Playing for Keeps (The Game #2)(33)
Author: Emma Hart

I exhale, a long, tortured sigh, and rest my forehead on the door. Who thought a secret relationship was a good idea?

Oh, yeah, me.

That was before the secret relationship became something complex, more than just a boy and a girl. Now it’s entwined deeply in a past filled with horrors I can’t even imagine, voices I’ll never hear, and memories I’ll never see fully. It’s not just a passing college fling, something to pass the time.

It’s real.

It’s as real as a relationship could ever be.

I straighten and chuck the book on my bed, not caring when it slips to the floor, and strip as I head to the shower. A quick hot shower should sort me out and relax me from this morning’s close calls. Too many in such a short space of time. There’s only so many excuses I can come up with before the truth will have to come out, and I know that moment will be so explosive that even the Chinese New Year won’t be able to touch it with their fireworks.

I step from the shower and run through the motions of getting ready, standing in front of my closet for longer than necessary. I mean, this is the equivalent of the “Meet the Parents” moment, right? So a good impression – literature aside – is necessary. But what the hell do you wear to meet someone’s grandfather?

The gray sky outside makes me rethink my skirt idea. I pull out a pair of jeans instead and couple them with a colorful shirt and wrap-around sweater. I blast my hair with the hairdryer, clipping it away from my face with a flower pin, and smudge on some make up.

My cell buzzes and a message from Aston pops up. Ready when you are.

Give me five.

Convinced that it’ll be sunny I grab a light jacket and sunglasses, and leave the dorm room. The sky has darkened only a little. It won’t rain. Yet.

The walk downtown doesn’t take long, and I find Aston parked exactly where he said he’d be. I knock on the window, smiling, and he leans over to open the door. I get in and he leans over the gearstick to kiss me soundly.

“Risky,” I mutter.

“And being seen in a car with you isn’t?” he shoots back, amused.

I produce my glasses from under my jacket and slip them on. “See? I’m in disguise.”

“You still look like you.” He grins as he pulls out. “We’re not passing campus, anyway. It’s still early, so I doubt many people will be about.”

“You say that. If I was Pinocchio, my nose would be about ten foot long I’ve told so many lies this morning.”

“Who to?” He glances at me.

“Kyle and Mark, then Kay,” I grumble. “Kyle and Mark think I’d slipped in to grab a book from Braden’s room, and Kay thinks I was with a guy all night.”

“Which is right. But she doesn’t know?”

“No. She doesn’t know. I slammed my door in her face.”

“She won’t let that go.”

“I know. But I have time to make a decent excuse as to why I can’t tell her who I was with.”

He sighs. “You know she’s gonna tell Lila and Maddie, and they’ll be on your case, right?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and chew on my thumbnail. “I know,” I mumble. “But I didn’t have to think. I was still reeling from Kyle and Mark. She caught me off-guard. I’m a real crappy secret girlfriend.”

“I like that.”

“That I’m a crappy secret girlfriend?” I frown at him as he pulls up outside a tidy, two-story house with perfectly pruned bushes and flowers.

“No, well, yeah.” He turns, his gray eyes light and piercing straight into mine. He smiles, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward him. “The girlfriend part.”

I blush a little as I realize it’s the first time either of us have said that word. “Oh, um …”

His lips touch mine, and he mutters against me, “Don’t. I like the thought of you being my girlfriend, even if you are secret.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet?”

“Save the literature for Gramps.” He leans back and smiles. “But, yeah, kinda. Just without the dyin’ and stuff.”

I put my hand on the door handle and smile at him over my shoulder. “I can totally go for that.”

My feet touch the ground and I realize how nervous I am. When it’s me and Aston and we’re messing around, talking, I don’t feel nervous. But now I’m standing in front his Gramps’ house, my heart is pounding and my palms are getting sweaty. I run my tongue over my lips, wetting them since they’re suddenly dry, and swallow.

Aston takes my hand, linking our fingers, and pulls me toward the house. “Don’t be scared.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

He grins, his hand on the door handle. “Nope.”

My mouth drops, and he pushes the door open, letting out the smell of cigar smoke.

“I wish you wouldn’t smoke those damn things, Gramps!” he calls.

“So you keep sayin’, boy, and I keep sayin’ I ain’t gonna stop.”

Aston grins again, and I get the feeling this is a routine for them. “Well if you’re smokin’ now, put the thing out. I brought company.”

“Better not be one of those jackass frat boys you live with,” his Gramps grumbles.

“No, it’s not one of those jackasses.” Aston chuckles slightly. “Better than that. Much better.”

“What, you bring me a stripper?”

“Uh, no. Maybe next time.”

I smile, loving the easy banter between the two.

“Well? Who is it?”

We step into the front room, and an old man is sitting quietly in an armchair at the far end of the room. He turns his head from where he was looking out the window, and I can see interest spark in his gray eyes. Gray eyes the exact same shade as Aston’s.

“This is Megan,” Aston introduces us. “Megan, this is my Gramps. Just call him Gramps.”

“Hell, she’s a pretty thing, ain’t she, boy?” Gramps says, looking at me and smiling. “Come sit down, darlin’, and don’t you mind him. His manners are a bit iffy since he started hanging around with those jackass frat boys.”

I laugh slightly and let Aston lead me over to the sofa opposite his Gramps. I sit on the cozy cushions, and Aston stops mid-sit.

“Let me guess. You want me to remember my manners and go get Megs a drink?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Off you go.”

I smile at Aston’s exaggerated sigh, and I can almost see the closeness in their relationship. It’s not just the fact Aston is so alike his Gramps, just sixty or so years younger, it’s in their easy banter and the affectionate smiles they have. His Gramps’ comments remind me so much of my Nan – she’s a crazy old thing with a penchant for “hot young things,” as she puts it, but I love her.