AMELIA
THIRTY-NINE
I’ve been in DC for three days, and I’m already dreading when I have to leave.
Every morning is better than the last. Grant is smiling more. Laughing. He even left the apartment last night with some of his teammates, and when he got back, I swear he looked like his old self.
Time is moving too fast, and I’m having too much fun with him.
We’ve slipped into a routine; he wakes up before me, heading out for a run and getting back in time so we can have breakfast together.
After we eat, we sit on the balcony. We only last an hour before the humidity sets in, but I listen to him point out landmarks.
I contribute some obscure historical fact I’ve heard once upon a time, laughing when he tells me there’s no way it’s true.
At night, we eat in his dining room, talking about everything from our childhoods and siblings to biggest pet peeves and what we would do if we won the lottery.
Things are easy with Grant. I like being around him. He makes me laugh, and I’m not sure I’ve ever smiled this much. I climb into bed exhausted from being so happy, and I find myself wishing I could slow down time so I can stay longer.
I just wish he lived in a bigger apartment.
Being in close quarters with him is bordering on torturous.
I watch him peel his shirt off after a run.
I see his muscles flex when he stretches his back.
I hear his shower running while I’m in bed, my mind dangerously imagining what he might be doing down the hall behind a closed door.
Does he touch himself?
Does he think about me when he does?
My attraction to him is almost uncontainable at this point. Obnoxious, maddening feelings take shape when he hands me a mug of coffee poured just the way I like. They grow when we sit next to each other on the couch, inches apart but not touching.
Never touching.
The feelings reach their peak when I catch him glancing at me out of the corner of my eye. He looks away as soon as I notice, but not before he tucks a secret smile into his own mug.
I’ve resorted to cold showers. The arctic water is the balm I need to regain control of the situation. Jude emailed me about a team meeting next week, and it’s the perfect excuse to unravel myself from this fantasy I’ve found myself in.
Grant and I can play pretend all we want, but at the end of the day, the time we’re spending together won’t lead anywhere.
It can’t lead anywhere. That hasn’t changed, and as I step out of another shower that does little to numb my unrelenting crush, I decide I’m ready to clamp down on the infatuation that’s reached its breaking point.
I open the door to the hallway and shiver at the air conditioning that greets me. I step toward my room, moving at the exact moment Grant rounds the corner.
His chest collides with my shoulder. His phone goes flying, and my towel slips. I’m quick to clasp it with a death grip to prevent any accidental flashing, and I step back.
“Sorry. That’s my fault.” Grant scoops up his phone and lifts his gaze. His eyes widen when he sees me. He tracks the drop of water that slides between my covered breasts, his jaw hinging open then closed before his throat bobs with a swallow. “I was, ah, distracted. Phone. The guys.”
“That’s okay!” My voice is an octave too high. I’m blaming it on the glide of his shirt against my bare skin. “I wasn’t looking where I was going either.”
“I was just…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks are flushed dark red. He coughs and shifts on his feet. “Heading to my room.”
“Same here.” I practically sprint across the hall, opening the door to my room and hiding behind it. “Are you hanging out with your friends tonight?”
“No. I’ll be around.” There’s a long pause. Grant’s looking at the floor now, and I hate myself for wishing he was still looking at me. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
“Yeah. Yes,” I say, glad to keep our conversations moving toward normal. “A movie sounds great. How about a thriller?”
“Not my top choice, but I can be persuaded.”
“Really?” I feign innocence, but it’s not my top choice either. I only suggested it because I might literally combust if I had to sit next to him during a sex scene in a romcom. “You don’t like learning about creative uses for chainsaws?”
“Can’t say I do.” He finally lifts his chin, his attention back on me. “But I’ll give it a shot with you.”
I spend the day reading through the interview requests my assistant, Jessica, forwards to me.
I keep track of the ones that sound the most important, sending the list to Jessica with approval to move forward with scheduling.
I book a flight back to Denver, adding my confirmation number to the app while the hint of regret sits in the pit of my stomach.
