Chapter 7
Ican honestly say no cuddling took place that night.
Snuggling, though…there may have been a little bit of snuggling.
By me.
Because it was cold in that room! And that bedspread was thin.
Luckily, Grayson is still sleeping soundly when I wake up to find myself curled against his body, which is unsurprisingly warm and solid beside me.
His breathing is slow and regular like the world’s most soothing metronome.
Maybe he’s on the small side as a pig, but as a man, he’s pretty much perfect.
Especially when he’s asleep and incapable of talking back.
I let myself take a moment to admire his profile before reluctantly squirming away. We have a busy day, and I definitely prefer not to start it with Grayson catching me ogling him.
Not to mention the cuddling.
I mean, snuggling.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom fully dressed and ready for the day, Grayson is beginning to stir. When he opens his eyes and catches sight of me, a sleepy smile curves his lips. “Somebody was doing some cuddling last night.”
I bend to put on my shoes. “Maybe in your dreams.”
He scoffs. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Shoes on, I turn to glance into the full-length mirror hanging by the door.
Don’t screw this up.
I can’t. It’s not just that screwing this up means I’ll be fired from the MBI. Failing also means The Witch will succeed, which generally involves the deaths of numerous innocent people.
I can’t let that happen on my watch.
Leaning close to the mirror, I close my eyes and breathe deeply.
I am Sally, cheerful farm girl and wannabe pig enthusiast. I’m so excited to be at the pig show here in Farrowville. I—
“What are you doing?”
I ignore him.
I am going to have a great day learning everything there is to know about pigs. I’m going to meet with Wayne and impress him with my can-do attitude. Then I’ll—
“Seriously, are you okay?”
There’s a rustling behind me as Grayson pushes back the bedspread. I hear his feet hit the thin carpet and open my eyes to see him reflected in the mirror. He’s standing beside the bed, the waistband of those delicious gray sweatpants low enough that I can see the muscles of his lower abdomen.
And that’s when it hits me—Sally kind of finds her partner hot.
Not Agent Olive Jensen, of course. She’s a trained professional. She would never, in any circumstances, be attracted to a colleague. Especially not when that attraction might compromise the investigation. But Sally, she has far less control over herself.
Okay. So this isn’t ideal, but I can manage it. Just as long as I make sure to keep my distance from Grayson whenever he’s in his human form—
A warm hand closes around my upper arm, and I squeak. Grayson has closed the distance between us, his brows draw together in what I imagine is his concerned medical examiner face. “Olive,” he says. “Are you okay?”
Sally melts into his touch for a moment before I remember that touching probably isn’t the smartest idea right now.
I shake him off, then, just to make sure my own hands don’t wander over to gauge the size of his biceps or even, Baba Yaga forbid, feel up his abs, I reach up with both hands to adjust my hair.
“I’m fine,” I say, even though I most definitely am not.
Seriously, you could wash your underwear on those washboard abs.
Probably not something I should even be thinking about while on the clock.
Grayson is obviously unconvinced. “You looked like you were having an absence seizure or something.”
“Nope.” I take a deep breath, relieved to find it only the slightest bit shaky. “Just getting into character.”
“Oh, right. That.” The worry bleeds off his face, leaving the barest hint of a smirk. “Ah, yes. Your cover story, right? Sally? Do you have the whole personal history worked out? Know your favorite second-grade teacher and what the best Christmas present you ever got was?”
I make the mistake of turning around to face him, and only then realize I am alone in a hotel room with a man I—to my chagrin—find attractive.
A man wearing only a pair of sweatpants that are probably illegal in at least three states.
A man with a chest that tempts me to snap a quick picture with my phone just so I can remind myself that this is physically possible.
But I don’t. Instead, I pull myself up as straight as I can. “Of course I know all of that. And if you’d ever worked undercover, you would know how important that sort of thing is.”
He shrugs, and I swear one of his pecs winks at me. “Fortunately, all I have to do is strip off my clothes and shift into my pig. No studying necessary.”
I swallow. He’s not going to demonstrate right now, is it? I mean, he’s not about to rip off those gray sweatpants, right?
I’m trained in withstanding torture, but I’m not sure my heart could survive that.
“Good for you,” I say weakly. And then, because his hands have somehow made their way close enough to the top of those pants to make me nervous, I edge around him toward the door.
“I should probably, um…I need to…” My eyes flit to the waistband of his pants, where a line of dark hair arrows down to his lower stomach.
Sweet Baby Baba Yaga.
“I’ll meet you at the barn,” I say.
And with that, both Agent Jensen and Sally flee the room and the dangerous man-pig it holds.