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A knock comes on the door, and I smile, thinking it’s room service. I put my phone down and go to answer the door as my phone beeps. Quickly running over, I pick up the phone and read the last message from Grayson.
Grayson: Knock, knock. Open the door.
“Grayson?” I call out to the door.
“Avani,” he answers. I giggle as I throw the door open.
“Were you waiting out here when I sent that?” I ask, my hand on my hip. His eyes eat me up.
I am wearing a devil outfit—all red, with red fishnet stockings and horns. The costume itself is a body suit that covers all of me but exposes a bit of cleavage.
Grayson grinds his jaw as he takes me in. “You can’t go out like that,” he states, licking his lips.
“This is nothing compared to what some of the girls wear,” I say, turning around and showing him all of it.
“I couldn’t care less what they wear. It won’t be them the other men will be thinking of fucking…it’ll be you.”
“I hope so. I like to have men thinking about fucking me. Did it long enough with you.” I wink. Grayson steps in and shuts the door behind him.
“I’m not wearing a coat, before you even think of asking.” I point at him.
“That’s fine, I have my gun. I feel like shooting any fucker who looks your way.”
“That’s a bit drastic, wouldn’t you say?” I raise a brow. A second knock comes, and I clap my hands. “Room service.”
“If you open that door dressed like that, I’ll have to kill the room service person.”
I pause in my red boots and look back at him. “You open it, then.”
He struts straight past me in his all-black outfit and gets the food as the room service kid looks in and spots me.
“I’d look elsewhere unless you want to lose those eyes,” Grayson growls at the kid. When the kid looks away, Grayson tips him and kicks the door shut with his boot.
“What are you meant to be?” I look him up and down. He looks good. Though, he always does the asshole.
“Your bodyguard.” He winks and places the food down in front of me.
“Ha, yeah, no way,” I say, shaking my head.
“Yep, deal with it.” He points to my food. “Eat.”
“You are so bossy.” I pull the chair out and start eating.
“I think you should stay,” he says, taking the chair opposite me and leaning back in it.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
I think on it for a second while he watches me.
“Both.”
“That’s not acceptable,” he says like he has the right.
My phone starts ringing, and he glances over to where I left it on my bed, but I don’t make a move to get it.
“We should go.” I stand.
