Robin Constantine - The Promise of Amazing

After a pass around the rink, he spoke. “I’ve never really been with anyone.”

“No way!” I said, so loud that a couple skating by turned to see the commotion. After they faced forward again, I spoke. “Really, that can’t be possible.”

“Skate in front of me again.”

I waited until we rounded the edge of the rink to cross over and switch my direction. Grayson’s eyes were serious.

“I’ve been with girls, but it’s always been . . . more physical. Short-term.”

Physical and short-term. I stumbled. “Okay, you don’t have to go into it.”

“That’s just it. With you? I want to go into it. I want you to know me, but I don’t know where to start. Wren, you’re so . . . honest and funny and . . . I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we met.”

I stopped pumping my legs. “Really?”

“Yes. So I’d say my definition of being with someone is tiny. Miniscule, really.”

We slowed down. I held on to his hands and broadened my footing as we hit the straightaway. He inhaled, keeping his eyes steady on mine. “I want to be with you. Period.”

I bit my lip, aware that we’d come to a full stop as others scratched by on their skates. He kissed me, soft and light, just a whisper on the mouth that left me wanting more. If he was playing me, he was damn good at it.

“I think I like that definition,” I said.

“Why don’t we get out of here before I crack my skull?” he asked, teetering as someone sped by us.

We returned the rentals, and I made a quick stop to the ladies’ room, mostly for damage control, as skating always had the lovely side effects of a runny nose and a glaze of sweat. I took lip gloss from my pocket and freshened up, wondering what the rest of the night held. I tried to focus on the sweet things Grayson had said and not on what he meant by short-term and physical when describing his past relationships.

I left the ladies’ room and saw Gray across the lobby. He was leaning against a column and talking to a girl. I’d been gone for five freakin’ minutes. I ran a hand through my hair, stood up straighter. Talking to a girl or not, he was with me. And I wanted to be with Gray. And it was time to go after something I wanted. This was something—Gray and girls—I was going to have to get used to. As I got closer, I noticed she was a bit older, maybe Brooke’s age, and was vaguely familiar. He pointed in my direction. The girl peeked over her shoulder at me.

“Hey,” I said.

“See you ’round, Mike,” she said, carrying her skates toward a bench.

“Who was that?”

“Waitress at Leaning Tower,” he said. “She never remembers my name.”

For some reason that made me feel better.

“So where to?” I asked. “Or was that our big date?”

“You can still hang out, right?”

“I’m all yours.”

“Great. Feel like going to my house?”

Alone. With him?

“Yes.”

MY HEART HAMMERED IN MY CHEST AS I SAT AT the foot of my bed.

I’d never had a girl in my house before.

I’d left Wren and her chai latte downstairs, making up some excuse about wanting to get my iPod so she could hear my favorite song from the latest Coldplay album. In reality I was picking up in my room and figuring out how I could get her to come upstairs, since I pretty much wanted to devour her whole. Pop and Tiff were at a couples bunco night, which proved how desperate my father was to get out. They would be gone for at least a few more hours. And a few more hours alone with Wren sounded like the kind of way I wanted to spend my night.

Only . . . I didn’t want to blow it the way I’d blown it that morning at the mall when Wren caught me in Hollister. If that hadn’t been a Grayson Barrett, you’ve got to stop screwing up your life kind of wake-up call, I didn’t know what was. I thought, or hoped, she bought my explanation, which I worded carefully so I wasn’t exactly bullshitting her. Going to see Allegra was a favor to Luke. He was interested in her . . . or her father’s house, but I didn’t need to get into that. And I wouldn’t. That part of my life was over. Done. Luke and the guys would realize that soon enough.

And then the chick from Leaning Tower calling me Mike at the ice-skating rink. That was like some sort of evil synchronicity in action. Seriously what were the odds? That had been easy enough to play off. I hated lying to Wren. From now on there would be no careful wording necessary.

But Wren . . . she was such a . . . surprise.

Every time we were together, it was like she revealed a little bit more of herself, and I dug it, the not knowing what to expect. The way she made me laugh. The look in her eyes when she’d let go of my hands at the ice-skating rink, proving she had a wicked side. I could spend all day watching her face change expression. And God, I wanted her up in my room so badly, my body was practically buzzing.

So I sat there, clueless, trying to figure out my next move.

Mike Pearson would not be nervous. As Mike I’d go downstairs, tell Wren how hot she looked in her skinny jeans, kiss her until her legs were so weak she couldn’t stand, then lead her upstairs without a second thought. But I wouldn’t be that way with Wren. Couldn’t. This was real. And besides, I wanted to give her something, and being Mike was all about taking.

Luke had given me the necklace to unload in the spring. It was from a hit I hadn’t been involved in. That’s the way we usually ran it with something personal like jewelry. It was easier to let go of the stuff if you didn’t have a direct link to it. I was supposed to bring it to Lenny, our gold guy through Spiro, but I put it off, tucking the necklace away in the top drawer of my desk, where it stayed, forgotten.

Until that afternoon.

It was pretty, unique. A gold chain with a flat charm the size of a dime with the word love inscribed in its center. A ruby teardrop-shaped bead and another even smaller circle with a heart etched into it. Simple. Perfect. Even if it had been stolen. I didn’t know from where or who, so I reasoned that having it in my possession was just like . . . say, wandering into a pawnshop and picking it out. Right?

