There's an edge to his voice. Something almost... jealous?
The realization makes my heart skip.
"You saw me with Seth," I say slowly.
"Hard to miss." His jaw tightens slightly. "He's a good guy."
"He is."
"You two looked..." He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. "Never mind. Not my business."
But he wants it to be. I can see it in every line of his body. The tension in his shoulders. The way he won't quite look at me.
"We were just talking," I say, and I don't know why I'm explaining myself to him.
"Okay." His eyes meet mine finally, and there's heat there. "Good."
The air between us shifts. Charges.
"You're jealous," I blurt out.
"Maybe." He doesn't deny it. Just straightens slightly. "Is that a problem?"
"I don't—" I don't know what to say to that. To his honesty. "You barely know me."
"I know enough." He leans against the opposite wall, giving me space even in this narrow alley. "I know you ran from your family dinner to have a not-a-date with a stranger. I know you order more food than seems physically possible and don't give a damn what anyone thinks about it. I know you're brilliant atwhat you do but terrified someone will weaponize that talent again."
My breath catches. "How?—"
"I see you." Simple. Direct. "And yeah, watching you with Monroe made me jealous. Watching you with Brooks made me jealous. Standing across the square knowing I can't just walk up to you without making everything complicated made me jealous."
The festival noise swells—caroling starting, voices raised in song. We're hidden here in the dark, just the two of us and this strange, intense honesty.
"You should get back," he says. "Before your family worries."
"Yeah." But I don't move.
Neither does he.
The moment stretches. His eyes on mine. My heart hammering. The air between us thick with everything unsaid.
I should leave. Should go back before someone notices I'm missing. I take a step toward the alley exit, and he shifts to give me space—except we both move at the same time, in the same direction, and suddenly I'm stumbling into him. Grayson catches me reflexively, hands on my hips, and we're pressed together in this narrow space.
Oh fuck.
His scent hits me full force—ink and leather and that spice that makes my knees weak. His hands are firm on my hips, steadying me, and I can feel the heat of him through my coat. The strength. The barely leashed control.
"Bea." My name sounds different in his mouth. Darker. Hungrier.
I tilt my head back. Look up at him. He's so close I can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. See the tension in his jaw. Feel the way his grip tightens just slightly on my hips.
"This is a bad idea," I whisper.
"Terrible idea." But he's not letting go.
"We're in an alley."
"Noted."
