My finger hovers over the call button, unsure of itself. I squeeze by eyes shut and relax into the seat, breathing heavily. I count to three:

1...What the hell am I doing?

2...He's probably going to laugh and hang up on me.

3...You can fucking do this, Riv!

My finger presses the call button and my heart stops when the phone starts to ring. Holding my phone up to my ear, I bite my nails waiting for him to pick up. I never bite my nails, but it feels fitting, considering my whole body seems to be twitching with anxiety.

The rings stop after the fourth and I hold my breath, hearing my own heart beat through my chest.

"Hello?" He sounds out of breath, impatient. Actually, he sounds unbelievably hot and my heart stutters. I have trouble forming words with my mouth and my face feels hot. "Hello?" He says again, his voice even more irritated and breathy.

"Hey, this is River," I say, stopping to hear him say something. He's silent on the other end. God, help me. "So I just...my parents...can I come over or something? I just kind of need to be anywhere but my house right now."

My voice sounds high and unsure, far from my usual tone. He's silent for a moment and I am about to back out and say that I'm actually going to Violet's and that I'm sorry for bothering him. Then he laughs, but it doesn't sound genuine. "You want to come over to my house?"

"Uh, yeah. If that's fine with you. I really don't want to intrude or anything," I sputter, inwardly groaning at my fumbling of words. Hearing his voice does something to me. It makes it hard to feel or act like my normal self. What's happening to me?

He goes quiet again but this time, the silence is cut by a high-pitched squeal in the background. I can tell Grayson pulls the phone away from his ear by the far-off volume of his voice. "Yeah, you better hide, Gracie. I'm gonna find you."

Gracie screams in delight again before Grayson presses the phone back to his ear. "I guess. I'll be with Gracie all tonight." His voice is strained, as if he doesn't want me there. I push away the sting that comes along with that realization. "If you're fine with that..."

His voice trails off, as if he wants me to say something. "That's perfect," I say quickly, a bit hurt that he seems all but enthused that I'm coming over. I ponder cancelling again, second-guessing myself, but confidently decide against it. "Just send me your address. I'm already in the car."

"Yeah, sure. Hey, River, I kinda gotta go right now," he says over Gracie's yelling in the background. I hear a faint crashing sound. "I'll tell the doorman to let you up. See you soon."

Then he hangs up hastily. I'm frozen, holding the phone to my ear for a few seconds, pondering what I'd just done. When I finally pull myself together, I look at the text Grayson just sent with his address and type it into my GPS. Taking a deep breath in, I start driving toward Grayson Maddox's house.

With my radio blasting 2010s jams and my head swimming with nerves, I hardly notice that my navigation is taking me far from home. When I turn onto a street I've never seen before, lined with glossy, mid-century modern homes and tall townhouses with thick, white columns, my breath catches in my throat. This is a part of town my parents could only dream of living in.

The grand single-family houses give way to to sleek, glass skyscrapers as I get closer to downtown. These apartment buildings have names like The Avalon, NewStar, and The Abodes and I wonder how the hell Grayson can afford to live here. Then I think back to his thick stack of hundred dollar bills and it all makes sense.

I pull up to a medium-sized building, respectable among the other buildings. I'm directed to the underground parking garage and search for a space for a few minutes, panic growing by the minute. As I exit my car, I look down at my bare-feet and revealing tank top and feel oddly out of place.

The doorman, wearing exactly what I'd expect a fancy doorman to wear, looks me up and down, a judgmental look in his eyes. I smile warmly and fold my hands over my chest, trying to cover my obvious lack of a bra. He asks for my name and I give it to him. He lets me through the large glass doors, telling me that Grayson is on the top floor. He leads me to a special elevator, turns a key in the elevator, then bids me goodbye. Weird.

I start feeling lightheaded in the elevator, focusing on the changing numbers above me. 76, 77, 78. Stop.

The doors open, not to a hallway, but to a penthouse suite spanning the entire top level. I freeze, stunned, staring right into a penthouse. His penthouse. I try not to think of how much this must've cost, but seven figures seems about right.