And I continued with this train of thought, because I really did want to give her something. Even that morning as I’d raced through the mall, back to the Chrysler, back to Bayonne, swearing never to set foot on Staten Island again, I knew I wanted to make up for it, but how? Flowers? Stuffed animal? Balloon? Yeah, right . . . Here’s a balloon, Wren. Sorry you caught me talking to a hot girl I banged last spring when I was casing her house.

Nah, jewelry was the better choice. This piece in particular. It said exactly what I hoped to say to her one day, the sort of necklace I’d pick out anyway. With everything that had gone down during my expulsion, Luke would surely have forgotten it. I picked it up again, letting it dangle from my fingers, imagining Wren’s face when I gave it to her. Maybe it was a dumb idea.

“Hey.” Her voice rang out through my room.

I flipped the necklace into my palm as I saw her in my doorway. The move did not go unnoticed. She brought her latte to her lips, hiding a grin as she leaned against the door-jamb. I shot up from my bed, shoving the necklace into my front pocket. This had been my goal, to get her upstairs, but the reality of it left me speechless.

“Sorry. I just wanted . . . is it okay if I’m up here?” she asked.

“Come in,” I said. She put her drink on my desk, sliding her hands into her back pockets as she looked around the room.

“So neat. Like your car,” she said, moving past me. “My brother’s room is a mess even when he’s not there.”

“Yeah, got rid of a lot of stuff after, well . . . getting tossed from Saint Gabe’s. Gave the room a new coat of paint. Seemed like a good idea,” I said, almost embarrassed at the complete lack of something interesting for her to look at. I’d tossed trophies, photos, any reminder of St. Gabe’s, into a storage bin over the summer and stowed it in the basement. My walls were blank.

“I like the color,” she said, picking up the only picture I had in my room—a photo of me, Ryder, and Grier taken at Jenkinsons’ over Labor Day. I walked toward her, looking over her shoulder.

“That’s my half brother and half sister,” I said, taking in that summery scent of her hair. My body ached to feel her against me. If I didn’t make some move soon, I’d start foaming at the mouth.

“Omigosh, look at the grin on her face . . . You must be an awesome big brother,” she said, placing it down on my dresser. I laughed. Awesome big brother. It sounded pretty cool coming from her.

“How about that Coldplay song you wanted me to hear?”

“Oh, right,” I said, going over to my docking station to pick up my iPod. My hands shook. I scrolled through the songs, completely blind to what I was doing. What was I doing? The Trojans I’d bought from the corner drugstore as a just in case practically chanted my name from my side-table drawer. I tossed the iPod onto my pillow and turned toward her.

“I came up here to clean . . . my dirty clothes from the week are shoved under the bed, and I don’t even own the new Coldplay album. I have no idea why I said that,” I confessed, jamming my hands in my pockets.

Her face reddened; she looked down. Smooth, Grayson.

“Coldplay was your corkscrew,” she said.

“Ha, um, yeah, you’re right,” I said. We stood there, looking at each other. She wanted to be here. I wanted to be here. Why was I so freakin’ nervous?

Wren brushed away some stray hair from her eyes, reminding me of the first night I saw her. She had no clue what that did to me, how sweet she looked. Like when she’d saved me. Had I known all along that this moment was coming? The eyes I’d been running toward with such fierce determination were wide open, taking me in.

“Wren,” I said, reaching for her. A soft, sharp plink caused us both to look down.

The necklace sat splayed on the hardwood floor by her foot. She crouched down to pick it up. Dumb idea or not, the necklace was in play. Neither of us could ignore it.

“Here,” she said, handing it to me.

I held it up, the charms dangling in front of her face.

“This is for you.”

She furrowed her brow and reached for it.

“For me, really?”

“No, for Tiff, for Christmas. I thought I’d run it by you,” I answered, smirking. And when a momentary flash of disappointment clouded her face, I had to add, “Yes, for you, Wren.”

She gave me a look then, so open, honest, and thrilled, it just about brought me to my knees. I placed the necklace in her palm. Her eyes lit up when she saw what the charm said.

“Grayson, this is beautiful . . . but why?”

“Why not? I saw it and thought of you,” I answered. The last not-exactly-a-lie lie I swore to tell.

“I love it,” she said.

“Let me put it on you,” I said.

She pulled her hair away from her neck. I fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds before finally getting it to latch. Wherever it came from, the necklace was Wren’s now. Her hair fell from her hands, sweeping past her shoulders again. She turned to me, holding the charms out from her neck. I raked my hand through her hair. She looked up at me, wrapped her fingers around mine, and gently pressed her lips to the inside of my wrist.

“I love you.” The words sprang out so fast, so naturally, I hardly knew I’d said them. They hung there, between us. “I know it’s too soon to say that,” I said, touching my forehead to hers, closing my eyes, wishing she’d just say something before I blurted it out again. I could feel the L-word, right on the tip of my tongue, ready to tumble out, because it felt so good to finally say it—to mean it.

Wren took my hand and brushed past me, pulling me toward the hall. My mood flat-lined. Jackass. Being here was too much, too soon. She closed the door, then turned and leaned against it. The lock made a loud click as she pressed it down. I laughed. She tugged me closer to her.

“I love you, Grayson Barrett.”

I let it sink in.

My name.

Me.

Wren loved me.

A soft, flirty smile lit up her face. “Kiss me already.”

I was in love.

Me. Grayson Barrett. Head-over-heels-bona-fide-singing-power-ballads-in-the-shower-texting-Wren-24/7 in LOVE.