Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

18. IVY

18

IVY

“Tell me about the ex-boyfriend.” Grayson’s arms crossed his chest, the motion accentuating his broad shoulders.

“Pete wasn’t the one that told me to go to the parking garage. He’s the one who warned me against it.”

“So, he knew about the meeting, then?” Those striking jade eyes held an intensity that seemed to see right through me.

I hesitated, caught off guard by his question. A casual favor over coffee was one thing, but this…this bordered on genuine concern. In my experience, people didn’t show such interest unless they felt some level of attachment. My knee-jerk reaction was to retreat, but the sincerity in his features contradicted my usual skepticism, leaving me torn between accepting his kindness and maintaining my emotional distance.

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but why do you care? We just met.” I hope he didn’t find the question offensive; I was just trying to understand his intentions here.

Luckily, Grayson’s expression softened, but not in a relaxed way. Rather, it was as if it bothered him—my having to ask why someone would care I’d almost died.

He’d better not see me as some tragedy. Unfortunately, many people were assaulted every single day in this world, and—okay, fine, this part was a little tragic—this wasn’t my first rodeo with being attacked.

“Look, I’ll be honest.” He rubbed his eyebrow. “When I first sat down, I didn’t expect to become worried about you.”

He’s worried about me? My cheeks decided to stage a mutiny against my attempt to look unaffected by his comment, burning red so hot, you’d think I was auditioning for the role of a wildfire. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by Grayson, whose lips threatened to curl on one side.

“But it’s not every day you meet a beautiful woman and find out she was recently the target of a violent crime.”

Beautiful woman. My hormones became a damn orchestra of romance music, complete with swelling violins and swooning cellos. Oh, and let’s not forget the cartoon hearts dancing around my head.

“Humor me.” Grayson leaned forward slightly as he fixed me with an intent stare. “Tell me about the ex-boyfriend.”

I shook my head. It was bad enough I’d stooped to Pete’s level. Did he deserve me bad-mouthing him? Maybe. Okay, after the arm-grabbing situation, probably, but I was trying to take the high road and all that.

“Okay”—Grayson ran his thumb over his lower lip—“tell me his full legal name.”

When I smirked, Grayson raised an eyebrow.

“Pete has no reason to want me dead.” Nothing to gain.

Was this seriously what my life had turned into? Sitting here, discussing an attempt on my life and possible suspects over a cup of coffee like we were talking about the weather?

While I couldn’t dispute the facts, there was still a bridge to cross for my brain to accept that someone in my life might want me dead.

“If anyone did this,” I continued, “it was just that stranger that I met online.” Right?

Hold on to that, Ivy, or you’ll go insane with fear. Let the cops do their job.

“Did you tell the stranger about your father?” Grayson pressed.

Dad. Memories flashed through my mind of his gentle smile—the little crooked tooth sticking out that I’d give anything to see again. Like the time he was teaching me to drive and I’d ended up on someone’s front lawn. Many fathers would probably yell at their daughter, but not Dad—he laughed so hard, tears rolled down his cheeks.

The muscles around my lungs clenched, making me wonder if the pain would ever get better. Little bombs of grief peppered into my days in unpredictable explosions.

“He already knew about him,” Grayson deduced.

“I wouldn’t allow myself to get catfished,” I said, forcing my thoughts back to the conversation at hand. Especially not with something that personal.

Grayson shifted in his seat, never taking his eyes off me, and after a few seconds, he cleared his throat, branching into a new line of questions.

“Can I ask you what your last name is?” he asked gently.

I cocked my head. “Why? You want to investigate my family members?”

When he didn’t immediately dismiss it, my stomach churned with unease.

The truth was, I was feeling all sorts of things for Grayson, and my ego—and, yes, my heart—would take a giant hit if this attraction I was sensing from him was nothing more than morbid curiosity. Rejection sucks in every form.

“If the only reason you’re interested in me is some mystery?—”

“It’s not.” Grayson’s eyebrows slammed together, clearly trying to understand the sudden temperature drop in my mood.

As I searched his unfairly gorgeous face, nothing but sincerity danced back at me. I wanted to hang out with Grayson—more than I cared to admit, to be honest—but something was going on that he wasn’t owning up to. I could feel it like the humidity with a coming storm.

Sitting back in my chair, I stayed silent, making it clear I’d wait for him to explain himself because, as much as I appreciated all he’d done for me, I’d talked to some stranger online, and look where that got me.

“Okay, look.” He cleared his throat, placing his elbows on the table, so my mind mischievously focused on his lean forearms for a second. “The truth is, I came here today, hoping you’d show up.”

He…what?

“I waited for two hours before you finally did.”

Two hours? That’s a huge investment of time for anyone. No one ever waited that long for me in my life. Was this romantic? Or Stalker Warning 101?

“Why?” I refused to allow the flattery in until I understood his intentions better. Especially now that my radar was actively looking for anything off.

“At first, it was because I wanted to see the woman who I encountered yesterday one more time. All I had to go on was that you come to this coffee shop.”

After Pete grabbed my arm yesterday and Grayson had stepped in, maybe Grayson saw me as a damsel in distress. Perhaps he had come here today to make sure I was okay.

I guess, when you think about it, that makes more sense than a random creeper. And let’s be real; it’s pretty damn romantic.

“But after we got to talking, that’s not true anymore.” The force of his stare drew me deeper into his orbit until all the surrounding conversations seemed to fade. The only thing remaining was his low baritone voice as he said, “I want to see you more than just today, Ivy. I’m interested in you , not just what happened to you.”

It was shocking how much his words seeped through my skin, igniting a flurry of butterflies, their wings fluttering with a lightness I hadn’t felt in a long time. But hope was a dangerous thing, a double-edged sword that could cut deeper than any blade. Leaving me wondering, Should I allow myself to get to know Grayson more? Or shut this down now, before anything else might have the chance to bruise my heart?