Page 27 of PR Stunt

I’m not hungover.

Tossing my phone back onto the bed, I drag myself to the bathroom and shower quickly. Towel drying my hair, I swipe on tinted spf, spike my brows up, and add a little lip gloss. I walk to my closet and pull on low-rise baggy jeans and a white fitted tee. As I slip on my socks, I wonder if Grayson actually went for a walk or if he’s in my backyard. Walking past my bed, I head toward the doors leading to my private terrace, quietly unlocking them. I tiptoe outside, peeking over the railing. Sure enough, Grayson is there, sitting in one of my patio chairs, legs propped up on the one in front of him, looking at home as he stares out at the waves.

It’s a gorgeous sunny day with just enough breeze to keep it from being too warm. The bright sunlight catches in his dark waves, pulling out flecks of gold and deep espresso. Predictably, he looks devastating. He’s wearing black athletic shorts, revealing tan, toned legs. A faded olive green sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, exposing his strong arms. Casual sneakers and a coffee in hand. And just to piss me off further, he’s lounging. One hand on his stomach, the other around his coffee cup, fingers tapping the lid like he’s mentally replaying last night’s game.

As if sensing my stare, he tilts his head slightly to the left, his sharp jawline catching the light.

Panic surges.

Abort, abort!

I duck and crawl back toward the door, praying he didn’t just catch me spying like a weirdo. That would’ve been mortifying. I grab a sweater from my closet before heading downstairs.

In the kitchen, I fill a glass with water and rip open one of those hydration packets I swear by. I definitely didn’t drink enough water yesterday, and my body is paying for it today. Just to be safe, I sneak in an Advil, too. Smoothing the sweater over my shirt and standing a little straighter, I unlock the doors that lead to my backyard.

As I step out, Grayson turns at the sound, his gaze landing on me. He stands as I walk over, and that’s when I notice it: the coffee on the table, along with a bag that smells incredible even from here, and…a package?

My stomach grumbles. I definitely noticed all of this earlier while I was…checking the weather from my terrace.

Grayson quirks a brow, amused. “Figured you’d be feeling rough, so I brought backups.”

“As I said before, I feel fine.”

Feigning indifference, I take the coffee from him with a cool nod. “Thank you.”

I take a sip. It takes everything in me not to moan out loud. This is good coffee.

Like, really good—not some cheap, burned espresso beans. And…wait. Two creams. A little honey.

Dash of cinnamon.

I stare at the cup. That’s exactly how I take my coffee. Grayson Cole has somehow, unintentionally, done something right. He’s still reading my face a little too closely for comfort.

“What’s in the bag?” I ask, nodding toward the smell wafting up to my nose.

“Avocado toast.” He passes me the bag casually and then gestures to the package on the table. “That was at your front door.”

I take the food from him with a small nod, my stomach already anticipating the first bite.

For a second, it’s almost…civil. Too civil.

Grayson drops back into his chair, stretching. “So…you were up late thinking about me?”

“What?”

“You said you weren’t hungover, so I can only assume the reason you slept in was because you were up all night, tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about me.”

I stare at him. “That’s genuinely the worst assumption you could have made.”

“Oh, I could have gone with the ‘I’m coming’ text.” He lifts his coffee cup to his lips, his eyes gleaming over the rim. “But I’m a gentleman.”

I nearly choke on my sip of coffee.

Grayson grins. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not bringing up the fact that you texted me I’m coming first thing in the morning.”