Page 100 of Mr. Wicked

Except he was gone.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, checking the time.

I was normally an early riser, where I’d get in a three- to four-mile walk before I started filming content for the day, but it was almost eight thirty.

That was extremely late for me.

And by the explosion of notifications, I knew the picture I’d taken of us in Grayson’s bed had posted to my Instagram just like I’d scheduled it to.

As of thirty minutes ago, our fake relationship was out in the open.

I wondered how Grayson was reacting to that.

How he was processing this.

What his mood was like this morning.

I opened the app and immediately saw that he’d accepted my request to collaborate on the post, which meant the picture of us also appeared on his profile. That his forty-eight thousand followers were now mingled with mine.

And all of them were hit with the same bomb.

I was dating Grayson Tanner.

Boston’s Biggest Bachelor.

I couldn’t help but wonder if this, along with last night, was the start of something new.

Something wonderful.

Something I’d been wanting.

Was that how Grayson was feeling?

Or was this burst of attention setting him off?

My teeth bit into my bottom lip, and with oh God, oh God repeating in my head, I hurried into the en suite to use the restroom and brush my teeth. Since I’d fallen asleep in just a towel, I put on the shorts and tank I had on last night and rushed into the living room.

Once I got past the couch, I saw him in the kitchen, gripping the door to the fridge, peering inside, like he was scanning the shelves for something.

I didn’t hesitate.

I didn’t even say anything.

I just sprinted the remaining steps that separated us and wrapped my arms around his stomach, pressing my face into his back. I took a solo second to breathe him in before I asked, “Are you doing all right?”

I wasn’t sure if it was the feel of me behind him or the words I’d chosen to speak, but he froze.

Stiffened.

He turned into a block of ice.

The door to the fridge closed, and with his hands empty, he clasped them on my arms and pulled them off his body. Once my arms fell to my sides, he reopened the fridge and removed the orange juice, sidestepping away from me to get a glass. “I’m fine.”

His voice was sharp.

It bit me straight through the air while his eyes avoided me.

And where his limbs had unthawed, taking him to the other side of the kitchen, mine had turned to stone.

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