He takes my mouth with his, a hand grazing my throat like a warm, rough necklace.
"Touch me," he breathes onto my lips.
My hands slip under his shirt, over his abdomen, his muscles tight and warm against my fingertips. I touch the places on him I'...
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5:09 PM
I like it here with Grey. I like everything about this city.
A lazy smile pulls at my lips as I nestle my temple against the cool concrete of the fountain's edge alongside him.
"Ever think about how many pigeons it would take to lift you off the ground?" he asks, gaze flitting to a group of birds pecking at crumbs near our feet.
"What, like in a cartoon? At least twenty, right? I'm heavier than I look."
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I'd say about fifteen. You're lighter than you think, Fluffy."
I nudge him with my elbow. "Flattery will get you nowhere. But okay, fifteen pigeons it is."
The smiles linger between us, but as they fade, Greyson's expression shifts to something sober.
"I should probably tell you something," he says, his voice a lower register now, laced with a seriousness that immediately has me bracing.
"Okay," I reply, swallowing.
He reaches up, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering along the line of my jaw. Then, gently, he cups my cheek. His thumb grazes my bottom lip, watching as it springs back into place.
"Grey?" I whisper, my voice barely there, my heart pounding a rapid beat against my ribs.
This is different.
I don't know what to think about—
Something hits my temple and my head cracks into the fountain.
A football lands in my lap with an echo of curses from the hill.
My hand goes up, rubbing the sore spot—both of them, actually.
Greyson cups my face with both hands, fingers probing my skull. "You okay? Talk to me, Fluffy."
I can't help but laugh. It only throbs a little bit. "I'm fine."
As I speak, a shirtless guy from the group comes jogging over, his face flushed with worry. "I'm so sorry. Shit. Are you all right?"
I wave him off with a smile, grabbing his football from my lap. "Yeah, I'm fine. Good throw." I toss the ball up into his arms.
His smile is relieved. "Hopefully I didn't hurt that pretty face, yeah?"
I'm blushing now, fighting a smile. He's pretty cute, all surfer blond and tan with a wide grin.
Greyson isn't having it.
With a dark look, he stands, stalking toward the guy who's taken a hesitant step back. Without a word, Grey reaches out, grabbing the guy by the throat.
I scramble to my feet, my head throbbing. "Greyson, stop!" My voice cracks as I grab his arm above the cast, trying to pull him back.
"Dude, I said I was sorry!" the guy chokes out as the ball falls, his hands grappling at Greyson's iron grip. "What the fuck!"
