Six Rules: Book Two in the SIX Series (7 page)

          
“Wow. Were all your prior girlfriends on high doses of
anti-depressants or something? I promise never to cry because of a sunrise, I
can guarantee that. But what about crying because I’m actually emotional? I’m a
terrible crier when it comes to romance movies,” I said honestly.

          
“That’s totally fine, there just has to be a reason. Like
when you’re sobbing at a chick flick, you just have to tell me why you’re
crying. Don’t just cry. You have to tell me what is actually making you sad.”

          
“Wow, so crying is a sticking point for you. Noted,” I
said mockingly.

          
“So that’s it, really. Family dinners, an ‘us’ day,
breakfast, adventurous foods, one ugly cat figurine, and no unexplainable
emotions,” he said sitting up. “Your rules now.”

          
“Wow, who even needs more than six rules? You seem bossy
enough to just run this relationship,” I retorted. I mean sure, I appreciated a
guy who knew what he wanted, but he did seem a little overbearing. I suppose I
should have been thankful though, given that there was nothing kinky or out of
my comfort zone in any of those rules.

          
“Hey, I think it’s good we’re just laying it all out. It
keeps things less complicated. You don't seem too freaked out by any of those
things, right?" he asked.

          
"Quite the contrary. I'm actually relieved. I thought
you would put some, um, physical stuff in there. Like a typical guy," I
said brushing some hair back from my face.

          
"I slept on the couch last night, Mallory. Please
tell me you don't think I'm just here for that," he replied.

          
"I don't know, you're a man. Men are physical,"
I said, trying to explain where I was coming from.

          
"Right, I get that," he said in agreement.
"But that always makes things more complicated too, right? So let's just
keep it light in that regard. Nothing serious. You need to be crazy about me
first."

          
"Well it seems like we're working on the crazy
part," I muttered, reaching for another bite of pie.

 
         
"Well,
now it's your turn. What will make me your white knight? Or whatever you girls
call it,” he said, resting back onto his elbows. He looked awfully handsome in
the glow from the small lantern sitting between us. The moon shone brightly and
stars blanketed the sky.

          
“Well, here goes. Rule number one: no whining that I work
to much. Ever. Even if it’s true, I still don’t want to hear you complain about
it,” I began, watching him nod in agreement. “Rule two: I want cards and love
notes for no reason. Not just like a ‘hey what's up’ text, but like an actual
hand written note. I know that’s such a girl thing to say, but I think it’s
really romantic and no one really does that anymore. And since I work so much,
it's easy communication.”

          
“So you liked the note I put on your car the first day I
met you?” he mused.

          
“No. I actually thought it was a parking ticket so I was
pissed off before I even read it,” I responded. He smirked and I felt compelled
to be a little more forthcoming. “But then yes, I did kind of like it later. After
I gave it some thought. It was a nice gesture, I just didn’t want to admit it.
Anyway, rule number three,” I continued, changing the subject, “don’t pay for
everything. I literally wrote that down before the whole dinner check thing
tonight. It really makes me crazy when guys think they’re supposed to pay every
time there is a bill. I’m not a crazy feminist or anything, but I’m just saying
that I work too, so I don’t see why you should be paying for all the expenses.”

          
“Doesn’t that make me less appealing? My mom would be
horrified if she found out I let a woman pay for dinner,” he said with
conviction.

          
“Well then I’ll be sure not to bring it up at your family
dinner,” I teased. “Rule number four: you have to watch sappy movies with me,
even if it annoys you that I cry at them.”

          
“Oh no, is this our first rule to rule death match?” he
asked sarcastically. “We both had one about crying.”

          
“Look, I promise to uphold your rule not to cry for no
reason. I'm not that girl. But you must understand that it is literally
impossible for me not to cry while watching The Notebook. But instead of just
crying haphazardly, we can pause the movie repeatedly and we can discuss how
moving and emotional the whole story is,” I said dramatically.

          
“Wow, that sounds like every man's nightmare,” he teased
back. “You can cry
while
we watch The Notebook, but you have to promise
you won’t just be crying on a random Tuesday afternoon because you were just
thinking
about The Notebook. Fair compromise?”

          
“Yeah, I can work with that,” I said, shaking my head in
agreement.

          
“What is it with you women and that movie?” he asked,
picking up his fork once again for another bite of pie.

