Page 19 of Shattered Hearts

You can’t really miss our house when driving through town. It sticks out like an artist’s painted thumb, because Mum is an artist, and this is possibly one of her favourite projects to date.

Stopping on the wooden porch to fish my keys out of my bag, I feel his eyes on me like a beam of light. It’s heated and intense, burning the side of my face. Or that could just be my face blushing? I’m not quite sure, but either way, Grayson’s stare always does something to me. If I’m not drowning in the light blue depths, then I’m flushing from the intensity.

“Yeah, but I could drive here with my eyes closed,” he teases softly as the metal of my keys rattle in my hand. Face lifting, our gazes lock for a long moment, and I feel the stammering of my heart start up again like a backfiring car. It happens every time Grayson looks me in the eye. As if his blue depths see through to my gooey, chaotic insides, and my bones become more pliable.

Blinking away, I snicker gently. “Maybe we should bet on that, then?”

His deep, rumbling laugh washes over me, and my blood heats at the sound. It’s rough but gentle.

I wish he didn’t have this effect on me. I wish he was just my friend and nothing more, like when we were younger, but I fear he will always be that something special to me, even if he doesn’t see me the same way. Which is why I need to shove those feelings aside.

“You want to bet on the chance of me having an accident?”

My lashes flare. “No!” I shout quickly, only to see his smirk grow mischievously. I push his chest lightly—his strong, defined chest that could grate cheese—and he doesn’t budge a millimetre. “I’m not that morbid.”

My insides twirl deliciously as Grayson leans closer. The smell of his cologne, woodsy and manly, tickles my nose. I have to force myself not to inhale too quickly. He’s close, like he always is. He’s so comfortable being in my personal space, and I never want that to change. In fact, I’d prefer it if he stayed this close to me, but I know that’ll never happen.

My throat works, pulse erratically beating, as Grayson leans to rest his hand on the front door I’m backed up against. It’s cold on my back, pressing into my butt and shoulder blades, but I can’t move. Grayson’s face is barely a foot away, staring down at me, and I feel sweat beads forming on my face. Our proximity makes the hair on my arms stand. I don’t even know if I’m breathing properly. I think I am, but every time I inhale, all I can smell is Grayson, and it’s stirring—

Without a noise, the door swings open behind me, and my body falls with it. I give a small yelp as a hand reaches out, grabbing a hold of my wrist. The other secures itself on my waist to steady me as Grayson lets out a throaty chuckle. “You good there, Biscuit?”

That name always makes my heart flutter like a ridiculous butterfly.

Letting out a shaky breath, my fingers dig into his forearms. I clear my throat, trying to not look as bothered as I feel inside. “Thank you, Blondie.”

And his dimples appear, melting my heart once more.

Chapter Six

Laynie

Grayson grins as he stands me to my feet and nudges me inside, his hand resting on my back. Freddie jumps off the couch as soon as I walk into the living room, stretching like he’s actually done something today for once, even though we both know he has slept for the past ten hours, before trotting after me into the adjoining kitchen.

Grayson trails us after closing the door and puts everything down on the bench. He picks up my impatient cat. Freddie meows as if I’ve let him starve for a week.

“Hi, Freddo Frog. It’s good to see you like always,” Grayson drawls, rubbing his face on the cat’s.

Freddie purrs louder in response.

My eyes roll as I grab a sachet of food from the pantry and rip off the top. “You’re the only one who calls him that, you know.”

“It’s because I always pick the best names,” Grayson retorts, winking at me.

I break contact, filling up Freddie’s bowl. He thrashes in Grayson’s arms to be released, making me snort.

“Impatient little thing,” Grayson mutters, dropping him on the floor.

Freddie busies himself with his food, his world no longer tilted.

I turn to the bag of groceries. “You didn’t have to get me things.”

Grayson shrugs, taking things off the bench as I unpack the contents one by one. “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.” My heart melts a little against my will. He adds snarkily, “Plus, you were the one who said they were too busy to text me back, so I figured this would help you out.”

Holding in a groan, my mouth twitches as I fold the paper bag and shove it under the sink. “I didn’t mean to ig—”

“It’s fine, L.” Although, it sounds anything but.

I watch his shoulders curve downward slightly, and the swirling in my stomach starts up again. Leaning over the edge of the bench, my eyes fall when Grayson’s movement forces me to glance his way. The crease between his brows deepens as he steps closer, and I have to ignore the tingling in my fingertips.