Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Every movement Grayson made puffed the blankets and air scuttled over Carl until he was thrumming with shivers. Shivers that didn’t dissipate, even though the heat of Grayson’s body radiated over him.
Carl stared into the dark, acutely aware of his breathing, of Grayson’s. It sounded so loud in the quiet of the room. He shifted from his back to his side, facing the shadowy form beside him. He wanted to say something, act normal, break the tautness in the air.
Grayson must have had a similar thought. He shifted onto his side too and his rumbly voice vibrated over the pillow.
“If this will be a problem to explain to Poppy—”
Carl’s heart galloped, and his mouth dried. He told himself to swallow it back, but couldn’t. “Why would it be a problem? I told Poppy I’m not interested in him.”
The sound of a swallow. “You’re not?”
Nervousness jolted through him, a multitude of electrical spikes. He couldn’t handle it. He whipped himself onto his other side, back to Grayson, facing the wall, and slammed his eyes shut. “I’m not. Good night.” He feigned a yawn, and then sleep.
A long moment passed, and Grayson’s sigh stirred at the back of his head. “That’s . . . Night, Carl.”
“Dear me,” said the Voice, “how sudden! Well, come to me tomorrow, for I must have time to think it over.”
L. Frank Baum
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
Chapter Fourteen
After many hours playing possum, hoping Grayson couldn’t hear his wildly beating heart, Carl eventually drifted to sleep. And a deep one at that. It had to have been, because Carl was waking up to the feeling of warmth at his chest, around his waist, under his curled leg.
He slit his eyes open, gulped quietly, and shut them again. He was tangled around Grayson, half on top of the man like a snug blanket.
He daren’t move. Daren’t breathe. Or he’d . . . rub against Grayson’s hip, and Grayson would rub against his inner thigh.
This wouldn’t do.
He should extract himself. Somehow.
He whimpered and prayed Grayson would keep sleeping. His breathing seemed steady and even, lips parted like he was deep in a dream.
Every muscle tensed as Carl carefully lifted his arm off Grayson’s stomach, and then his leg from those warm hips . . . He held his breath and painstakingly shifted inch by inch away until he was crawling to the end of the bed, where he slid on his jeans and indulged in burying his face in his hands and shaking his head.
Oh God. He knew what this was. Knew what was happening here. He kept trying to talk himself out of it, but the effort was futile . . .
He was . . . he was . . .
“What are you fretting about?” Grayson’s voice behind him had Carl leaping to his feet, squealing.
Grayson swung his legs out of bed, long glorious, toned legs, and—
Carl threw up his arms and paced the room. “There’s no slapping myself silly anymore. I’m screwed. I can’t believe I’m . . .”
“You’re what?”
He wagged a finger at Grayson, because really, this was All. His. Fault. “I’m your groupie!”
Grayson grabbed Carl’s finger and moved it down, lips twitching. “We’ve long established that.”
Carl’s finger shot back up, warningly, and Grayson held his hands up in surrender. “For real this time. Somewhere along the line, somewhere in one of our conversations, I started looking at you with hearts in my eyes. Big sparkly ones!”
Grayson stepped forward to take hold of Carl’s arms, probably to give his heartbreaker speech, and Carl was not in the mood. Enough to realise he’d fallen so far for Grayson that he might risk handing over his heart again. Not just hand it over, either. There was an overwhelming, terrifying compulsion to throw it to him. To declare this heart was his. Handle as you like!
Insanity.
Carl shook his head. But his body—wow, it was still abuzz.
“Oh my God, I’m burning for you.”
When Grayson opened his lips, Carl slapped a hand over any words about to emerge. “Nope. Uh uh.”
Like a gift from the heavens, the door swung open and Mr Wilson popped his head in. “You two should’ve called me. I’d have let you out last night.”
Carl was an impolite stare, and he wagged his finger at ancient Mr Wilson too. “Also your fault.”
With that, he skirted out the door, and ran away with the wind.
The idea was to spend the day avoiding Grayson and indulging in panic. But Grayson made it particularly difficult. Every other corner, those dark eyes confronted him.
The first time, at Houghton Bay. Carl had biked there furiously, thinking an icy dip in the sea would help cool him off. No sooner had he taken off his trusty Toto when a vehicle came to a halt on the curb beside him. Recognising the ute, Carl startled, jammed his helmet back on, and—after shaking his head at the dark-haired heartbreaker behind the wheel—took off once more.