Smash (Trojan Book 3) Page 3

  Despite sleeping in a big boy bed, Henry isn’t one to pass up a chance to sleep with Gray, me, or just about anyone. He isn’t too picky.

  And Gray is the first to cave, much like tonight, I’m sure. This will mean battling with my son for the better part of the next week to get him to sleep in his bed. Alone.

  Kids. You give them an inch and they’ll crack your chest wide open and steal your heart. Both Gray and I are victims to Henry’s adoring smiles, big sky-blue eyes, and just about anything else he does.

  Grinning, I stare down at the two of them. So peaceful and so perfect together. Henry’s a cute little ball cuddled into Gray’s chest with Jellycat, his stuffed octopus and most beloved toy, nestled in his arms.

  And Gray… His large, inked hand curls safely and securely around my son. The sight causes a fleeting pitter-patter low in my core, and I want to cuddle with them. Hold them close to me.

  Strands of gingery-blond and tawny-brown hair spill across the pillow and flop onto Gray’s forehead. His long eyelashes, so light it’s as if they are dipped in gold, fan across the sharp ridge of his cheekbone, and his perpetual scruff dusts the hard line of his jaw. Slightly parted and relaxed, his lips expel soft puffs of air that sail over Henry’s head.

  I leave them for my own bed but end up tossing and turning throughout the night. Gray crawls into my mind, keeping me awake when I should be sleeping. Maybe it’s because he’s down the hall even if that isn’t new. He’s slept over before, usually on the couch.

  Or maybe it’s because I have to explain and apologize tomorrow. Not about the date, even if I should, but more so why I didn’t ask him to watch Henry. It’s got to sting, my thoughtless and foolish snub, and I never want to do anything to hurt Gray.

  He’s always there for me. The one person I can tell anything. I don’t want things to change between us if I were to start dating and find someone. That’s if I want to find someone. Could I lose him? Or worse, what if he finds someone?

  Neither of us have dated anyone since meeting each other. And it isn’t lost on me that our friends, the guys from Trojan and my sister, treat us like we’re a couple.

  It doesn’t bother me, though sometimes it makes me yearn for more. But the hint of fear always stops me cold. What if we get together and screw things up? Or worse, what if I tell him how I feel, and he only sees me as his best friend?

  Yet something is happening and has been for some time now. Tonight is proof of that. On my date and now in bed, Gray is front and center.

  The very thought of a woman in his life grips me with panic.

  No, Gray wouldn’t keep something like that from me. Would he? Shit, I kept my date from him.

  Oh, I have to stop this. My head hurts and my mind is overactive, going places it shouldn’t venture in the dead of night.

  Eventually, I fall asleep, and when I wake in the morning, nearly an hour later than usual, happy voices from the kitchen tell me all I need to know. Henry didn’t wake me up because he has Gray.

  I slip on my bathing suit, then shorts and an oversized T-shirt, collecting my brittle blonde locks, thanks to the flat iron, into a messy bun. We’re going to my sister’s for a day at the beach and lunch.

  I’ve been saving for a house close to the water. I want nothing more than to give my son the sand and the sea all the time. Come on, we live in LA, why not?

  And while my photography business is taking off, I can’t afford a home on the beach. We’re talking well over a few million if not more for something nice, but I’m saving every penny I can spare to make that dream come true.

  Gray and Henry are at the kitchen table, talking and laughing, when I enter the room.

  “Morning.” I smile, holding open my arms for Henry. “Hey, Lovebug.” I wrap him in a hug and lift his little body off his chair, kissing the side of his head. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “Mommy, we made breakfast. Look. Bacon.” He points to a plate, half full of the greasy deliciousness.

  “I can see that. And it looks like you’ve had your share.” I tickle his tummy and rest his feet down on the tile.

  “Morning.” Gray’s warm voice and easy smile calm the little that’s left of my nerves as he hands me a coffee.

  “Thank you.” I inhale the rich aroma before bringing the mug to my lips.

