When Gracie is humiliated after following her best friend's brother to college and finds he's moved on without her, she grows closer to his rival--the captain of his basketball team--the infamous Kalen Rush, and suddenly Gracie wonders just what len...
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Gracie was dangerous.
Waking up with Gracie in my arms?
The health risks associated with how fast it'd sent my heart beating were unfathomable.
Her brown hair caught the light until a few strands glimmered like spun gold interwoven with dark hickory and amber ringlets.
The mass of hair was contained in a braid, but even the thick frizz was still able to escape its confines as she twisted and turned her head this way and that in her sleep on my shoulder.
There were a constellation of freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose, connecting in a random pattern on the warm tone of her cheeks.
Fuck, what had I gotten myself into?
It was bad enough to be distracted in the middle of such an important season like this, but to be distracted with someone so intricately entwined with my family past? It was more than a recipe for disaster—it was downright idiotic.
And still, I kept coming back for more. Kept her in my sights, and never let her leave my mind for more than a few moments.
It was made all the more worse by the fact that she was going through something so intensely delicate and near to what had happened to me in my past, something that I wanted to help her through in a way that no one had helped me through it.
I wanted to give her that, to have her come to me when she needed someone—not fucking Colby Hart who only wanted her when he couldn't have her.
It was true that my motivations at the earliest conception of meeting Gracie were fueled by that rivalry with Hart, but later, after realizing that I wanted more from her than what she might've been willing to give, Hart became an afterthought—someone in the way of this growing connection I was desperate to continue.
If I had my way, Gracie wouldn't ever leave my bed—but that didn't account for reality and the fucking hardships that came with it.
But when her phone wouldn't stop its constant ringing and her eyes slowly flitted open to its sound, I didn't make a move to get up. I left it up to her if she was ready to face everything or not yet.
She deserved that time for herself, to wallow in it. To grieve.
Her soft brown eyes met mine in the early evening sunset, the last remnants of the day shining through the slat in the curtains and illuminating the dried salty tear tracks making a trail through her freckles and the light redness rimming her irises.
"What time is it?"
Her voice crackled through, grainy with sleep and tears.
"I think it's around seven. How'd you sleep?"
"Like the dead," she joked and then tensed as she realized the connotations of what she'd just said.
"I think some people have been trying to get in touch with you."
