Page 101 of The Sweetest Obsession

“And if I am?”

“You worry too much,” she announces decisively. “He’ll think you’re pretty no matter what! Evenifyousmell like pig crap.”

“I—you—” I clam up.

I must have itbad.

If a nine-year-old girl can get me this flustered over a crush and make me blush this hard, I’m so screwed.

“You’re red, Miss Philia. Is that part of your look too?”

I mock-scowl.

“Do your homework, babe, or I’ll feed you to the gremlins.”

“Psssh, gremlins aren’t real.” Totally unfazed, she flips herself around to start digging in her backpack.

Little monster.

Still struggling with my red-hot face, I head upstairs and crest the top of the landing just as the bathroom door opens.

There goes the slightest hope of killing my blush.

Grant steps out, gloriously naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist.

His muscle-bound dad bod is so thick the flimsy towel barely holds the tattooed god underneath, hanging open in a slit over one brawny tanned thigh.

Somebody save me.

He’s added some serious ink over the years and it only makes him hotter.

I haven’t seen Grant this shirtless since he was a teenager—the old family trips to the lake, the beach, his parents and my mom teaming up to drag us all along. Back then, he was strong and golden and toned, but still a boy.

A little lanky. A lot less built. Not filled out by raw power and life and testosterone like he is now.

The beast before me now is all man.

And even if I tell myself to stop, stop—

Lord help me.

His go-to police uniforms and flannels tend to slim him down a notch, masking just how broad he really is.

Now I’m face-to-face with this wall of a man, solid and strong where most guys would probably wear that bulk awkwardly.

Not him.

He’s the perfect balance of rakishly fit and furiously large, a walking sculpture, crafted by hard work and a harder life until everything fits togetherjust right.

Grant Faircross is a natural wonder.

Designed to rip your breath away, not just with his sheer size, but with naked, simple beauty.

I don’t even know if beautiful is the right word.

But he’s too handsome for life, his skin tanned and weathered into a dusky brown. A few scars form paler marks, giving his body character like a mountain and its fault lines.

Thick hair the same deep brown as his beard and hair furs his chest, marching down in a thin line, dusted here and there with the same sprinkled silver appearing everywhere else.

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