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“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, kissing my temple and pulling me closer.
Grant’s drinking coffee with Daphne and Sophia when I rouse myself from my bed the next morning. Minutes ago, I woke up alone and assumed Grant left at some point in the middle of the night for one reason or another, but here he stands with my two roommates, casually talking.
His hair is a little mussed, but he looks no worse for wear, really. I wish I could say the same.
“Morning,” I croak, feeling like walking death as I approach them. I can barely pry my eyes open.
My roommates laugh, but Grant just smiles cheekily as he hands me his cup of coffee. “Need this? I just poured it.”
“Yes. In an IV, preferably, but this will do. Thank you.”
I peer up at him with a shy smile, testing the waters. Last night was…hot, but I’m not sure where we stand this morning.
Turns out, I’m worried about the wrong thing. Grant isn’t looking at me with regret in his eyes. Oh-ho, no no no. His expression is downright dangerous. He looks like he knows I’ve behaved badly and he not only approves, he likes it. I get the impression that if Daphne and Sophia weren’t standing here right now, he’d haul me up onto the kitchen counter to continue what we started last night.
In fact, he steps closer and bends down to kiss me even while they watch. It’s not on my cheek or my temple—it’s square on the lips. A searing claim.
“How’d you sleep?” he asks quietly just before he pulls away.
“Good.” I blush, flustered. “You?”
He smiles knowingly. “Good.”
“Oh my god. Will you two just get it on already?” Daphne makes a big show of airing out her t-shirt. “This is like watching porn.”
Sophia snorts, but Grant doesn’t even look ashamed as he keeps his gaze pinned solely on me. He lifts a single brow, teasing as he asks, “Should we?”
OH MY GOD.
Daphne lets out a commiserating sound that’s half gasp, half groan. “Some of us haven’t had sex in ages! This is NOT FAIR!”
Grant laughs and reaches out to grab my waist so he can move me toward him. He leans down and kisses me again, just like that. It’s easy as pie now that we’ve given in to our feelings for one another.
“I’m joking. I mean, I would love to…” He grins at my wide-eyed expression. “But I was just telling Sophia and Daphne that I have to get going in a second. I was going to come wake you, actually…”
My hand grips his shirt before I know what I’m doing. “No! Don’t leave.”
He frowns dejectedly. “I have to. I have a few things I need to do before our team workout.”
I try on puppy dog eyes. “Before breakfast?”
He looks truly pained that he can’t give in to me. “What about later? Do you have work?”
“I go in at 3 PM so I won’t be out until late.”
“All right. Get your phone so we can exchange numbers. That way you can call me as soon as you leave.”
I smile at his overt bossiness. “Okay. One sec.”
Then his phone rings and he checks it. “Again, seriously?” he mutters under his breath.
When he realizes we’re watching him expectantly, he shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Baseball stuff. Go get your phone.”
NINETEEN
GRANT
In truth, that phone call was one of many I’ve received from Josh today. We’ve been at his apartment all day. Over the course of the last few days—or hell, it could have been several weeks by the looks of things—Josh has turned his place into a full-blown command center for his proposal to Sophia tomorrow night. There are detailed schematics scattered on the ground and the coffee table. On a previously blank living room wall, he’s pinned maps and coordinates of where we’re meant to be at exactly what time. He’s even hung up a blueprint of the inside of the restaurant where he’s planning to do it (he drew it to scale by hand, mind you) and we’re each accounted for, tiny stick figures with laminated names. Nick drew a penis on his when we first got here, which sent Josh into an absolute tailspin.
He’s flustered. Close to losing his shit if you ask me.
“I fucked up, I think. I’ve been so busy planning the proposal lately. I know Sophia suspects something.”
Nick, Dustin, and I sit on his couch, watching him pace back and forth in front of us. None of us says a word until Nick leans in—keeping his wary eyes on Josh—and whispers to me, “Think he’s about to puke?”
To be fair, he does look sickly pale.
Josh abruptly stops pacing and pivots, sheer panic draining the last vestiges of color from his face. “Where’s the ring?!”
We all sigh. Same thing happened about ten minutes ago. And ten minutes before that too.