          
“We can discuss it in depth some other time. Moving on to
rule five: you have to give me an honest opinion when I ask you how something
tastes. It makes me crazy when everyone says something tastes great when it
could clearly taste better.”

          
“But then you have to believe me when I tell you,” he
responded. “Don’t ‘girl’ your way out of it and think I’m lying when odds are,
I really do think it’s fine.”

          
“Fair enough. Rule six: don’t fix me. This one is
important. If I’ve had a bad day, just be the good part of my day. Don’t tell
me what I could have done differently, or what will make it better.”

          
“I can’t imagine you needing to be fixed,” he replied,
staring up into the sky. “I kind of like you as you are. Uptight and unsure of
me.”

          
I threw my fork at him. "I am not uptight," I
said defiantly.

          
"But you're still unsure of me?" he asked
sincerely.

          
“Do you really think this whole thing will work?” I asked honestly.
“I mean, usually people get to know these things about someone else slowly. Are
all of these rules sucking the fun out of it?”

          
“Is The Notebook any less romantic the more you watch it?”
he asked inquisitively.

          
“No, it’s perfect every time, even though I know exactly
how it ends.”

          
“So maybe putting all of this out there from the
beginning, all these rules, maybe it’s just our own version of romance,” he
responded. “Nothing else has worked for us, right? This way we both call the
shots. We already know exactly what we want and what we’re going to get.”

          
I appreciated his optimism, I really did. But just because
we wrote something down on a napkin, it didn't make any of those things true. I
liked the logic behind it, sure. But logic and love were two very, very
different things.

Chapter 9

 
        
The
whole idea of meeting Greyson’s family tonight really freaked me out. It was
way too soon for this. Last night we were just deciding to even get into this
relationship, sorting out all of our rules and such. And now tonight it was as
if we were already a real couple. I felt like I still didn’t know much about
Greyson, other than some very general details. The thought of being drilled
with questions tonight from his family seemed awkward, when Greyson probably
wouldn’t know those things about me either.

          
I opted for a peach knee-length skirt and a fitted white
top. I didn’t want to look too dressy, considering the dinner was held at his
mom’s house. But he mentioned his grandma would be there, along with a couple
of his aunts. If I was stepping into the lion’s den, I had better at least look
cute while doing it.

          
I curled my short hair and applied some light make-up. A
few minutes later there was a knock on my door.

          
I opened it to find Greyson leaning against the door
frame, looking quite handsome in dark jeans and a soft blue button down shirt.
The color matched his eyes perfectly, and for a brief moment I wanted to pull
him into my apartment and not go anywhere tonight.

          
“You look amazing,” Greyson said softly, kissing my cheek.
He grabbed my hand and led me down the metal steps and into his truck. As we
pulled away and began our hour drive down the mountains into Reno, I pried for
more information about his family.

          
“So there will just be a few of us, right? This dinner
isn’t a huge thing?” I asked nervously.

          
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything. But maybe it’s
better if you’re prepared,” he said hesitantly. “Once they heard I was bringing
a girl, a few more family members have elected to come by.”

          
“A few more? So instead of five or six of us, there may be
eight or nine?” My stomach began to feel queasy.

          
“Well,” he said with a grimace, “don’t freak out. More
like fifteen people, maybe a few more.”
 
         
“Fifteen
people? That is just a ‘Sunday night family dinner’ crowd? Where I come from,
that’s a full on party. Is that like, every person you’re related to?” I asked
frantically.

          
“Well, kind of,” he answered honestly. “Look, I’m sorry it
turned into something more. My mom just got so excited so she made some calls.
A few cousins wanted to come, and before I knew it…”

          
“Cousins?” I said interrupting him. “I’ve only known you
for two days and we’re already on cousins?” I shot him a worried glance.

          
“Look, I don’t usually bring girls home,” he began.

          
“So you chose a girl you’ve known for ten minutes? And who
you’re in a ‘temporary’ relationship with, I might add. Now in three weeks you
have to explain our relationship status to cousins?” The more I thought about
it, the more it fired me up.

          
“You really think this relationship is temporary?” he
asked. I couldn’t tell if he was hurt by my comment, or if he was just egging
me on.

