Page 96 of PR Stunt

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches me with that expression of his that drives me crazy.

I flip another page, pretending to read. “You’re staring.”

“I’m admiring,” he counters, pushing off the edge of the pool and stalking toward the steps.

Water slides down his chest as he emerges, board shorts hanging low on his hips. Every movement is unrushed. He grabs a towel, scrub it through his hair, and then drapes it around his neck.

“You coming in?” he asks, cocking a brow.

I glance at him over the top of my book. “Eventually.”

“Suit yourself.”

Grayson disappears inside and then returns a minute later with his book. He stretches out on the lounger beside mine, flipping it open. Sunbathing and reading smut beside Grayson Cole were definitely not on this year’s bingo card.

Chapter 29

Grayson is lounging on the couch, freshly showered, one arm draped lazily over the back cushion, his phone in his other hand. The black button-up is loose, with the sleeves rolled up. But most importantly, thank God, not a single rubber flip-flop in sight. Men in rubber flip-flops actually give me the major ick.

Outside the open balcony doors, the last of the sun hangs low over the coastline, painting everything in soft gold. Palm trees sway beyond the resort grounds, and somewhere below, I can hear faint music drifting up from the beach bar, mixed with laughter and the distant crash of waves. The whole place smells of salt, warm air, and whatever tropical flower they’ve planted along every path.

Grayson looks up, his gaze sweeping over me in one slow, deliberate pass before he slides his phone into his pocket.

“Are you ready?” I ask, smoothing my dress, suddenly hyper-aware of how it hugs my skin.

He rises slowly, gaze flicking over me. “Now I am.”

As soon as we step outside our room, Grayson’s hand slides into mine. His grip tightens, thumb brushing lazily across the back of my hand as we walk through the open-air corridor toward the lobby. The stone beneath our feet is still warm from the day, but lanterns already glow along the pathways, casting soft light across the white walls and climbing vines.

We make our way toward the front entrance, and I scan automatically for our ride. A sleek suv, tinted windows, a driver standing by with a placard Hailey had arranged.

But there’s no car. Not a single vehicle waits at the curb.

I slow my steps. “Where’s our ride?”

Grayson doesn’t stop walking. If anything, he tugs me along.

I resist slightly. “Grayson. Our ride will be here shortly.”

He glances back at me, his grin cutting through the golden dusk. “I canceled it.”

“What do you mean, you canceled it?”

Then I see it. A beat-up, held-together-by-sheer-willpower scooter. It looks like it’s lived eight lives and is currently on its last. Two helmets dangle off the handlebars like this is a perfectly normal mode of transportation and not a death trap on wheels.

Grayson walks straight toward it, grabs one helmet, and swings a leg over the bike. He looks at me, holding out the second helmet. “Come on, sweetheart. Best way to get around Mexico.”

I stare at him. Then at the scooter. Then at my outfit. Tight crochet dress. “You’re kidding.”

He just lifts an eyebrow, waiting. A beat passes. I take the helmet. Because maybe that’s the whole point of this trip. To stop overthinking. To do the unexpected. To say yes.

I swing my leg over. “If this thing explodes, I’m blaming you in the afterlife.”

Grayson grins. “As long as you haunt me in that outfit.”

I fight back a smile.

The warm Sayulita air wraps around me as Grayson kicks the scooter into motion, the engine sputtering beneath us. The roads are uneven, and the town is alive with movement. Locals pass on motorbikes with surfboards strapped to the back, vendors laugh with customers, and the scent of fresh tortillas lingers in the air. Twinkling lights sway between palm trees overhead. I tighten my grip around Grayson’s waist as we roll forward, my fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath. Still, something about the air, the moment, the easy way he handles the scooter… It makes me laugh. Just a small, quiet giggle, slipping out before I can catch it.