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My libido short-circuits.
His sweats are slung dangerously low on his hips, the V in his abdomen taunting me with a fine dusting of hair that disappears into the waistband of his joggers.
My eyes remain there, following his happy trail to the imprint of him behind the thin cotton fabric, something illicit immediately heating my core. I tear my eyes away, fighting to hold onto a shred of self-control. When it comes to Grayson Ford, I don’t have much of it.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask him as he climbs the three steps to my porch and takes a seat beside me. I take a drink of my water then set the glass down on the porch.
I don’t hate the idea of him coming over. Not when he’s looking like that, his joggers leaving nothing to the imagination, his abs flexing every time he moves. I slide over on the porch swing to make space for him.
“Nah. You?” he says, reaching for my bare foot, massaging the arch just like he did the last time he was here on my porch.
“Something like that,” I say evasively. I sigh at the feel of his touch. Between the glow of the moon, the sound of the waves and Grayson’s warm hands on my skin, I feel my body starting to relax.
Grayson gives me a look but continues to rub tiny circles over my foot. It makes me wonder if he knows my story. Given how guarded my brother can be, I doubt he would have told his friends about what happened to our parents.
It’s not an easy story to tell.
“I’m assuming you don’t know… about my parents.” I clear my throat.
“I know you and Jake lost your mom and dad, but that’s all.”
I take my time with what I tell him next. He’s patient, still, as I gather up the strength I always need to talk about my parents. “They died in a fire.”
For a second, Grayson’s face goes white, eyes widening as he sucks in a short breath. But then I recognize a different emotion—not shock or pity, but more like an acknowledgment of the loss I suffered.
Compassion.
It feels like the expression of someone who is here to listen. And some part of me really wants to share my story.
“Your house that you grew up in?” he asks gently.
I nod. “We lived in a split-level home on a quiet street, and it was the middle of the night. My dad woke me up, screaming at me from the side of my bed. Said there was a fire somewhere in the house and we needed to get out.” I look down at my hands because it’s easier than looking back at Grayson.
“My mom went to get Jake in his room, but none of us knew at the time that he wasn’t there. He had snuck out of the house to go bike riding with a friend.” I swallow as Grayson stops rubbing my foot, inches across the bench, and reaches for my hand, holding it in his.
My chests aches remembering that night, the smell of fire, burning wood, the sound of sirens, my parents…
Every second of it is etched into my memory, as clear as the night it happened.
“There was already so much smoke filling the hallway when my dad got me to the front door. Even at 10 years old, I knew that we needed to get out of there. But my dad went back in to find my mom and Jake.”
I bite my lip, watching Grayson’s thumb trace tiny circles over the top of my hand. I can tell by the way he lowers his head that I don’t need to tell him any more about that night.
“And your grandparents took you in,” he says quietly.
I nod. “Jake and I moved here to Haven Harbor the next day.”
It wasn’t easy for my grandparents for all the obvious reasons, having to raise two young kids while grieving themselves. Jake went off the rails, plagued with guilt for having snuck out of the house. I never blamed him for our parents’ death, but he blamed himself. He took it all on, and sometimes it would overwhelm him, and he would scream and cry and throw things, but my grandparents were somehow always able to calm him down.
Grayson gently squeezes my hand in his, pulling me from my memories. I can feel him watching the profile of my face as if he wishes he could say or do something that would make it all go away. I can feel how much he cares about me.
“How about you, Grayson? Why are you outside tonight instead of asleep in your bed?”
His brows pinch together like he’s holding a secret too, but then he smirks at me like the smart-ass he sometimes is. “Why would I want to be in bed when I can be out here with you?”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head.
“What?” he asks. “You don’t believe me?”
