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“What do you want, Grayson?” she asked. “Why do you keep following me? You have a fiancée—”
“Dumped her,” I said flatly. There was no emotion attached to Eden anymore. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if there ever had been. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop thinking about Grace. She swirled around in my brain, distracting me. I couldn’t pay attention to anything else in my life, only the constant need to be around her. To make her feel a semblance of the pain I’d been feeling throughout our relationship.
To make her understand.
“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you explain this?” Grace said, pulling out her phone.
I leaned my head lazily toward her screen and fixed my gaze on the glow.“Could not open page?”
That annoying line between her eyebrows showed up as she looked down at her phone.
Grace tapped the screen a few times, and the line deepened. She gave up and quickly tucked it into the jacket pocket.
“H-how did you get here? Do you even have a car?” she asked.
“The fuck you talking about? You know I have a Mercedes. How many times you’ve ridden in that thing—”
“What about your job?!”
I took another drag, then exhaled. “What about it?”
She looked down with wide eyes, confused. “Do you… do you still have it?”
I furrowed my brow. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I? The hell you talking about?”
“I just… never mind,” Grace said.
Then she reached toward me,asking for another hit.
I handed it over, feeling like I was in the middle of an alternate reality. Though, I knew it was best not to think too much about it. “Fuck, sharing is caring or something, I guess.”
And I shared with her. Because I cared about her. I hated her, I wanted to strangle her, I wanted to fuck her. I wanted nothing more than to take her against this wall, to prove something.
As she took a drag, my eyes traveled down to the hem of her dress and locked on her pale, juicy thighs poking out.
I wondered if she was wearing panties…
Old Grace would have always worn panties—the ‘sensible’ kind—cotton briefs or something. But this woman next to me, inhaling from the crinkled paper, glowing bright orange at the tip, was not Grace.
She was Grace… corrupted.
She’d changed.
And this version of her sure as fuck didn’t wear cotton briefs.
I wondered if I laid on the charm, pinned her against the wall, snuck my hand under there, felt up her creamy thighs…
Fuck, even the thought of it was getting me hard as fuck.
She handed the joint back, not coughing this time.
“You’re getting better at this,” I said, sucking on another hit.
“At what, smoking?”
“Yeah. And other things.”
“Dealing with you?”