If that moment with Grant after the shower told me anything, it’s that I need to get home. Texting is one thing, but being together in a confined space for a prolonged period of time is irresponsible.
What if he had told me to drop my towel? Would I have done it?
What if he asked to kiss me? Would I let him?
Yes, I think. Yes I would.
By the time I sit on the couch later that night, my head hurts from staring at my laptop screen. I grab a blanket and drape it over my legs, fighting off a yawn when Grant steps into the living room.
“I’m going to make popcorn in a minute,” he says, and I freeze.
“You’re wearing a crop top,” I breathe out.
My eyes roam down his body, looking at him the same way he looked at me when I was in my towel.
I study his deep-cut abdominal muscles. I marvel at his tan skin and the light blue shirt that stops halfway down his midsection.
The top shows off a dusting of dark hair, and I bite back a whine at how hot he looks.
“And you’re wearing earrings.” He walks toward me and touches the small studs I’ve had in since I got here. His fingers linger on the curve of my ear for a split second before moving away. “Those are very pretty.”
“Thank you. You look…” I trail off. Good isn’t close to sufficient.
Every divot on his body is perfectly carved, a chiseled gift from the gods themselves.
Other words come to mind—perfect. Magnificent.
Mesmerizing. I panic at the effect he has on me and land on the most neutral descriptor that comes to mind. “Strong.”
“That’s what spending time in a weight room will do for ya. And learning how to eat protein.” Grant moves to the couch, unaware of the chaos in my head. He takes the spot on the right and grabs a remote. “Ready for some murder?”
“People typically buy me dinner first.” I shift my legs so there’s room for him. “Hey, before we start watching the slasher film, I wanted to let you know I’m going to fly back to Denver the day after tomorrow.”
“Time to get back to reality, huh?”
“I have that meeting coming up, and with Riley heading home soon, I figured you’d want to be around your friends. Taking up space doesn’t feel right.”
“You never take up space.” Grant reaches over and squeezes my ankle. “I’ve really liked having you here.”
“And I’ve liked being here. But we’re already halfway through June, and life has to go on at some point, right?” I rest my elbow on the back of the couch. “It would be nice if we could pause time.”
“Or rewind it. I’d do a hundred things different if I had the ability to go into the past.”
“Yeah, but that’s dangerous. What if by altering one thing in the past, you’ve ruined everything in the future?”
“Some things would be worth giving up to have what I want.” His eyes slide from the remote to me. “I can’t be an athlete forever.”
The undercut of his words has me sure there’s a secret hidden there.
A secret that has to do with me, and the tension between us draws taut.
I drop my eyes to his mouth, to the curve of his lips I’ve never noticed before.
There’s a tiny scar on his cheek, a faint white line I want to press my thumb into.
I lean forward, wondering what he tastes like. Sweet, I bet. A nice guy who would do things in a nice way. We’ve been playing house so well, and this could be playing too. A cosmic happening that doesn’t have to exist once I leave.
His exhale is hoarse. Flimsy, as if he’s barely hanging on to his restraint. His hand twitches on the couch like he’s trying to stop himself from moving it, and for once, I don’t want him to.
Touch me, I want to scream. So I can know what it’s like and you can put me out of this misery.
“Lia,” he breathes out. My name is a tendril of ecstasy. I feel it everywhere, my desire running rampant as I picture him saying it into my neck, the curve of my knee. Right between my legs. “Can I—”
Grant’s phone rings, and we jump apart. He reaches for it, pressing it to his ear while still looking at me. The moment fades, and I move to the safety of the corner of the couch.
“What’s up, Mav?” he answers.
There’s silence while he listens. Grant nods along to whatever Maverick is saying. He pulls a leather notebook out of his pocket, tucking it between the cushions. I wonder what he writes in there.
The two talk for a few minutes. I distract myself with the blanket draped over the arm of the couch, not wanting to eavesdrop on a private conversation. When they hang up, Grant tosses his phone on the table.
