry.
Have
it. Her sunshine scent is driving me crazy. I want to brush the hair away from her bare shoulder. Kiss her. Being this close to her, it's like the rest of the world goes out of focus.

She must see something in my face because she frowns. “Grey, we should talk about something. Now that you're living here, we need to—”

“Hook up immediately. Agreed.”

“Yes—What?
No
.”

“I'm just messing with you.” When the doorbell rings, I stand. I don't care about Adam's stupid money. I'm buying dinner for my new roommates tonight. But before I answer it, I say, “You have my word. While I live here, I promise I won't make the first move.”

She laughs. “What kind of promise is that?”

I wink at her. “A hint promise.”

  
Chapter 22
  

Skyler

E
veryone tears into the boxes like it's the first food they've seen in a week, and we settle in around the coffee table in our dinky living room rather than trying to cram in around our dinky kitchen table.

Beth and Titus spread out on the floor opposite Grey and me on the sofa. I give him a little more room this time, but he's still so damn large, it feels like he's
everywhere
. Or maybe I'm just so conscious of him. His beachy scent, the gravity of his body, so muscled and substantial. He's so big, I can't stop thinking of crawling onto his lap, being wrapped up in all that strength.

Mia hands Grey a generous slice of the pepperoni and pineapple, and we all wait for his verdict. He takes a bite that puts away half the slice and groans. Chewing, he gives Mia a thumbs-up and finally says, “Holy shit, this is good.”

“Told you. Spicy and sweet, the perfect combo.”

“Tell me about it,” Beth says, and Titus gives her a dazed look, like cartoon birds should be circling his head. I can't believe he's her type. She usually skews older, more professional. Guys with ties and plans. Not stubbled blonds who look like they just climbed out of a van. But she clinks her beer bottle against his and gives him the famous Beth Pierce smile, bringing it in a big, big way.

“You need to have some of this,” Grey says, handing me a piece on a paper plate. “And we might need to order another one. I'm going to house this whole pie in about five minutes. Trust me on this.”

“I totally do trust you,” I say, but I look down at my plate, at the beer on the table in front of me, and hear Kaitlin tell me to lay off bread and alcohol. Then I think about Garrett telling me that wheat is treated with pesticides, and that's why so many people have problems with it. He's gluten-free, too. But then, he's kind of
everything
-free.

“Aren't you eating?” Mia asks.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” I take a bite of the pizza, and try not to think about pesticides or bloating or ripping through the bottoms of my wardrobe like some kind of She-Hulk.

“Good, right?” asks Grey, and I have to laugh at how it's like he's the Magellan of pizza discovery, clearly unaware that I have had this exact pizza roughly a hundred times before. It's cute.

He's just . . . ​really cute.

And a kid. Worse: a musician without a steady job, who throws house-wrecking parties and gives off this simmering anger half the time. Remember that, I tell myself, working to drive the message into my psyche.

I say, “
So
good,” and allow myself another bite. One piece isn't going to make a difference. A couple of sips of beer. I'm not going to starve myself, right? I don't want to be one of those girls who treat food like Kryptonite. I just have to be a little smart about it. That's all.

We make it through the meal without the need to order another pizza, though Grey gives the last slice a mournful look, like he's about to put it in a shoe box and bury it in the backyard.

“You guys should come check us out,” Titus says. Though by “you guys,” it's clear he means, “You, Beth, the only girl whose existence I seem capable of noting at present.”

“That'd be great,” says Beth. “What do you guys play?”

They've already agreed on favorite books—anything by Chuck Palahniuk, Caitlin Moran, or Andrew Smith, and movies—anything by Wes Anderson or Richard Linklater, so I'm dying to see how they sync up with music.

Titus looks at Grey. “I don't know. Kind of . . .”

“Like alt-rock,” Grey provides. “But roughed up. A little dirty. Like if Imagine Dragons went through a concrete mixer.”

He has a voice a little like Eddie Vedder's, I think, so I can totally hear that. It makes me wish I'd stayed in the car and listened to more of his music. More of that sexy rasp that I know is going to develop into something even more devastating with practice and time.

Beth and Titus launch into a discussion of AWOLNATION, which she loves, and OneRepublic, which he loves, pretty much diving so deep into one another that the rest of us exchange awkward smiles and decide, en masse, to find other places to be.

“I'm going to head out,” says Mia. “I've got to do some storyboarding for the new Boomerang campaign.”

We say our good nights, and then Grey helps me clean up the paper plates and pizza boxes. I give him a quick tour of the kitchen, show him the balcony with its prime view of the alleyway and billboard cluster, and push open the door of the bathroom, so he can have a peek inside.

“Hello Kitty?” he smirks. “Really?”

“First of all, she's awesome,” I tell him. “And second of all, it's at least a better shower than the beach.”

