This is…this ishot.
I tell myself it’s biology. A reaction to witnessing physical capability. The animal wiring that attracts you to your best chance of survival.
But the thing is, I don’t think it would be nearly as hot if it was anyone other than Grayson.
18
GRAYSON
Joy just delivereda platter of her homemade cinnamon buns. Anson informed me this morning that we’re clear of the vibrio case. And Dawson has officially kept his name out of the news—and therefore his dick in his pants—for three weeks in a row.
In short, it’s a hell of a good day.
Doesn’t matter that the first heat wave of summer has hit and I’m sweating my ass off. A new problem will inevitably arise tomorrow, so I’m taking the opportunity to fully bask in today’s good fortune. Which is why I’m whistling under my breath like I’m JJ when I make my way to the warehouse for lunch and catch Eliza coming out of the front office.
A flowy, denim dress flounces against her thighs as she strides across the lot. Her hair’s in a pile on top of her head, the kind that’s supposed to look lazy but shows off the long, elegant lines of her neck. The straps at her shoulders are thin. Dainty. Way too dainty for a workplace like this, yet she doesn’t look one bit out of place.
Her forehead’s pinched, lips pressed together as Iapproach. It’s her focus face. The summa-cum-laude expression that suggests some kind of genius is turning over in her mind. I watch it melt into soft curiosity when I get close enough for her to notice.
Not long ago, it would’ve been wariness. Displeasure. An expression armed for war.
I don’t miss that.
“Got something for you in my truck,” I call over to her, gesturing for her to follow me. My truck’s parked alone in the lot’s far corner, under the shade of a giant oak.
She eyes it suspiciously, even as she follows me. “You planning to kidnap me?”
I give her a once-over, noticing a plain, thin gold chain around her neck. She’s a sight in a baggy sweatshirt and worn jeans. In a simple dress like this, delicate chain links resting on her collarbone, she’s point-blank pretty.
Pretty in a way that makes a schoolboy crush on a girl, or makes you halt mid-conversation on the street because it takes your breath away. The same way that makes it near impossible to look at anything but her right now.
“I already told you my stance on kidnapping you. That cute dress isn’t fooling anyone, Boston. You’d rip a kidnapper apart.”
From the smug tilt to her lips, this pleases her. “Scared of little old me?”
“Not scared,” I correct, though her scathing mouth might make other men run—like idiots at a bar looking for an easy one-nighter, or who think late-night drinks make a respectable second date. “Just picking my battles.”
“That implies you think you can win some.”
“It does.”
There’s a spark in her eyes as she replies, “Well, I won’t be offering any tissueswhen you don’t.”
“That’s why I have Dave,” I supply. “He’s my emotional support duck when mean out-of-towners like you come in and beat me down.”
She snorts. “Yeah, well, your emotional support duck is incredibly violent. I wouldn’t have cut myself if it weren’t for him.”
“Now hang on a second. You didn’t tell me Dave stole the towel you were going to use.”
She pins me with a droll look. “Hequacked.”
I blink. “He’s a duck.”
“He’s a duck who snuck up on me, waited until I was prying the shell open, and released the loudest quack I’ve ever heard.” She rubs her bandaged hand, like she’s reliving the experience, and grumbles, “It was entirely pre-meditated.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Boston, you jumped him on your first day. Not a great way to start a relationship.” Her mouth opens to protest, probably something about how sorely I startedourrelationship. But I’m already swinging my truck door open and reaching inside. “Besides, he brought you a peace offering.”
I swipe the small box from the passenger seat and hold it out. She regards it like mystery meat, so I explain, “They’re the waterproof patches I was telling you about. Had a few extra at home that I don’t need right now.”
