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“Flirting with the teacher—that’s low, even for you, Doctor,” I say after she walks away.
“That wasn’t flirting,” he says.
“She thought it was,” I point out, looking over at Betty, who’s talking to an older man across the room. I don’t miss the look she sends in Graham’s direction.
“I can’t help my appeal,” he says. Again, there’s that hint of flirtation in his tone that hasn’t been there before. I wish I didn’t like it so much.
“Right, you old-lady charmer, you.”
His lips pull upward. “Are you going to send pictures to Morgan so we can find out who won this thing?”
I pull my phone out of my back pocket and snap two pictures, sending them to Morgan.
The text comes back only a minute later.
Morgan: The second one is the winner
“Yes!” I yell, startling a man not too far away from us. “Sorry,” I say quickly.
“Geez, Price. Trying to kill people?” Graham says for only me to hear.
“Are you okay?” I ask the man. He’s got his hand on his chest from the jump scare. He waves me off. “There’s a doctor in the house, if not.” I point to Graham, who pushes my hand down, rolling his eyes.
Satisfied that my competitive streak didn’t just give a poor old man a heart attack, I turn to Graham. “I won,” I say, showing him my phone.
He cusses under his breath.
“Why, Dr. Shackwell, watch your language. What if Betty hears you?”
“I want a revote.”
“Should I call Betty over?”
“No,” he says. Then, in a totally unexpected move, he reaches up and, with the paintbrush that’s still in his hand, paints a line down my cheek. I feel a tingling sensation from the wet streak on my skin.
My jaw falls open. “You’ll pay for that,” I say, quickly grabbing my paintbrush. I go for the face, but he’s too fast and I get his arm instead.
I try to get him again, but before I can react, he expertly spins me around, pinning both my arms with just one of his. My back to his front, he pulls me snugly to him.
The movement, paired with the feel of his strong body behind me, makes my breath hitch.
“Excuse me,” Betty says, walking toward us. “No roughhousing around the paints, please.”
“Yeah, Price,” Graham says, his voice low in my ear, sending a prickling sensation down my neck and arm.
“Don’t worry, Betty,” he says, his voice now louder as he directs it at the woman. “I stopped the culprit.”
“You started it,” I say.
Betty shakes her head and turns back around.
“Let me go,” I demand, attempting to get out of his strong grasp.
“And risk you retaliating?” he says again in my ear, and this time I shiver. “No way.”
“I guess we’ll have to stay like this the whole night,” I say, not really minding the thought of that. It’s never been like this between Graham and me. We’ve hugged, sure. We’ve been in close proximity. But there’s something intimate about how he’s holding me now, even if it’s to keep me from painting his face. He’s got on a cologne today that I don’t remember him wearing before. It’s woodsy and I like it.
I stop fighting and lean back into him.
