Page 86 of Cockpit
This small-town air is definitely messing with my vibe.
“Have a good day,” I add.
“You, too.” Betsy takes a few steps away, and then just before I look down to my laptop, she turns back to me. “Sidney?”
“Mm-hmm?” I’m more than aware that some of the eyes in the coffee shop have turned our way.
“My son is a good man. Don’t let anything I’ve done deter you from, let’s say, taking a chance on him.”
My eyebrows lift. “Oh.”
“I mean, the fact that he’s never really mentioned you to me says more than anything. That means he wants me to steer clear and not mess things up for him. Maybe you’re the one who’ll change his mind about not wanting to take a chance on marriage and the like again.”
This time, I choke on my breath—not because of what she said but because of the sudden interest our conversation is getting. I figure I’ll swallow the shock value and use this attention to my advantage. “I’m flattered you think that, but honestly, my main focus right now is Modern Family. Besides the fact that I’m not looking for a relationship, I don’t think it’d be very fair if I were to run the contest and be involved with Grayson at the same time. That might come off a little biased to the general public.” I take a sip of coffee. “Anything you’ve read in the Gazette is plain rumor.”
“Okay.” Betsy draws the words out as I glance around at all the people who are listening but trying to make it seem as if they aren’t.
Her smile widens when she steps beside me and pats me on the shoulder as she whispers. “Good thinking. We’ll keep this our little secret. A woman knows when another woman is smitten with a man, and I can tell you’re smitten.”
The sigh of awe she gives before she walks away has me shaking my head and questioning whether I adore her more for that last statement or if I think she’s crazy.
The crickets sing through the night air as I watch Grayson from where I stand midway down the street.
I couldn’t resist. I tried. I reminded myself it’s just sex, it’s just lust, it’s nothing serious. Yet, here I am after the debacle of yesterday and the canceling of our planned date via text.
He’s sitting on the porch swing, holding a beer in one hand and music playing softly somewhere near him. He’s deep in thought—that much I can tell, but I can only imagine over what.
There’s a sadness to him, an air of a man in conflict, which twists my insides in ways that tell me I care about him when I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.
This is why I’ve never gotten involved with someone who had kids. Too much baggage. Too much drama. Too much stress, when a relationship is hard enough as it is.
As much as I tell myself that I should turn around and quietly walk the miles back to my house, I move forward, down the sidewalk and up his front walk. I know he knows I’m there—I can tell by the slight pause of the beer to his lips before continuing—but he doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t turn my way.
I take a seat in the swing beside him, the seat creaking under the added weight, and just sit there for a bit, listening to the night around us and a song by Florida Georgia Line on the radio.
“Where’s Luke?” I ask.
“Asleep.”
“Oh.” I take a deep breath, suddenly nervous to be out here with him. I know we need to address some issues, and that if we don’t, there is really no need for me to be here. “Your mom came to see me today.”
“I know.” He takes a sip of his beer, still not looking at me.
“She told me she was upset that you got mad at her.”
“The two of you seem to be getting cozy the last few days.”
“Don’t be a jerk, Grayson.”
“It seems to me it’s the only thing I’m good at these days.” He sighs and shoves up out of the swing, leaving me to rock on it by myself as he moves to the other side of the patio. “Fucking Christ. Should I presume that makes two of you?”
“Two of us?” What in the hell is he talking about?
“Mad at me.” When he turns to face me, he looks like a little boy who’d just been scolded, unsure whether he’s in trouble or not.
“I’m not mad at you. And I don’t think she is, either. I think she was hurt, more than anything.”
“Yeah, well . . .” The song changes. Something a bit softer. “No one tells me what to do or how to do it when it comes to my life or Luke’s. Unless you’ve walked in my shoes, you don’t get to judge.”
