Page 110 of Perfectly Grumpy

“Then Thorne leans in, but he takes his time, because he’s scared to want something this much.”

His other hand moves at my waist now, like he’s waiting for permission to finish the scene.

“He’s afraid that if he kisses her, everything changes,” he says in a low voice. “That he’ll lose her. It’s his worst fear. Because he’s already lost all the people he’s loved, and if he falls for her, then he can’t go back.”

I stare fixedly at Tate’s mouth. “But he kisses her anyway,” I whisper, lost in the moment.

Tate leans in, stopping just before he reaches my lips. “Because he knows how much he’s willing to sacrifice to be with her.” His words are barely a whisper, his breath like a promise on my lips.

This isn’t acting anymore.The realization hits me, but I don’t even care. All those walls I built after Bart—they’re crumbling with every touch.

“He’d do anything for her,” he whispers, “and what she doesn’t know is that she holds his heart in her hands.”

Just like you hold mine.

The truth of that terrifies me. I’ve spent this entire reunion pretending to be his girlfriend, and now, when I’m supposed to be acting as someone else, it finally feels real.

He closes the gap between us as his lips brush mine, slow at first, almost tentative.

This isn’t Kyara kissing Thorne. This is me, Lauren, kissing the man I’ve been falling for ever since we got stuck in the elevator.

I reach for him, not because I’m acting, but because I want this, even if it changes everything. Suddenly his mouth angles toward mine as his hand tightens around my waist, pulling metoward him and becoming something neither of us planned, something far more real. My hand slips up to his bare chest where I can feel the ridges of muscle, as his lips move over mine, teasingly—like he’s not in a rush, but savoring every second.

Just like the pages of a good book. Or falling into a story I want to bemy story.

And okay, I’ll admit it, Tate Foster has skills I never could’ve imagined. He’s so cerebral, so composed. But behind closed doors? He’s nothing like the logical defenseman everyone sees.

As one of his hands cradles my back, the other threads through my hair before his mouth lightly traces a line down the curve of my neck.

My hand drifts to his jaw, and at some point, I bump his glasses.

“One of the downfalls of having glasses,” he murmurs.

“May I?” I ask.

He nods, and I gently slide them off, setting them aside.

“I love it when you wear glasses. But when you take those off,” I say, “I feel like I can see your eyes more clearly.”

“That’s because the glasses get in the way.”

“No,” I whisper. “I mean…I seeyoumore clearly. The real you.”

His gaze holds mine as he strokes maddening circles on my lower back.

“And what’s the real me thinking right now?” he asks, his meaning deeper than I want to acknowledge.

I can barely get the words out, I’m so scared. “That you want more. And I’m trying not to want the same.”

“I do,” he says. “But Thorne doesn’t kiss her again for another five chapters.”

“Which is far too long, in my opinion,” I say.

Tate smirks, his dimples setting fire through my veins. And just when I think he’s going to lean in again, when my heart tips forward to meet him, his phone buzzes and he reluctantly stepsback. “That’s…the end of the scene,” he says, looking like he doesn’t want this moment to end any more than I do.

His phone buzzes again, and he turns to check it, while I try to hide my disappointment over the cruel sense of timing—or Thorne’s timing—whomever he’s playing right now.

“You were right,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, tucking his phone in his bag. “That scene definitely needed…more.”

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