“Did you know she's not even a cat?”

“What do you mean? Of course she's a cat.”

“Nope. Apparently, she's a weird little girl in a cat costume.”

“She is so not a weird little girl in a cat costume. She is a cat. With a hair bow.”

He shrugs. “Google it. Weird little girl.”

“
You're
a weird little girl.” I push him back out of the bathroom, up the short hall toward Mia's room.

He laughs. “I guess I better get some hair bows then.”

“I guess you need some hair first.”

“Working on it.” He scrubs at the dark stubble on his scalp.

At Adam's house, I saw a couple of photos of Grey pre-head shave, and his dark hair softened his eyes but made his cheekbones look a little more chiseled, his jaw even more striking. I'm glad to see he's growing it out again, though I remind myself that my preferences don't count for much.

I open the door to Mia's bedroom and switch on the bedside lamp.

Grey sets his duffle on the upholstered chair near Mia's vanity and glances around the room, taking in the lavender walls, the white eyelet comforter, the silver lamp with butterflies painted on the shade.

“It's definitely . . . ​purple.”

“I think it's better than the 1950s mold you have going on over at the garage.”

“No kidding.” He walks over to the bed and runs his hands over the delicate wrought-iron headboard. “You think this thing'll hold me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He sits, and the box spring lets out a horrific groan. Laughing, he shifts his weight, and the headboard slams up against the wall behind it.

“I'm guessing Mia and Ethan don't get it on in here.”

“Oh, I've heard some wall banging in my day,” I tell him. “But mostly they're at Ethan's.”

“Smart.”

I come and sit down next to him. “I forgot to tell you, you're required to lie perfectly still every night. House rules.”

He sprawls out on the bed. “I might need you to climb on,” he says, patting his stomach. “You know. Keep me pinned down.”

My face heats. I try not to imagine myself moving up the bed to straddle his powerful thighs, run my hands over his broad chest.

“I'm afraid that's not a service I provide,” I tell him. I'm pretty sure we'd break the bed. Or die trying.

“Too bad.”

My text alert chimes, and I pull out my phone.

Brooks:
Hey, you busy?

I feel a weird flush of guilt. Like I'm cheating on Brooks. Or cheating on Grey. I don't know, and that's nuts, anyway, because I don't have anything going on with either of them.

“Sorry,” I say to Grey. “Just have to . . .” Part of me doesn't want to say it's Brooks, but that feels wrong, like I'm hiding something. Because I have some motive I can't possibly have.

“No problem.” But I feel his eyes on me. He shifts up in the bed, bunching Mia's three hundred pillows behind his back and folding his hands across his chest.

Skyler:
Not busy. What's up?

Brooks:
Can you come over? I've got Leigh here. Want to talk through a few things with you.

If I go, I'll feel like I'm disappointing Grey. But if I don't go, I'll be letting down Brooks, Mia, Adam, and dozens of other people who are counting on my commitment to the film.

“Everything okay?” Grey asks.

“Yeah, sorry. Brooks wants me to come out and work on some stuff with the screenwriter.”

“Can't it wait for tomorrow?”

I shake my head, texting Brooks that I'll be there in twenty minutes. “I guess not.”

“All right,” says Grey. “Guess I'll have to christen this mattress all by myself.”

His tone is neutral, but then he slips off the other side of the bed and heads around it toward the door.

“Sorry to miss out.” I follow him out to the living room, where Titus and Beth now sit on the sofa together, still talking and laughing, possibly unaware that we ever left the room or that we've returned.

Grey plops down in the armchair next to them. “What's going on out here?”

Titus turns to give him a shy smile. “Nothing, man. Just talking.”

“Well, count me in,” he says. “Skyler's going to head out, though.”

“Yeah?” Beth asks, looking up at me. “What's up?”

“Brooks wants to talk about the screenplay. He's got the writer over at his place, and I'm going to head over there.”

She nods. “You think you'll be long?”

I shrug. “No idea. Why?”

“You just look a little tired. And we've got an early call tomorrow.”

I head over to give her a hug. “I don't think I'll be long. Thanks for caring.”

“That's how I do.”

“I know.” I kiss the top of her head. “Night, guys.”

Titus offers a wave, and Grey gives me a clipped, “Night.” He doesn't look at me.

I hesitate at the door for a second, listening to Beth, Titus, and Grey debate whether to watch a movie or take a walk down to the pier. I'd so love to stay and join in—or just get a good night's sleep. Beth's right. I am tired.

But I'll be fine, I decide, and head out into a cool, dry night that carries the scent of hibiscus. I climb into the truck—Grey's truck—and I find he's got a stack of demo CDs in the glove compartment.

I slip one into the dashboard console and smile as Grey's voice washes over me, keeping me company all the way across town.