There is nothing soft about it. His lips are firm, moving against mine with a pressure that parts them instantly, like healready knows exactly how to take me apart. One hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back, and the other presses flat at the small of my back and hauls me in until every inch of me is flush against every inch of him. I feel the heat of him everywhere at once, his chest against mine, his hips, his thighs, and I stop thinking. I stop trying. My fingers curl into his shoulder, and when I kiss him back, he makes a low sound against my mouth that I feel deep in my stomach.
He tastes warm. Faintly sweet. His lips drag against mine slowly and then press back in harder, deeper, like he is testing what I will give him and finding that I will give him everything. My fingers slide up to his jaw, and he angles his head. The kiss changes, opens, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before slipping past them, and the sound I make this time I cannot take back. His hand in my hair tightens just slightly, holding me exactly where he wants me, and I let him. I let him completely. My back is pressed fully into the locker, and his body is the only reason I am still standing. I have never in my life been kissed like this, like I am something worth taking time over, like he has nowhere else to be and no intention of stopping.
“Miranda?”
We break apart like a live wire snapped.
The voice is small and a little whiny, coming from just around the corner.
We stare at each other, our faces flushed and our breathing hard.
“Miranda, where are you? I’m hungry.”
Grayson releases me and vanishes. One moment he is there, and the next he is gone around the far side of the lockers without a single sound, moving so fast that I can’t even keep track. And I’m suddenly standing alone against the locker with my hair disheveled, my lips swollen, and my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
I press both palms flat against the cool metal and try to breathe. Ethan shuffles around the corner wearing the long-suffering expression of someone who has been waiting an unreasonable amount of time and would like everyone to know it.
He looks up at me. “Where’s Dad? I’m really hungry.”
“He’s coming,” I say. My voice sounds almost normal. Right? “He’s just getting dressed.”
“He takes so long.” Ethan reaches up and takes my hand, small fingers wrapping around mine with absolute confidence, like it already belongs to him. “Can we get pizza again?”
He hasn’t noticed the state of disarray I’m in. Or maybe he doesn’t care.
“Let’s talk about it outside.” I start moving, steering him gently back around the corner, away from the lockers, away from all of it, into the cool dim corridor beyond. “Come on. Let’s get some air.”
He trots alongside me, already listing his preferred toppings with great seriousness, and I let him talk because it means I don’t have to.
I do not look back.
We wait outside the locker room, and I try to distract myself from the hockey player inside by thinking of the offer Coach Ramirez put on the table. The money is good, very good. And I need it. Admittedly, it won’t even scratch the surface of my debt, but it will be something. But that offer is not without its concerns.
We want discretion, Miss Carver. Above everything else.
The coach’s words ring in my ears.
Grayson’s healing capabilities, his strength, these are not normal things, not human. I’m not so naïve as to just close my eyes in the face of reality. They didn’t hire me to do this because they believe in my abilities. I saw the way the coach waswatching me when I patched Grayson up. He looked satisfied. Was it because I didn’t ask questions or demand to know why Grayson’s wound was healing so fast?
That’s one possibility.
But if I’m surrounded by these bulky, muscled players who heal at such an abnormal rate, how long can I pretend to see nothing? I lean against the wall as Ethan swings my arm back and forth.
“Gentle, kid,” I remind him when he pulls a little too hard.
He immediately looks guilty. “Sorry.”
The door of the locker room opens, and Grayson walks out fully dressed, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. His eyes meet mine, and he smirks. I press my lips together into a thin line. He’s lucky his son is here or I would have said some very unkind things.
“Sorry I’m late. What do you want to eat, Ethan?”
“Pizza!” Ethan announces, abandoning my hand to throw his arms around Grayson’s legs.
“Sure, buddy.” Grayson ruffles his hair. His eyes find mine over Ethan’s head, and then he provocatively runs them over my body before returning to my eyes.
My stomach tightens, and I look away.
I keep Ethan between us for the entire walk to the car. It requires some creative maneuvering, but I manage it. When he opens the door for me, I try to get in without touching him, but he goes the extra mile to put my seat belt on himself.
