Page 5 of Her Pretty Words
“You can’t go walking these streets all by yourself. It’s dark,” Grayson says, walking into step with me.
“What do you care?” I wrap my arms around myself, the autumn chill is nothing compared to Idaho’s, but I’m always cold, even when it’s seventy degrees. Like I was meant to live someplace warm.
“Just come eat with me. That, or I’m walking you to the hotel,” he says like he’s fine with either option. He’s like a cockroach you can’t get rid of.
“Why?” I stop walking. The city around us is full of life, and people are passing us on the sidewalk while traffic congests the street.
He is expressionless, but his eyes lure me in. Despite their cold color that should deter me, they feel oddly familiar. Like the nostalgic scent of sunscreen on a summer day. “Because you’re in a huge city that’s crime rate is quadruple whatever yours is in Idaho. Are we eating or going to the hotel?”
I blink at him once. Twice. Three times before sighing. “I’m a little hungry.”
Chapter 2
Macy
Minutes tick by before either of us says a word, almost like it’s a challenge of who will break and start a conversation first. I fiddle with my thumbs, fine with sitting in silence. The light above our booth flickers, giving me a headache.
“Where are you from?” Grayson eventually asks, losing our silent battle by default.
“Idaho.”
His earlier assessment was accurate. He grins. “Do you like it?”
No one has ever asked me that before. “No,” I admit.
“Are you moving to Florida?”
“No.” I bite my tongue before I spill my entire life story to him. Twenty-year-old me would be beaming if she were in my current scenario, since it’s something out of the countless romance novels I consume like water. Either my frontal lobe has developed significantly since then, or the naïve trust I had in the world slowly died the more I’ve gotten to know my fiancé.
A waiter sets down two glasses of water. I grab mine and take a long sip through the straw. Grayson orders the chicken tender appetizer, which according to the waiter is big enough to share.
“So, if you don’t like Idaho, and you’re not moving to Florida, whatareyou doing?”
I sit up straighter. I can only hope he sees fire sweltering in my eyes. “None of your business.” Direct and to the point, nothing like that twenty-year-old girl. I nearly nod in approval at my newfound boldness. Some would call me a bitch, hell, a younger version of me probably would, but I don’t owe this stranger who’s told me nothing of himself aside from his name details about my life.
He stares at me for several seconds, and I shift in discomfort. When he doesn’t peel his gaze from me, I ask, “Are you enjoying yourself?” I cross my arms.
It’s as if he’s looking directly through me, and then he frowns. He clears his throat, like he’s pushed aside whatever thought he had. “Yes. I am, actually.”
The waiter brings our food and a basket of fries. I’m suddenly too hungry to care about Grayson or the prospect of him potentially stealing my kidney after this. I grab a chicken tender, dip it into ketchup, and take a huge bite. Thankfully, he’s silent as we eat. Once I’m finished, I suck the grease off my fingers and let out a sigh of relief.
“You eat like an animal,” he says.
“Was I not enough of a lady for you?” I roll my eyes.
“You were perfectly lovely,” he says with what I assume is sarcasm.Asshole.“What do you do for a living?” he asks.
“Why should I tell you?”
“Because I’m buying you dinner, depending on the answer.”
My lips part. The audacity of this unfiltered man is bewildering. “While you’ve been interrogatingme, you haven’t shared a single detail about yourself. How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“You don’t think I would’ve been caught by now?”
“People tend to overlook red flags if someone’s good looking enough.”
He grins. “You think I’m good looking.”