  “What’ll you have for breakfast?” His hand glides along the countertop, littered with a bevy of choices. “There’s yogurt and granola, eggs, toast, and cereal.”

  I laugh, shaking my head, so very grateful Gray is his usual self. Warm eyes, sparkling smile, and his quiet—some might think reserved—demeanor that’s both reassuring and at times unnerving because of his intensity.

  When he looks at me, it’s as if I’m the only woman in the world. Shit, I’m doing it again. Romanticizing our friendship.

  “Wow. I’ll have yogurt with granola, thanks.” I head to the cupboard, but he holds up his hand, motioning for me to sit.

  “Yay!” Henry jumps around. “Gaga says you want that. Booberry or stwahberry?” He points to the freshly washed and cut fruit in a bowl on the table.

  Gaga is my son’s name for Gray. He still hasn’t figured out the Rs yet and sometimes, if he says it too fast, it sounds like Dada. Oh man, I’ve got it bad.

  “A little of both, please.” I grin and my son pops a big strawberry into his mouth.

  Vibrant red juice instantly squirts from the corner of his mouth and dribbles down his chin. Gray puts my breakfast together while I clean Henry’s mouth.

  The little guy then rests his hand on my legs, looking at me solemnly. “Mommy, don’t be mad.”

  “What? I’m not mad.” I cock my head to one side, looking down at him. “Why?”

  “Gaga sleep with me last night.” His expression is a mixture of worry and determination. “Don’t be mad.”

  “Yes, I know. You’re a lucky boy.” I ruffle his downy soft hair. “I’m not mad. It was a special treat but no sleeping with anyone tonight.” I waggle a pointed finger at him while giving myself a stern internal pep talk about staying strong when the tears start tonight when he wants to sleep with me. “Remember, we all have our own beds to sleep in. Alone.”

  “Aww wight, Mommy.” He nods, but his reluctance to fully commit is clear in the wrinkle of his light brow.

  “Here you go.” Gray sets the bowl in front of me, and Henry scampers from the room to play. “How was your date?”

  And there it is, the inevitable question I’d been dreading. But it’s for the best to just get it out in the open and over with despite the flurry of nerves his question unleashes.

  Now several feet away, he leans his backside against the counter and folds his defined arms across his lean chest.

  “It was meh.” I shrug, trying not to play it off as insignificant but also needing him to understand it wasn’t great.

  Samuel is a nice guy but not for me. No sparks. No flutters. And the conversation, outside of the photoshoot, was forced and flat.

  “Who’s the guy?” His stare is intense.

  “Ah, he was a client.” A blast of heat rushes up my neck and into my cheeks, sure to make me look like a strawberry. “He asked me out after the job was done, so there was no conflict of interest.”

  He nods, pressing his lips together as if to keep what he’s really thinking from breaching the confines of his mouth.

  “Gray, I’m sorry. I should have asked you to take care of Henry. Thank you for staying last night. I’m sure he had a blast. You’re his favorite person in the world.”

  And mine.

  “No, you’re his favorite as it should be, but I’ll gladly take second spot.” His gaze is now warm and sincere. “And yes, you should have called. I shouldn’t have to say that. You going to see him again, this client of yours?”

  My smile is tight, glad he’s moving past my goof but not glad that we’re still talking about the date. “He’s no longer a client, and no, I won’t be seeing him again.”

  “And if so
meone else asks you on a date, would you say yes?”

  The question is a little unnerving and causes a whole lot of fluttering in my stomach.

  “Maybe. I mean, I didn’t realize I was ready to date until someone asked me, and that’s why I said yes. I think I just wanted to do it.” I pause to study him, and his expression is unreadable while his gaze never strays from me. “But I don’t want to go out with just anyone.”

  “I see. So you’re ready to date?”

  The strange flutter happens again. What is he asking exactly? Is he asking for himself? And if he did, what would I say? Seriously, that’s a stupid question. I’d say yes.

  He’s still staring and I’m quick to respond. “I think so. I mean I’m not downloading a dating app or anything, but I’m ready to put myself out there.” I let out a nervous laugh.