Then he appears, coming out of a hallway with wet hair and only a towel covering his lower half. His skin is slightly wet from the shower he must've taken and his muscles look more defined than ever. The towel is riding dangerously low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination, although I can't help but imagine what's beneath the white towel. Suddenly, I forget what I was so nervous about. I forget any thoughts I had at all.

He walks over, stepping over Grace's dolls, blankets, and pillows strewn all over the floor. His arms and abs look unbelievable when he tilts his head forward and ruffles his hair with a smaller towel, drying it. The mop of hair on his head shakes around messily and I feel heat wash over me.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd actually come, River."

Ouch. I hide the pain from my face and smile politely, wishing I hadn't come. I feel out of my comfort zone, over a steep cliff, and the coldness of his voice tells me that there's no net beneath me.

He doesn't make eye contact. "Sorry about the mess, Gracie went a little wild today," he says, looking at me with emotionless eyes that I don't recognize.

His gaze scans over me slowly, landing on my chest and looking away quickly. I feel like it's last night all over again.

I cross my arms over my chest, willing myself to calm down. "Don't worry about it. I did call on really short notice."

He doesn't say anything, already bored of the conversation. We stand awkwardly for a few seconds, both pretending that this is fine. Frozen is playing on the TV and I'm grateful for Elsa's voice filling the wide silence.

"I'm gonna go...change real quick. Feel free to enjoy the cinematic masterpiece I've set up for our entertainment," he says, turning quickly to leave. For once, his attempt at humor doesn't light up my chest. I feel odd and...cold in this penthouse, with a man who doesn't seem to want me here.

I sit on the sleek leather couch, pulling my feet under me, tuning out Let It Go. Around me, I see modern grey, black, and white furniture, a contemporary vibe spreading across the whole house. Grace's bright pink, green, and purple toys add splashes of color everywhere and I can't help but grin at the start contrast. A perfect representation of Grayson and Grace's personalities.

Then I look closer and see the sparse picture frames, some with just Grace and Grayson smiling and laughing. But some feature a man, a woman, or both. I stare at the woman's familiar beautiful, thick hair and the man's light eyes, framed by dark eyelashes. Their parents.

I feel like I've seen a very intimate part of Grayson, much more personal than seeing him almost naked. I keep staring at the framed photos, the sadness in the woman's eyes and the man's somewhat emotionless smile.

I think about the lack of emotion I saw in Grayson's eyes a second earlier, a wall put up between him and the world. Something has changed since the last time I saw him and realizing that puts a heavy knot in my chest.

Grayson comes back in a dark blue t-shirt and soft grey pajama shorts. He pulls his hand through his drying hair and looks somewhat nervous, the first emotion I've seen him display today. His grey eyes, for the first time, look unsure of what to do. He has bundle of something blue scrunched up in his hand.

"Gracie was dying for you to see her room so I told her to clean it before you came. She's going ham in there, thinking I don't know she's just throwing everything under her bed," he says, walking toward me on the couch. Through his joke, his voice is cold and forced, like he feels obligated to keep me entertained.

His walls are up, I can tell. And they feel indestructible.

I give a short, polite laugh and make room for him next to me, although there is a mile of space for him to sit in. My emotions feel contradictory, pulling me toward the Grayson with the bright eyes that I know exists, while also pushing me away from this different person standing in front of me. I'm reminded of the night he lost control and made a scene at the street race. The blankness in his stare.

This feels like the shell of an experience, a shell of Grayson talking to me right now.

"I got something for you," he says lowly as he sits down next to me. His leg grazes my thigh and, even through the fabric of my athletic leggings, I feel a shudder climb up from that spot. Even like this, he still elicits a physical response from me. "I was going to give it to you at Gracie's practice on Monday but...since you're here."

His voice softens and I realize why he's so awkward. For just a split second, I see past the hardness in his stare and see that he's actually nervous about giving the gift to me. My heart flutters and I take the bundle from him, setting it in my lap carefully.

My jaw drops when I see the logo of the hoodie. I quickly pull it out and hold up an Off White brand hoodie, baby blue with black stripes on the arms. The price on the tag was hastily covered with a blue marker but I know how much these hoodies go for. "Holy shit, Grayson."

