Page 80 of Play Dirty

Grayson dropped the sweatpants he was holding back to the bed and shrugged.

“Suit yourself, Spreadsheet. I’m not complaining about the view.”

His gaze lingered for a moment, in retribution. Then he rummaged through his bag some more, and came out with two bottles of water.

“Here.”

I took mine, and our hands touched. His fingers felt warm and reassuring against mine. I felt like I should move, or step back, or let go.

Before I could, he lightly took my wrist.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and husky. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”

My pulse quickened almost immediately.

“I told you, there was a fight in the hallway.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking a half step closer. “But you came here.”

The scent of him reached my nostrils, and it did something to me. Something I didn’t want to admit.

“You’re doing it again,” I said softly.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to take control of the situation.”

A faint smirk touched his mouth.

“And you’re letting me.”

“Am I?”

I turned my wrist slightly in his hand. Not pulling away, but not giving in either.

Just… changing the angle. Taking something back.

Grayson’s grip tightened. Barely, but enough.

“That’s not how this works,” he murmured. “You came to my room. You knocked on my door.”

“So?”

“And now you’re standing here, pretending like you don’t know exactly what this is.”

I felt my pulse spike again. It was sharp. Immediate.

“What is it, then?” I challenged.

He let go, relaxing his fingers. For some reason, I still didn’t pull away.

Shit.

Grayson took the victory. His smirk widened.

“You want to stay here tonight, don’t you?”

I struggled to respond. There was no good answer.