"Because," Dalton continues, like I haven't said anything, "that's exactly what it looked like."
"I was—"
"You grabbed his face," Gray says. "In front of seven people."
"She wasn't in the room yet."
"Seven people," Gray says. "That's not better."
"She was bothering you."
"She was talking to me."
"About showing you around," I say. "Which is my job."
Gray goes still. The amusement drops out of his expression, replaced by something warmer — his eyes steadying on my face, his head tilting just slightly, the look of a man who has just been handed information he's going to sit with.
"Your job," he says.
"Somebody has to," I say. "You don't know where anything is."
"I found the library," he says.
"Because I told you where it was."
"And the dining hall."
"Window table, left side, faces the trees," I say. "I told you that too."
"So you're very invested," he says, "in making sure I know where things are."
"I'm invested," I say, "in not having Becky show you where things are."
The room is quiet.
Then Gray says, "Yeah," and crosses the room. He stops close — the bond running warm between us, his eyes on my face.
"For the record," he says, low. "I didn't need the clarification."
"I know," I say.
"But I didn't mind it."
He puts his hand on my jaw the way I put mine on his — not asking, just placing it there, his thumb at my cheekbone.
"Ours," he says.
I hold his gaze. "Yeah," I say. "Ours."
Then Dalton says, from the door, "This is a study room."
We both look at him.
He's still leaning against the door, arms crossed. "With a lock," he adds. "For what it's worth."
Gray looks at me. I look at Dalton.
"Lock it then," I say.