  I’m not sure where this is coming from. Three days ago, dating never crossed my mind. I was too busy juggling motherhood, photography, a nanny search, and daydreaming of a beach house to think about much else.

  “And who are you looking to date?”

  I nearly swallow my tongue at his question. You. I want to scream his name but I dare not.

  “I don’t know.” Heat creeps into my cheeks and I glance down at the table, but movement from him brings my head up.

  He presses his lips together, and I’d pay a lot of money to be inside his head right now, to know what he’s thinking. I want him to say something. No, I want him to ask me out.

  And with that outrageously wild notion, I’m unbalanced, weak-kneed, and…and suddenly, I’m questioning everything.

  “Are you still coming with us to Silas and Pansy’s this morning?” Normally, I wouldn’t ask since we’ve already made these plans, but things no longer feel solid and sure. “And you can still watch Henry? I have to leave at one.”

  Until recently, my days were spent with Henry, and Gray or Pansy pitched in where needed. But since the award and subsequent online article about the model-turned-photographer, my career has exploded.

  “Yeah, I said I could. I’m free today and looking forward to it.” He takes my empty bowl and puts it in the dishwasher. “Any news on a nanny?”

  “No. I haven’t had a chance to book any more appointments.”

  I was reluctant to find someone to take care of my son, especially since the first round of interviews were horrible, but now, as I book my clients and really need the money to live and for the beach house, I have no choice.

  Henry could go to daycare, but he’s still so young and I try to spend as much time with him as possible. It’s one reason I didn’t go back to modeling. A nanny will provide flexibility.

  “I could do some of the interviews.” He grips the back of a chair, leaning in my direction.

  “No, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re busy, too, running your own company. I appreciate all that you do already.”

  “I don’t mind. I like taking care of Henry…and you. He’s like a son to me.” His admission isn’t new. I’ve heard it before, but each time, I melt a little more.

  Regret could wreak havoc on me, wondering if I did the right thing in not fighting Costa, Henry’s father, to be a bigger part in his life. But why? Henry may be young but he’s no dummy.

  It would take two seconds for him to figure out his father is a narcissistic, self-serving asshole, and would Henry be better off? No.

  And when Gray says things like this, so easily and so genuine, there’s no question. I did the right thing. My son is better off with Gray in his life and no bio-dad in the picture.

  “And you’re a father to him.” I squeeze his arm as Henry wobbles into the room, off-balance.

  He’s sheepish and serious at the same time. “Stinky.” He wrinkles his nose, and I laugh.

  “Did someone do a number two?” I hold up my fingers and he scrunches his nose, not really sure about this number thing when it comes to his diaper. “Let’s change you and get ready for the beach.”

  He lifts one small foot and then the other in an awkward giddy-up motion, a green crayon in one hand and a wooden block in the other. “Yay.”

  “I’ll finish up here and get changed too.” Gray pulls at the hem of his plain black T-shirt, and the fabric rides up his taut stomach. I nod, averting my gaze but unable to move my feet.

  He keeps a small duffel in the front closet with a spare change of clothes, after learning the hard way that with babies, anything can happen. There’s been more than one nasty incident where a fresh shirt or a full-on shower was required.

  Shirtless, dirty T-shirt in hand, he strides past me, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. He isn’t overly muscled but lean and defined. Hard planes, tight muscles, and tattoos everywhere.

  Every inch of his torso tells a story through script, images of people, objects, and dates inked along his carved muscles. There’s so much cut perfection to look at, and I stifle a groan of satisfaction, forcing myself from the room.

  4

  Gray

  Punch this asshat

  The cars are packed for Silas and Pansy’s. We’re taking separate cars since Daisy has to work this afternoon. I packed up her photography equipment in her car, and I’ve got what I need to take care of Henry.

  Daisy locks the front door, and Henry bounds across the small patch of grass to my car. I scoop him up into my arms, staring at Daisy strolling toward us with a beach bag, doubling as a diaper bag, in one hand, her oversized T-shirt hanging off her silky shoulder, sandals and shades on.

