Another silence.
Then his voice, soft and ragged, barely a breath:
“Have higher standards. You should judge me. Judge all guys.”
“Why do you always talk about other guys like you won’t be here and—”
“Fuck, Charlotte,” he cuts me off. “Don’t say shit like that. Just keep the vibe chill, or you’ll ruin it.”
I bite my bottom lip, wishing I knew what to say to get Grayson to trust me, to open up to me. To love me.
I’msoafraid of losing him.
So I stay quiet.
His breathing slows, but his hold doesn’t ease, not even in sleep.
He clutches me like a secret he’ll kill toprotect.
As if I’m not allowed to leave. Like he knows I’ll try.
And I do wonder… how long can my heart endure Grayson? Because not having all of him is a new form of suffering.
Chapter 11
Charlotte
A month passes.
We stretch out along the couch, me against one armrest, him at the other. His long legs cage me in, trapping me in place. My feet end up in his lap.
He’s got lotion in his hands, warm and slick, and he’s rubbing it into my arches like it’s his favorite thing to do.
“Wait... you didwhat?” he says, his eyebrows lifting.
“I joined the gym!” I reply proudly.
His head tilts. That crease forms between his eyebrows, the one that means he’s thinking too much.
“Why?”
I pause and swallow. My smile slips.
“Charlotte,” he says again, firmer now, like I owe an explanation. “Why?”
I sigh in defeat. “Because... you told everyone at that pool party I had a pot belly.”
I glance down at the curve of my stomach. It’s not flat. Never has been.
His groan is instant. “Fuck, baby. I was being a dick. You’re not fat. Swear.”
I peek up at him. “You really think my body’s okay?”
He doesn’t blink. “I think your body’sperfect.”
My breath stutters.
Then he lifts my foot slowly and presses a kiss to my ankle.