He scratches his head, trying to hide his obvious joy at seeing me like the present. Then just like that, the emotion is gone, hidden under indifference. "I didn't know what hoodie you had before but Gracie said you always wear a light blue hoodie. I interrogated her for a brand but she couldn't remember." He lays his arm over the back of the seat, dangerously close to me. "So I guessed."

"It's perfect. I love it." I look at him with shiny eyes. Without thinking, I close the small distance between us and throw my arms around him. I tell myself that he's just tired from a long day hanging out with Grace, that I'm just imagining the shift in his mood. I want him to want me. I want him.

My body presses against him and the thin fabric between us doesn't stop me from feeling the heat and pulse of his hard body. He tenses, unsure of what to do, before wrapping his strong arms around my waist and pulling me closer. I'm hopeful that he's gotten out of whatever funk he was in. That the real Grayson is back.

My head is in the crook of his neck and I smell the manly spice of his body wash. "Thank you," I whisper in his ear, my heart beating out of my chest.

His arms tighten around me and his face is in my neck, his lips accidentally grazing the sensitive skin. I shiver at the contact and pull away. Despite no longer hugging, our bodies are still impossibly close together. I'm basically in his lap at this point and our faces are inches from one another. His nose brushes the tip of mine.

His hand, still warm from his shower, moves slowly up my shoulder and to the back of my neck, holding me softly. The feeling of his hand drives me wild and I lean closer. His lips hover over my own, driving me nearly over the edge.

I want him to kiss me. I need to know that he wants that deepness with me.

He looks at me through heavy eyelids, as if asking me a silent question. I ignore the lack of warmth in his stare, melting into him and closing my eyes. Winding my arms around his neck, I feel the heat of his skin. We're as close as we were last night and I tell myself that this feels right.

But his lips never meet mine. Instead, his hand on the back of my neck slips into the tangles of my wavy hair, pulling softly and arching my neck toward him. Our lips, so close to kissing, are ripped apart. His soft lips are placed on my neck, pecking sensual kisses up my skin and toward my mouth.

His other hand is on my lower back, snaking up and under the fabric of my tank top and smoothing over my heated skin. He's all over me, touching, kissing, feeling, yet I don't feel connected to him. It feels like we're going through the motions, skipping steps, and I feel wrong.

But my body reacts to his, pressing into his hands and gripping his hair. He lets out a groan and kisses my skin again, never reaching my lips. Avoiding my lips, but exploring every other part of me.

His restraint is gone and the hardness between his legs is pressing into me expectantly. I suddenly realize that this is too much, too fast for me. This isn't us. My lips still tingle from the kiss that never came and I want him off me. I thought he wanted me for more than this.

I thought we were more than pure sexual attraction. I feel stupid for even thinking that was possible.

I say stop and he is off me immediately, inching backward on the couch. I stare at him with wild, confused eyes, meeting his gaze. He stares back at me with pure sexual desire, nothing more. I'm reminded of what Peyton said and wonder if I put too much trust into him and his potential. Doesn't he want something real with me?

I feel like he just answered the question, using me only for a quick release. I fight against the voices in my head telling me that he's just scared, afraid of letting me in and close to him. I just feel dirty, foolish for expecting more from him. I feel used.

Grayson looks like he wants to say something and his eyes soften for a split second, before putting up the walls once again. "I thought you knew this is all I wanted," is all he says. My heart shatters in my chest.

I look at him with disgust, realizing the purpose in not kissing me. He's keeping me away, keeping this impersonal and purely sexual. And it's working. I fight the burning in the back of my throat and get up from the couch, not bothering to give him the satisfaction of an answer. He knows what he's doing, silently forcing me away and making me feel like nothing.

Making me feel like the crazy one, just like my parents do.

I rush out the door, leaving the hoodie behind, a silent 'fuck you' to him. When I exit the penthouse into the awaiting elevator, I look back and see him still sitting on the couch. A neutral expression, as if he couldn't care less. But as the elevator doors start to close and my eyes blur, I see an inexplicable mix of pain flash in his eyes, begging to be seen, to be expressed.

Sadness, regret, fear.

I want to go back, to draw the pain out of him and tell him that I'm there for him. I want so many things from him, things I know he's capable of.

But then the elevator doors close and he's gone. And all I feel is the coldness of his hands on my skin.