  “Henry, you coming with me or Gray?” A soft smile plays on her pouty lips, already anticipating her son’s response.

  “Gaga.” He gnaws on a carrot stick, and I laugh, shaking my head. “All right. But you have to finish that before I put you in the car.”

  With his feet firmly on the grass, I take the bag from Daisy as an orange Corvette Stingray roars up to the curb in front of her house. Shit.

  “What’s he doing here?” I fail to hide my disdain, tension building at the corner of my eyes as I wish we’d left earlier.

  She turns to watch the older man slide out of the car. “I don’t know.”

  “Good morning, my beautiful.” Jerome ignores both Henry and me, ambling past us on his way to the gorgeous blonde.

  He places his hands possessively on her shoulders and plants his wrinkled lips on her cheek. I strangle the order to get his hands and mouth off her before it even leaves my throat.

  I’m not a jealous person but Jerome Pascal—said with a French accent which is total bullshit because the guy has no more French in him than I do. He was born in middle America and I’m willing to bet his surname is something like Smith or Jones—this guy rubs me the wrong way. He’s arrogant and acts like he owns Daisy. Bastard.

  “What are you doing here?” She tilts her head to one side and moves back. “We’re on our way out. Five more minutes and you’d have missed us.”

  “Ah, well, I guess I’m lucky then.” He takes one of her hands and smiles. “We still haven’t picked a date for the shoot.”

  “The shoot?” She tugs on her hand, stepping back some more so he has to let go. “What are you talking about?”

  I inwardly groan and wonder why Daisy ever agreed to his stupid photo shoot in the first place. At the time, she said she felt bad for him, but things have changed. Her business is booming with only an upside in sight.

  “My portfolio. Don’t you remember? I’m updating it, and you agreed to be my model.”

  “Jerome, you’ve got world-famous models in your portfolio—no offense, Daze.” She’s still the best in my mind, but she has also been out of the business for some time now. “You could find someone else.”

  She isn’t the least bit troubled by my comment, nodding and smiling at me, grateful for the backup. She no longer wants to do this, and Jerome is deliberately ignoring the signs.

  “Not that I need to explain myself to you, Grayson, but I want something current, something from LA.”

&nbs
p; “Then use one of the jobs you’ve already done.” I’m matter-of-fact and unyielding in my stare.

  He sniffs, lifting his chin a little higher. “Daisy is perfect for what I have in mind. In no time at all, everyone in the LA fashion scene will know her name.” He says it in a way that suggests he isn’t looking forward to that day.

  “So basically you’re looking to cash in on Daisy’s good name.”

  “Gray.” Daisy arches one perfectly shaped brow, disappointment coloring her expression.

  “Daisy, let’s make this work.” Jerome angles himself in a way that he can no longer see me.

  “It might be tricky. With the award, I’ve been getting a lot more business, and finding time for the shoot will be difficult.” She twirls a long blonde strand around her finger, uncomfortable. “Why don’t I see if I can get a few models for you, and that way you can have variety.”

  “I want you.” His sharp tone straightens my spine, and her eyes widen.

  “Hey, she said she can’t do it.” I step in between them, forcing him to take several steps back. “Find someone else.”

  His steely grey eyes turn frosty, and he twists his leather lips into a tight frown. He’s more than annoyed that I’m here and most probably thinking what I’m thinking—I want to punch this asshat.

  With a blink, the hint of anger or annoyance is gone, and he turns away from me, once more signaling my insignificance to him. That’s more than fine with me.

  “I’ll work around your schedule, but for what I have in mind, no one else will do. You’ll be spectacular.”

  Henry darts in and out of the three of us, making car engine noises like we’re an obstacle course. Jerome casts a dark look down at the child.

  “Um…ah…well, I can’t give you a date right now.”

  My head snaps to her, eyes widening and imploring. This is her chance to walk away. I gave her the perfect opening, and I’m here to back her up.