The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (3 page)

“
Me first!
”
I cry, jumping from the counter. I don
’
t miss the amused glances that pass between the two of them as I make my exit. I ignore them both, sipping at the warm nectar in my mug as I go.

Forty-five minutes later, I
’
m standing in front of my closet, fretting over what to wear. Yes, I
’
m aware that I probably spent too much time blowdrying my hair
—
I
so
would have curled it if I had the time. Yes, I
’
m aware that I only have about fifteen minutes to decide on an outfit, dress, and throw myself back on the couch so that it looks like I didn
’
t agonize over my appearance this morning. Yes, I
’
m even aware that all I
’
m getting dressed for is
breakfast
with some of our closest friends
—
but when I know that I
’
ll be seeing Sonny
…

“
AJ!
”
I call out as I hurry my way into her room. She
’
s sitting in the middle of the floor, leisurely blowdrying her own wet mane.

“
What do you need?
”
she asks as she pauses.

“
I need to borrow something,
”
I answer, sweeping my hands in such a way to signal my current lack of clothing.

She turns the hairdryer back on and speaks loudly over the hum.
“
You know he
’
d notice you if you were wearing a paper bag, right?
”

I tilt my head to the side, agitated that she
’
s jumped to the conclusion that I
’
m trying to dress to impress. I am
—
but we certainly don
’
t need to talk about it.
“
Excuse me, anyone would notice me if I was dressed in a paper bag! I
’
d look ridiculous.
”
She arches and eyebrow at me in response.
“
I just haven
’
t done laundry yet. I don
’
t have enough options. This is
not
about
Grayson
.
”
The second before I yell out his name, she turns off the hairdryer. I can
’
t help the blush that colors my cheeks.

“
Did I hear someone mention Grayson?
”
asks Sarah as she races her way into the room. She
’
s wrapped in her pink apron, which covers a pair of shorts and a tank top. I notice Addie has on shorts, too, only with a long sleeved t-shirt.

“
She needs help picking something to wear.
”

“
What
’
s wrong with what you
’
ve got on?
”
Sarah teases. I look down at my bra and cotton shorts and then back at her. She snorts as she makes her way to Addie
’
s closet.
“
You know he
’
d notice you no matter what you wore, right?
”

“
I
’
m not trying to dress up for him, you know?
”
I lie, folding my arms across my chest.

“
Oh, sweetie,
”
Sarah murmurs as she presses a kiss on the top of my head,
“
denying your feelings won
’
t make them go away.
”
I narrow my eyes at her and she offers me a smirk.
“
He
—”

“
Isn
’
t interested,
”
I interrupt, finishing her sentence for her.

“
Here we go again,
”
Addie says as she stands.

Sarah grins at her from over her shoulder before returning to her task, decisively reaching for items of clothing.
“
My argument that he
is
interested still trumps yours. Shall we go over the list again?
”
She pauses as if to wait for an answer, but before I can speak, she
’
s yanking off my shorts and encouraging me into pair of distressed jeans, complete with holes in each knee.
“
He always walks you to our front door after you guys hang out
—
even if you were just downstairs.
”

“
That
’
s just him being a gentleman. All of us get escorted home
—
by him or Hammy.
”

“
I
’
ve seen him carrying your cello more than once,
”
pipes in Addie, ignoring my rebuttal. I forget to make my counter argument as I
’
m temporarily distracted by the fact that Sarah
’
s dressing me
—
and I
’
m actually
letting
her.
“
And the kicker,
”
she says, tugging a spaghetti strap tank over my chest,
“
is that he
’
s been to three of your orchestra concerts.
”

“
First of all,
everyone
came to my last one
—
even Jack and Claire,
”
I mutter, finding my words once more.
“
Second, he was just being supportive. I go to his football games.
”

“
Yeah.
Because you like him,
”
argues Addie.

“
He practically stamped
I like you back
on his forehead at your concert,
”
says Sarah, plucking a thin, loose knit, sweater from a hanger.
“
He wore slacks and a collared shirt,
”
she insists, pulling the garment in her hands over my head.
“
He
dressed up
for you,
”
she adds, as if her previous statement needs clarification. She sweeps my hair out from underneath the collar and it falls down my back.
“
He
’
s shy,
”
she explains.

“
No
—
see, that is the biggest hole in your entire argument. He
’
s the star quarterback! He
’
s one of the most well known people on campus
—
where thousands upon thousands of people attend school
—
he is
not
shy,
”
I say with a laugh.

“
You look adorable, Ave,
”
says my sister, guiding me toward her full length mirror.
“
How could he
not
be shy around you?
”

A knock sounds at the door and, for a moment, we all fall silent.
“
They
’
re early,
”
I announce.

“
Go let them in,
”
says Addie.
“
I just need a couple more minutes to finish drying my hair.
”

“
And I have to get back in the kitchen. Besides, we all know who Gray would prefer to open that door.
”

I shake my head as they giggle and then make my way out to let our guests in. Despite the fact that I know who stands just outside, my breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.

He
’
s tall. Very tall. Quarterback tall. So tall that I sometimes add that to the list of reasons why I
’
m in the friend zone. I mean, I wouldn
’
t want to date someone who was more than a foot shorter than me, either. In fact, his height was one of the reasons why it originally surprised me that I was so attracted to him. Hammy is tall, too
—
who isn
’
t, compared to Addie and me?
—
but Sonny
’
s even got him beat by three inches. He
’
s practically a giant and I
’
m like a squeaky toy in comparison.

Then there
’
s his hair. I never thought that I would like a guy with long hair
…
but it
’
s so
pretty
. I
’
ve not seen such a beautiful shade of auburn on anyone else in my life. His intensely wavy locks are a rich red color so deep and burnt that it
’
s almost brown, but it
’
s not. It hangs loose down to his shoulders and I can
’
t deny that I
’
ve often daydreamed of sinking my fingers into it
—
but I have
great
self control.

Unlike most red heads, his skin isn
’
t pasty or pale. He tans beautifully in the summer and the fall, as he trains with the rest of the football team. Instead of being covered in freckles, he
’
s only got a few that sprinkle their way across his nose. I swear, God took His time on this one.

His broad shoulders and toned arms are not too overwhelming, but just big enough to speak of his strength; and when he hugs me
—
my
Lord
—
his chest is like the warmest, safest place my body has ever known.
Yes, that
’
s right, his chest is its own destination.

When he smiles at me, his true green eyes sparkle and his barely-there-dimples make my knees weak. He
’
s wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans that fit low on his hips. He looks amazing and I can
’
t seem to stop staring.

Get it together, Avery. He
’
s not interested, remember? Say hello to the man
—
Sonny, your friend!

She
slays
me.

When she opens the door, the effect she has on me is comparable to being sacked on the football field
—
no joke. Every time I see her, whether the time lapse is a day, a week, or five minutes, it
’
s the same. She
’
s just so freaking beautiful.

She
’
s identical to my best friend
’
s girl. They
’
ve got some crazy attractive combination of ethnicities happening, making them both unique and worthy of a double take. I think their dad is a mix between African American and some sort of French Canadian background, while their mom is of Pacific Islander decent. Avery always says that their mother is to thank for her long black hair. I do her one better and thank God for their mother, their grandmother and their grandfather, too.