All The Wild Ones | Wildfire Series

Hail Mary

NESSA

Grayson promised me he was proof that not all football players suck, that he was nothing like the other shitheads I'd come to know and despise. But there was only so much trust I could put in his word when I didn't have anything to base it on. And so, my plan had been to stay away from him. Even though his touch gave me undeniable, irritating butterflies.

But then he'd barrelled into my room, and now my bed smelled like man. Man.

Not the sweaty stench of man that I'd been worried about, though.

No, my bed smelled like Grayson. It was a rich scent that I couldn't quite put a name on. A bit woodsy, a bit spicy.

I rubbed my face into my pillow, not even annoyed that whatever soap he'd used in his hair was the only thing I'd probably be able to smell for the next week. It smelled like man, but in the very best way possible. And the result of it was a complete reluctance to get out of bed. My nine am lecture would have to wait while my brain ran circles around the memories from last night, lost in a scent-induced Grayson spell.

He'd been acting differently. Odd. Sure, he'd whipped out a few cocky lines, and he was an ass to barge into my room like that. But then he'd also been quiet and subdued. For crying out loud, the man fell asleep. Even before that, though, he'd just looked so drained. Sounded drained, too.

I almost didn't want to wake him up. But it had been too hard to resist walking over to him. His handsome face was so vulnerable, and it piqued my curiosity.

Vulnerability came awfully close to being the opposite of manipulation. A little bit of imperfection shone through, and I wasn't even happy to finally find it. Because it opened a whole other door that I wasn't ready for.

God, he'd looked so tired and even a little bit sweet, meaning I couldn't bring myself to argue with him about the lunch date. There'd already been a touch of sadness to his expression, and his gaze made me forget all about my determination to stay away.

I still couldn't completely trust him, but this morning, as I pushed my face deeper into my pillow, I found myself wanting so badly to be able to. I wished I could trust that he was who he said he was without risking a part of myself in the process.

It was a selfless thing, to trust. It meant letting go of that little piece of you that has been hurt in the past, to come to terms with the fact that you might get hurt again. After all, it hadn't even been a year since Jasper. And Pinterest quotes and Instagram influencers would tell me I should focus on living for myself. Find the good in my life without spending another year making the same mistakes.

But they probably didn't have a 6'3" sweet-smelling, smooth-talking, guitar-playing, wide receiver lying in their bed last night, did they?

And that was precisely why I sprung out of bed, dressed, and called my mom on my way to my lecture, letting her know that I didn't need a ride home for winter break.

And it was also why I found myself sliding into Grayson's immaculate Volkswagen the next week, piling my stuff into his backseat. That rich, woodsy smell consumed me, bringing an uninvited warmth to my chest.

Unsurprisingly, his smile was larger than life when I looked up at him. Gray wore black jeans today, paired with a clean-cut grey sweater. So simple, but so smart-looking. He made me feel like a slob in my ripped jeans and corduroy jacket, which I'd layered haphazardly over a fraying t-shirt.

"Did you have a place in mind for lunch?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, actually. I'm not picky. Anywhere sounds good. Give me some meat and cheese between two buns, and I'm good."