12. How to Lose a Tech Bro in 10 Days
12
HOW TO LOSE A TECH brO IN 10 DAYS
Heart it explodes into a fiery inferno of sensation. The snowstorm, the yodeling urban explorer, the draft email—all of it is incinerated by the raw, primal heat that surges between us.
I could see us making this kiss so much more than a kiss. It could be a claim. It could be a brand.
It could be a sign that all I’ve been looking for is right here in Grayson’s capable fingers and hands.
Hands that grip my hips, pulling me against him hard and fast.
Hands that make quick work of my blouse, tearing it open to expose more skin for his hot, hungry mouth.
Hands that slip between my thighs, as his fingers find the heat and wetness there with unerring accuracy.
Hands with longer fingers that stroke and tease and press until I’m positively screaming.
Until I’m…
I gasp, coming out of the fantasy as another mechanical whir sounds from the window. This time, it’s accompanied by what sounds like... yodeling?
"Is he..." Grayson pulls back slightly, eyes dark. "Is your window-scaling friend serenading us?"
I exhale.
"Apparently he's also an amateur Alpine folk singer." I drop my forehead to Grayson’s shoulder with a groan. "Dani really knows how to pick them."
The yodeling increases in volume and complexity.
I straighten, trying to fix my clothes. “We might wanna…”
“Yeah. Yes. Say no more,” he agrees, but he doesn't step back. "Though I feel compelled to point out that my apartment has significantly fewer interruptions."
My pulse jumps. "Is that a statistical observation?"
"More like a hypothesis in need of testing." His thumb traces my lower lip. "For science, of course."
"Of course. Very logical of you."
The yodeling hits a particularly impressive high note, followed by what sounds like climbing gear tangling.
“I’m going to…” I peer towards the window.
"Prevent another HR crisis?"
"More professional than making out on my desk."
His eyes darken again. "Debatable."
We finally separate, though it takes longer than it should. As I move to help our alpine friend before he becomes a liability issue, Grayson starts gathering scattered papers.
He pauses, holding what I realize are my notes for Emily Hanning.
“’Love isn’t purely logical'?" he quotes.
“I’d like to think it’s not,” I say quickly. "Though, I do know how much you tech people love data."
"Funny." He sets the paper down slowly. “Because I'm starting to get the feeling that some things can't be quantified."
Before I can respond, both our phones buzz .
"Dani says her date's stuck," I report after checking my messages.
"Connor says I'm late for our strategy session about tomorrow's board meeting." He straightens his tie, though it doesn't quite hide what we've been doing.
He gathers his jacket, pausing at my door. "About that hypothesis..."
"Yes?"
"My place. Tomorrow night. I'll have CORA run interference against any potential interruptions."
"Very scientific of you."
"I'm all about thorough research." He glances at my desk, and the heat in his eyes makes me shiver. "Though I think we've definitively proven one theory."
"What's that?"
"Some chemistry can't be predicted.”
He leaves me with scattered papers, cooling gnocchi, and a yodeling urban explorer still dangling outside my window.
My phone buzzes again. Emily Hanning: Still waiting on those notes if you’d like them included in the feature.
I leave her message unanswered, looking at my desk—at the scattered evidence of what definitely wasn't "purely logical" matchmaking methodology. At the draft email I'd been composing that could either save or destroy everything.
Less than three weeks to figure shit out.
Definitely not enough time to decide the best next step.