“Sorry about that,” he says.
“Don’t apologize for talking to your friends,” I say, glad for the safer ground where I’m not thinking about kissing him.
“Mav is trying to coordinate when we’re going to see Riley for the first time.
He thinks a couple weeks from now will give Riley some time to get adjusted to his new routine at home.
We don’t want to come on too strong.” Grant pauses and rubs his thumb along the line of his jaw. “Can I tell you my secret of the day?”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I’m not sure I would have made it through these past few days if you hadn’t been here. I’d still be holed up in my bedroom, not eating or drinking or wanting to see anyone. You put some life back in me, Lia, and I’m so glad for it.”
“Can I tell you my secret of the day?” I ask.
“Always.”
“I know I told you this already, but I don’t want to go two months without talking again. I’m sorry I went quiet for a while. I needed to figure some things out, and we’re not going to play the silent game anymore.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” Grant lifts his hand, holding up his pinky. “Swear on it.”
“I swear.” I hook my finger around his. “Never again.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He drops his palm. I want him to come back. “Now it’s time for some murder.”
My leg is asleep.
So is my arm, and my entire body is hot.
I groan, trying to take stock of my surroundings.
A dark room, the curtains drawn tight. The flash of a muted television, images playing on a loop. Deep, rhythmic breathing, and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. I crane my neck, looking around, but the heavy arm draped over my waist holds me there.
Understanding dawns when I spot the familiar friendship bracelet on the wrist of the person behind me.
Grant.
We must’ve fallen asleep and moved toward each other subconsciously. I distinctly remember being on the other side of the couch, but now, we’re practically intertwined. Held together by his calf slung over mine and my hand resting over his on my stomach.
My breath catches. My body sparks at the press of his fingers on my bare skin where my shirt has ridden up. We’re perfectly aligned, and there’s almost no space between us.
I move my hips, freezing when my backside brushes against his groin.
His loose shorts don’t hide anything. He’s not hard, but he’s noticeable.
Thick, long. I panic at the notion of how easy it would be to do the one thing I vowed I’d never do, and I twist out of his hold.
I put a hand on the floor, attempting to wiggle off the couch.
I knock my knee against the table in the process, flailing to the ground with bruised pride.
“Ow,” I hiss.
“What is it?” Grant sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Lia? Why are you on the floor?”
“No reason.” I rub over the pain pulsing up my thigh. “Just needed to get up so I can head to bed.”
“Get up?” He frowns. Blinks twice at the blankets strewn across the couch and the dip in the cushions. “Fuck. Did we—I didn’t… I’m so sorry if I—”
“I’m pretty sure it was me,” I admit. The room is too hot. I need air. Another minute, and I could’ve been on top of him. I wanted to be on top of him. “I move in my sleep and you were… there.”
“I didn’t know we fell asleep. There was a guy with an ax and…” Grant trails off. “Jesus. What time is it?”
I tap my phone. “Two.”
“Bed.” He turns off the television, plunging us into darkness.
Without any light, I rely on the sounds of him moving around to figure out where he is.
There’s anticipation in wondering if he’s going to accidentally touch me.
If he’d play it off like it’s no big deal.
“We need to go to bed. Separate beds. The two bedrooms we’re staying in. It’s way too late.”
“Some might say this is early,” I tell him, glad he’s frazzled too.
“Doesn’t matter what it is. Nothing good happens after two a.m.”
“True, to a point.” I stand, using the flashlight on my phone to guide the way down the hall. “I was born at three forty-seven in the morning. I’d say I’m a fairly good thing.”
“You’re better than good.”
“Night, Grant. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night.” His voice is the husk of a rasp. Maybe he’s wondering what might have happened too. “Sweet dreams.”
When I’m safely in my room, I shut the door and rest my forehead against the wall. I close my eyes, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to go to sleep after learning what it’s like to be pressed up against him.
Heaven, I think as I pull on my pajamas.
It felt like heaven.