I hate the worry in his voice. Because it means he knows I’m way more affected by this than he is. It grates. And there is no fucking way I’m facing him right now.

“Look,” I say to the door. “I just need a moment to myself. Could you…” I lick my dry lips. “Could you just go home?”

Silence is heavy. When Gray finally answers, he sounds pained. “Ivy… Don’t send me away. I’m sorry that I—”

“No!” My shout echoes in the bathroom. “No more, Gray. I can’t talk about this now. I can’t.” Tears prickle behind my eyes. I’m so humiliated. I just want the door to swallow me up. “Not right now. Okay? Just. Go.”

He’s silent, but I can feel his resistance like a heavy hand against my skin.

“Go,” I insist again. “We’ll talk tomorrow, I swear. I just need to be alone right now.” My voice warbles with the plea.

And I almost cry in relief when he sighs, and his low voice grinds out, “Okay, Mac. I’ll go. Just… Call me soon. I… Shit, I don’t like leaving you this way.” When I don’t answer, he sighs again. “All right.”

And then there is silence. I press my heels against my hot eyes and realize how very much I’ve grown to hate silence.

Seventeen

Gray

IvyMac: Meet me at 1? At Java Cup?

GrayG: Will do.

One text. That’s all I get from Ivy. I’ve held off from calling her, hunting her down, because I’d promised. But it’s been hell. I’m so twitchy, I could burst out of my skin. I can all but feel Ivy thinking things through. And it terrifies me, because I also feel her slipping away.

I hope it’s simple paranoia that has me tied up in knots. But Ivy asking me to meet her in a coffee shop instead of at her house or mine isn’t a good sign. Like she needs neutral territory. Hell.

I get there early, securing a table in the back corner. Normally not a huge coffee drinker, I’m on my second cup by the time she arrives at eight p.m. on the dot.

The first sight of her steals my breath. It’s that instantaneous—I look at Ivy, and I cannot breathe properly. Those dark eyes, that kissable rosebud mouth, those cheeks that I want to cup as I taste her.

God, I’ve slid my fingers over her sweet, slick clit, all plump and sensitive to my touch. I’ve made her come with my hand. Heat shivers over my skin at the memory. The tips of my fingers throb, and my heartbeat is in my throat as she approaches, her gaze not meeting mine but focused somewhere around my shoulder. It hurts that she won’t truly look at me. It hurts that she’s so unsure. I’ve done this to her.

Dressed in black jeans and a gray turtleneck sweater, she also looks as though she’s trying to hide all the skin she can. Fucking hell.

It had hurt more than expected when she’d torn away from me and locked herself in the bathroom. Hope and happiness had crumbled within me. Now there’s nothing but a hollow cavern in my chest. I need to fix things with Ivy.

On shaking legs, I rise to greet her, fumbling the move when I reach out to… What? Kiss her cheek, give her a hug? I don’t know. I just want to touch her and reassure her that everything will be okay. It doesn’t matter because the moment I lean in, she’s ducking into her seat with a quick “Hey.”

She makes a pretense of being worried about spilling her coffee, setting it down with undue care as I sit across from her. But her continued focus on the table sends a punch of dull pain through my center.

“You’re not going to look at me now?” I ask in a low voice.

At that, her head snaps up, her dark eyes wide and pained. “No. I mean, of course. Sorry. I’m just…” She trails off with a bite to her lower lip.

“I know.” Resting my arms on the table, I lean in. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, Grayson,” a guy at my elbow butts in. I hadn’t even notice him approaching. But he’s grinning down at me as his friend hovers at his side. The bright red university sweaters they’re wearing are my first tipoff as to why they’re here. The guy slaps my shoulder like he knows me. “Great season, man. You guys are gonna crush it in the playoffs.”

“Go Dogs!” the other guy yells. And I fight back a wince.

More than anything, I want to tell these two to fuck off. Can’t they see I’m talking about something important? But I don’t. Fans are fans and they have my gratitude. I give them a nod. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I try to make it clear that I’m in the middle of something, but one of them wants me to autograph his baseball cap. Quickly I sign it and turn my attention back to Ivy.

Thankfully they amble away.

Ivy watches them go before acknowledging me.

“No, don’t apologize,” she pleads glancing up at me and then back to her cup. “I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It was totally immature.”

My hand covers hers, and she flinches. But I don’t let go because I need to touch her. My voice is as soft and comforting as I can make it. “It’s okay, Mac.”

Her shoulders lift on a breath and then she sits back in her chair, sliding her hand from mine as she goes. Her lashes conceal her eyes as she slowly turns her cup in her hands. For lack of anything better to do, I clutch my cup as well. The heat of the coffee seeps through the cardboard and warms my icy fingers.

I don’t know what to say or how to start the conversation.