A frustrating, competitive, surprisingly self-aware person who laughed at himself when he failed and listened when I corrected his form and fought with Julian when it mattered.
A person I was attracted to.
Properly, inconveniently, dangerously attracted to.
“Carter?”
I lifted my head. He’d rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow, watching me with that focused intensity he usually reserved for racing.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For this.” His expression was open, genuine. “I needed it.”
My throat tightened. “You’re welcome.”
“I’ve been insufferable this week, haven’t I?”
Yes. “You’ve been restless.”
“That’s diplomatic.”
“I was trying.”
His mouth curved. “Appreciate it.”
We held each other’s gaze for a beat too long. Then I looked away, lying flat on my back for final relaxation. “Five minutes. Then we’re done.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I closed my eyes, trying to let the tension drain from my body.
It didn’t work.
Because Griffin was right there. Close enough that I could hear his breathing even out. Close enough that if I turned my head, I’d see him.
And I wanted to look.
Wanted to know if he was watching me the way he’d been watching me all week. The quick glances he thought I didn’t notice. The way his gaze lingered when he thought I was occupied with Hazel.
“You’re doing it again,” Griffin said softly.
I opened my eyes. He’d rolled onto his side again, head propped on his hand, watching me.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking too loudly.”
“I don’t think loudly.”
“You do.” He tapped his own forehead. “You get this crease right here when you’re analyzing something.”
I touched my forehead self-consciously. “I don’t have a crease.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I don’t.”
“Want to bet?”