          
“Forgive me for questioning the ‘opt-out’ clause in the
rules you drafted,” I replied sarcastically. “I think you’re a little bit crazy.”

          
“Then this might be a bad time to tell you I’m the normal
one in my family,” he muttered.

          
We listened to music and made small talk for the rest of
the drive and finally pulled into a small neighborhood at the base of the
mountains. As we pulled into his mom’s driveway, I could already see numerous
heads standing around through the kitchen window. The house was a small grey
two-story home with a large fenced in backyard.

          
As we walked into the house, I could feel eyes all over
me. A tall bubbly woman in her mid-fifties approached me with a wide grin. She
had short blonde hair and leopard print clothing.

          
“Mom, this is Mallory,” Greyson said politely. Within
seconds her arms were stretched around me, embracing me in a big hug.

          
“You have a beautiful home Mrs. Luca,” I said politely,
thankful to finally be released.

          
“Please, call me Julie,” she said warmly.

          
“So this is the girl?” a short middle-aged woman asked.

          
“Oh my, she’s even prettier than I would have imagined,”
another woman next to her said.

          
Greyson introduced me to everyone one by one, and I knew
there was no hope for remembering all of their names.

          
We all moved outside to the back patio area and his mom
brought out trays of food. The backyard was impeccable; there were flowers
everywhere and bright colored patio chairs lined the moderately sized wooden
deck.

          
“So,” Julie began as she uncovered all of the food and
placed serving spoons around the table. “Tell us a little bit about yourself,
Mallory. Greyson never mentioned you until yesterday, so we don’t have many
details.”

          
That’s because I didn’t know him until yesterday.

          
“Well, I own a bakery up in Mountain Ridge. It’s just a
few blocks from downtown,” I began. I could hear squeals and whispers as I
spoke.

          
“Oh, she’s successful,” one of his aunts whispered to
another.

          
“I grew up nearby, but my parents now live in Sacramento.
In college I studied abroad in Paris, Italy, and Australia,” I added.

          
“Greyson, you never told us she was a world traveler,” his
grandma Jane interjected.

          
That’s because he didn’t know.

          
“Yeah, well I
knew you guys would drill her about all of this stuff anyway. No point in
spilling all her details before you even met her, right?” Greyson said, winking
at me.

          
As we ate, I told them a little more about myself. I mentioned
I was a fitness instructor before opening the bakery and they all seemed amused
by that. A few people throughout the night tried prying for more information
about my relationship with Greyson.

          
“So, things must be serious between you and Greyson,” Aunt
Felicia asked me as we cleared the table.

          
“Well, you never know how things will work out,” I
answered awkwardly.

          
“It’s been so long since Greyson brought a girl home we
all started to wonder if he was even interested in women,” another aunt remarked,
and then giggled. For a brief moment, Greyson’s dead fiancé crossed my mind. I
wondered if they had met any other girls since her.
 

          
“So, do you plan on marriage and kids? Or are you married
to your work, dear?” Grandma Jane asked.

          
I need to get out of here.

          
“Greyson,” I said excitedly as he walked into the kitchen.
“I do have a really early morning tomorrow at the bakery. Maybe we should head
back soon?”
          
“Sure. I have a few meetings
tomorrow as well,” he responded, eyeing me suspiciously.

          
I thanked Julie for her hospitality and said goodbye to
the rest of his family. We left the house and climbed into his truck.

          
“Do you really have to work early tomorrow or did you just
want to get out of there?” Greyson asked inquisitively.

          
“Honestly, a little of both,” I replied sincerely. “Once I
was asked about our marriage and kids, I kind of shut down,” I said smirking.

          
“Let me guess, Grandma Jane? She can be a little direct,”
he said laughing. “Do you want me to take you home, or can I show you something
first?”

          
I stared back at Greyson, taking in how genuine of a guy
he actually was. I suppose tonight wasn’t exactly easy or completely
comfortable for him either. My eyes continued to be mesmerized by his handsome
face. He looked so put together in his jeans and collared shirt, with his
slightly wavy blonde hair and bright eyes. I couldn’t fault him for his
intentions so far; he really did seem to be trying to turn this relationship
into something.

          
“I don’t have to go into the bakery that early. You can
take me anywhere you want,” I answered honestly.

          
“Well in that case, you may not make it home at all
tonight,” he replied with a grin.