“So I’ve been told.”
I have my childhood to thank for that.
I may have had a traumatic run-in with an asshole in the last twenty-four hours, but Grayson’s presence in my home messes with my ability to think past my hormones. I’ve seen how movies start like this.
Damsel needs help; damsel leads an attractive guy into her house for assistance; attractive guy assists her pussy to achieve orgasm; wham, bam, thank you, ma’am!
I’m leaning against my kitchen counter, eating an apple, when Grayson walks in. “Does your back door need a fix, too?”
I choke. My mouthful of apple lodged hard in my throat where rational thought used to reside because, clearly, it never occupied the space in my prefrontalcortex! Only gutter brain lives there. He rushes to pat my back before shifting with an amused look as I laugh and splutter. He realizes the double entendre his words had and shakes his head chuckling, leaning into the counter next to me.
I glare at him between coughs. "Motherfucker."
"I didn’t mean it like that." He smirks, leaning against the counter next to me. "Or maybe I did. Jury’s out."
I groan, hiding my face in my hands. "Oh my God."
His voice dips lower, teasing. "You really are messed up, huh?" After a few moments, I regain my composure and lower my hands to find him smiling gently, watching me. He nudges his shoulder into mine. “I’m glad you’re okay. It’s… it’s nice to hear you laugh.”
“Thank you.”
A few beats pass, and he doesn’t look away. He gazes over me as if he’s trying to commit every feature of my profile to memory for safekeeping, paying particular attention to my right eye. His eyes lower to my lips and, like gravity pulling him, he leans in.
Just as I feel his breath on my jaw, warm with a hint of mint, my phone rings.
Grayson exhales sharply, pulling back. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lower lip like he’s tasting the moment before letting it go.
“Hello? Viv! What’s up?” Grayson watches me. His gaze lingers on my lips.
"I’ll come back tomorrow," he murmurs. "To replace the back… lock."
The way he says it makes my stomach flip.
I nod. "Sure."
“Okay,”he mouths, backing out of the kitchen with a heart-stopping smile. I hear him collect his tools before letting himself out.
I exhale loudly the moment I hear the front door close. Viv is still motor mouthing down the phone her intentions to throw a sick day tomorrow so we can organize Halloween costumes.
After she hangs up, I head out to my car to retrieve yesterday’s work gear. When I open the door, however,my attention is drawn to a small gift box on my doorstep and a card attached. My eyes widen in disbelief.
“What the hell?” I mutter, scanning my surroundings.
I pick it up cautiously as if it were a firecracker set to go ‘boom!’ in my hand. Peeking inside, I find a long, dainty, sterling silver belcher chain. It’s beautiful, but my head spirals to figure out its hidden meaning. I open the card, the contents detonating my prior resolve.
New locks?
I like a challenge.
See you soon,
My little pipsqueak! x
No! No fucking way. Tanner is MIA! He doesn’t have the backbone in him to be this brazen. He’s not even the sharpest axe in the tool shed to begin with.
If it’s not him, then who? And what does a silver chain mean?
TEN
