Page 134 of Silver Fox Puck

Grant is different.

He’s something I don’t want to leave.

I tilt my chin up, searching his face. “You really think it’s that simple?”

His jaw flexes. “I don’t know, Flight. But I know what I want.”

The way he says it makes my stomach tighten. I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. “And what’s that?”

His fingers brush my hip, a barely-there touch that still manages to send a shiver up my spine. “You. Here. Not running.”

I exhale, something between a laugh and a sigh. “You and your no-nonsense answers.”

His mouth twitches. “They work.”

And they do. Because I’ve been caught in my own head all day, overthinking, second-guessing, wondering if I should pull away before I get in too deep. But standing here, feeling the warmth of his body just inches from mine, hearing him say it out loud—it’s the clarity I didn’t know I needed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, my voice steady. “I promise.”

Something shifts in his expression, so quick I almost miss it. Relief. Maybe something deeper. Maybe something he won’t let himself name yet. He nods once, reaching for his drink again like that’s that.

But it’s not.

Because I’ve already made my choice.

So, before he can take a sip, I slide my hand over his, stopping him. His gaze snaps back to mine, his fingers flexing slightly beneath my touch.

“I want this,” I say, softer now. “But I need you to let me in, Grant. I need to know this isn’t just—”

His lips crash onto mine before I can finish the sentence.

There’s nothing hesitant about it. Nothing soft or slow. It’s deep, consuming, pulling me under like he’s been holding back for too damn long and doesn’t want to anymore. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and his fingers tighten at my waist, anchoring me.

This isn’t a hookup. This isn’t a game.

This is something real.

And finally, I’m not afraid of it.

I’ve never said those words before. Not to a man. Not like this.

And I meant them.

He pulls back, leaving me breathless. His gaze drifts lower, lingering at my mouth before snapping back up, like he’s fighting something in his own head.

The intensity of it sends warmth flowing through my chest. He doesn’t press for more. Doesn’t push for words I’m not ready to give yet. He pours me another drink.

It’s an unspoken agreement.

We’re doing this. Together.

I take the glass from him, my fingers brushing his. A small, fleeting touch, but it’s enough to make my pulse hitch. His jaw flexes slightly, but he doesn’t pull away.

I lift my drink, my voice quieter now. “So what now?”

Grant leans back against the counter, one arm resting beside mine, his body so near mine that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “We eat,” he says simply.

I blink. “What?”

---