Page 60 of The Game Plan
Memories of this morning assault my mind.
His hand gripped the back of my neck as he crashed his mouth into mine.
The way our bodies sagged in relief.
Reaching for my hand as he practically pulled me to his bedroom.
Telling me to strip for him before he played with my tender breasts and overly sensitive nipples.
The way broody, grumpy Grant Campbell dropped to his knees and devoured me like a starving man having his first taste of food.
Demanding I get on all fours.
My cheeks heat as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The desire sparks as moisture builds between my thighs. I cannot believe I admitted how hard up I was. Hell, I practically begged him to take the edge off. I groan, pressing my forehead against the steering wheel at the red light.
And boy, did he.
A shiver dances down my spine at the reminder.
The entire drive to the apartment complex is on autopilot, still stuck in my head. Parking in the same spot I always do, I gather my things—my tote, the leftover lemon treats, and a few small gift bags from work.
I’m exhausted and nearly out of breath by the time I make it to the second floor. Juggling everything, I fumble with the key, trying not to drop the goodies. Finally, the lock gives way, and I let out a sigh of relief as I shove the door open with my hip, pushing into the apartment.
I’m expecting a dark apartment with only the microwave light on. But instead, it’s dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp, and the flashing of the TV surprises me.
And then I see it. A flash of movement.
My heart leaps to my throat as a shadow cuts across the living room. A small screech leaves my lips as I nearly drop the cupcakes. Grant turns from where he was pacing across the room in erratic strides, one hand on his hip, the other dragging through his hair, jaw tense. His hair is messy, sticking up in different directions as if he’s been running his fingers through it all night.
His eyes snap to mine the second the door opens wider. “Hey—”
“Shit, Grant,” I gasp, trying to calm my racing heart. “You scared the hell out of me.”
For a split second, our eyes lock, and everything else fades away.
Heat rushes up my neck as his voice brings me back to the present.
“Sorry, Peach.” He flinches, face sincere. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It-it’s fine,” I stutter, my heart still slamming into my ribs as I kick the door shut with my foot. “I wasn’t expecting you to be up.”
He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I shift on my feet as he stands there—silent, unmoving—watching me. The air grows heavy with the kind of silence that makes my nerves spark. Moving deeper into the apartment, I unload my bags onto the island and drop my tote onto a barstool. The kitchen is spotless—sparkling, even. We keep things tidy, but it hasn’t been this clean since I moved in over a month ago, when Grant’s nerves drove him to scrub every surface.
My cheeks flush again, but for a different reason this time. I’m confused, and more than a little concerned. There’s a flicker in his expression that knocks the breath right out of me.
Something’s wrong.
I can feel it.
Placing my hands on the counter, arms outstretched, I suck in a deep breath. “What’s wrong?”
The pregnant pause has me glancing up. Grant gestures to the couch. “Can we sit? Please?”
I hesitate, eyebrows pinching. The fun energy I left work with evaporates into the awkward space between us. I take slow, tentative steps to the couch and sit in the corner of the sectional. Reaching for a throw pillow, I tuck it onto my lap. My fingers trace the pattern, grounding me.
Grant doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he paces again. Hands on his hips, brows tight. “I need to tell you something...” He pauses, his eyes locking onto mine. “But I need you to… Don’t freak out, okay?”
