Page 19 of The Other Side of Wild
“You’ve got yourself a deal.” He reaches his hand across the table, waiting for me to shake it. I place my hand in his, giving it a firm squeeze and a shake. We both get up and walk towards the door.
I steal a glance up at him through my lashes, and my heart picks up its pace at the crooked smile on his face. He doesn’t look at me, though, and for that, I am eternally grateful because I would turn into a puddle right here on the floor.
Lord above, give me strength. This is a horrible idea.
Walkinginto Greyson’s apartment, I notice that it’s not the typical bachelor pad you picture when you think of young single athletes. It’s homey, and it feels lived in and inviting. The back wall is made up of all windows, letting the Florida sunshine in. One of the things I love most about living here is that while it may be hot, the natural light we get here is worth it.
His couch is probably the most “bro” thing in here. It’s one of those leather ones that comes with buttons on the arms to recline the back of the spot you’re in. There are throw pillows that accent the more manly, beachy vibe the rest of the room has, orange and darker blues. There’s a folded blanket on the arm, and it makes me want to cuddle up in the corner.
There are pictures of his family everywhere you look and it pulls at my heartstrings. I miss my mom and brother. We're closer now than we were when I was in high school, but my brother and I talk every once in a while. It makes me sad; he’s in college now. He’s got his own life, and he doesn’t want his big sister to cramp his style.
I walk to the kitchen island and put my bag down on one of the bar stools. “What kind of pizza do you like? There’s a great place right down the street; it’s the closest thing to New York pizza I’ve ever had outside of The Big Apple.”
“I think I want pineapple and bacon with white sauce. The sweet and salty combo is really doing it for me today.” I focus on a spot on his kitchen island so I don’t lose control and ruin the whole thing.
His head snaps up, blue eyes wide in shock; it’s not an uncommon reaction. I’m one of the very few people who likes pineapple on pizza. However, I will only eat it if it’s made with white sauce. “You. Pine.. WHAT?” He all but screeches with a look of disbelief and slight disgust. “I mean, I knew people like you existed, but dang, Hannah, you just ruined the whole “perfect girl” image I had of you going on in my head.”
I can’t help the sound that comes out; it’s loud and accompanied by a snort. Slapping my hand over my mouth, I bend at the waist and bury my head in my arms on top of the island. My shoulders shaking with laughter, hello butterfly garden.
“Wait, are you serious, or was that some kind of cruel joke?”
“I do like pineapple on pizza,” I straighten myself out, looking up in time to see him turn his back to me, his head shaking as he taps away on his phone. “Yes, only if it’s made the way I described it, though. But pepperoni is also a good option.”
He mumbles to himself as he walks around the island to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of water. He sets one down in front of me and just stares for a few seconds before looking back down at his phone to finish the order, then he places his phone down. “I’m going to try my hardest not to hold your subpar pizza-topping choices against you.” He stares at me for a minute, his fingers drumming on the countertop, before a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “But I can’t promise you I won’t uninvite you to all future pizza and game nights.”
“Wait, you have pizza and game nights?! Game nights are my favorite! I kick some serious butt at Candy Land.”
“Candy land? What are you five? We play big kid games like Go Fish at game nights.” We hold each other’s stare for a second before we both start laughing. And not just a little laugh; it’s a laughing fit—the one that hurts your sides, and you want to stop but can’t. Then, by the time you can pull yourself together, one of you laughs again, and it sets off the chain reaction all over again. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable around anyone who wasn’t Abby, for that matter. “Okay, let’s make a deal.” he starts, “When the pizza gets here, I want to get to know my new friend.” There go the alarm bells, which are a bit delayed there, brain.
“I’m not that interesting, Grey, really.” My arms wrap around my middle, acting as a shield to hide the internal wounds.
“I find that hard to believe. I don’t want the surface-level stuff that you give away to people. I want the deep stuff, the ugly stuff. I want to know what makes you tick. I want to know what color reminds you of your happiest moment and why. I want to know what song puts a smile on your face or brings you to tears, and I want to know the story behind it. I want to knowyou,Hannah, the real Hannah. Not the one you’ve been shaped to be or who you think you should be. Just you.”
Looking him dead in the eyes, I can tell he means every word. There’s no malice there, no judgment, no hidden motive. “But why?” Is all my mind can compute during its current 400-meter sprint.
“I’m drawn to you for some reason I can’t explain. Maybe your pain calls to mine. Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself, the way you stood up for me earlier when you had no reason other than the fact that you wanted to help. I’m questioning myself because sometimes I wonder if my brain is tricking me into believing someone like you exists. Beautiful, kind, caring. I don’t know, but the harder I try to fight it, the harder the pull is.”
The words “someone like you” replay like a horror reel. Instead of carrying the same weight of condemnation they had from my dad, they hold a positive sentiment. I have no words; my brain is currently flashing error 404, page not found.“I’m used to honesty being an excuse for someone to be mean. But you, Greyson Wilder, have proven me wrong once again.”
Chapter 11 - Greyson
“Do we have a deal?” I ask, ignoring how that last statement sliced open my heart a bit. She reaches her hand out to shake on it; I wrap my hand around hers and notice how perfectly it fits in mine. I don’t have time to dwell on it, though, because my phone rings. It’s my dad. I answer it and put it on speaker before I even think about what I’m doing.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I ask as I uncap Hannah’s water and push it towards her.
“What’s this I hear about you and Tatum being part of a carnival? Did you give up your day job to join the circus?” Hannah’s eyes go wide before they close, and her shoulders shake as she fights off a laugh. I walk behind her and pull her into my chest; she squeaks. Immediately, she slaps her hand over her mouth.
“Was that a young lady, Greyson Wilder?!” My mom yelled from somewhere in the background, and Hannah buried her face in her hands.
“Mom, hello, so wonderful to talk to you. I’m great, thank you for asking.” I give Hannah an apologetic glance before my mom’s voice comes in clearer and way louder over the phone.
“Greyson, honey. Is there something you need to tell us?” My mom asks hesitantly.
Rolling my eyes, I look down at Hannah, who has a full-body blush going on at the moment and whisper, “I’m so sorry”.
“Yes, Mom. Her name is Hannah; she’s the one who is leading the planning of the carnival Dad was asking about.” I barely get the full sentence out before she’s sighing in relief on the other end of the line.