Page 51 of On the Breakaway

Dark frames sit low on his nose while he watches me with tired amusement and complete exasperation, and I swear my nervous system actually glitches at the sight. There is absolutely no reason glasses should make him look even better than he already does.

And yet.

My eyes drag downward before I can stop them. A tattoo stretches across one side of his chest and shoulder, dark ink curling sharply over hard muscle in intricate lines that disappear beneath his arm.

My mouth goes dry.

Why does he look like that in his own kitchen at eight in the morning?

Meanwhile, I’m standing here tiptoeing out like a raccoon caught breaking into someone’s garbage with last night’s makeup still smeared halfway across my face.

Grayson leans his hip against the counter, coffee mug dangling loosely from one hand while he watches me with entirely too much awareness.

His brows lift slightly. “Were you seriously trying to sneak out while I was standing right here?”

Heat floods my face.

“No,” I lie automatically.

His expression doesn’t change.

“Okay,” I admit weakly. “Maybe a little.”

“A little,” he repeats flatly as if he cannot believe I’m attempting this argument.

I look anywhere except directly at him, but every direction somehow still includes broad shoulders, a tattooed chest, and those stupidly hot glasses.

“I was going to leave a note,” I offer desperately.

“You don’t have paper.”

Damn it.

My eyes flick reluctantly back toward his face.

Okay, the glasses are genuinely upsetting because this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Of course, they have to be worn by a man I can’t stand.

A man who was handing me napkins while I vomited tequila into a bush less than twelve hours ago.

Bad karma strikes again.

“You can forget this ever happened,” I inform him while backing toward the front door.

Grayson takes a slow sip of coffee. “Interesting way to say thank you.”

“I didn’t ask you to kidnap me.” Then, because his smirk annoys me, I add, “again.”

“Again?”

“First after the store, then last night.”

His jaw works. “You mean when your car broke down and when you were one drink away from poisoning yourself with alcohol?”

“I was fine.”

“You threw up in a bush.”