Page 11 of Griz's Edge

Glancing at the screen, I don’t recognize the number right off.

Opening it, I can’t help the grin that forms. It’s Griz. He did exactly what he said he’d do and found my number, but instead of calling, he decided to text me.

Unknown: Told you, challenge accepted, sweets. Wasn’t too hard to get your number.

Me: It only took you two days, amateur.

I quickly save his number to my contacts and drop my phone down next to me.

Giggling, I grab my book and read one line before my phone pings again. Rather than just setting the book aside, I grab my bookmark, save the page I’m on, and set my book on the nightstand. Scooching down in my bed, I curl up under my blanket and pick up my phone to see what Griz has to say.

I can’t help but laugh at his response.

Griz: Amateur, my ass. Sweets, I had your number within thirty minutes of leaving your delectable self at the diner.

Seriously?

Me: And it took you two days to get around to messaging me?

Figuring I’ll be up awhile with this, I grab the TV remote and find something to watch. I settle on a crime documentary when my phone pings.

I glance at the screen to read his message.

Griz: Was dealing with some things for the club. Wanted to have time when I sent you a message.

Hmmm . . . Interesting.

Me: And why’s that?

There’s a knock at my door as the phone pings yet again.

I furrow my brow as I get out of bed and look at the screen.

Griz: Answer the door and I’ll tell you.

Oh my . . . holy mother butter balls.

Graham ‘Griz’ Holland was standing at my front door, and I was wearing nothing more than a dang oversized North Carolina State jersey and a pair of panties. Panties, I might add, are nothing more than a scrap of material.

Oh boy. This isn’t good. It’s a very bad idea. Very bad.

My phone pings again, and I look at the screen that is still unlocked.

Griz: Are you coming? Or do I just camp out here like a lost dog?

Laughing, I shake my head, toss my phone onto the nightstand, and take a breath.

Here goes nothing.

I make my way out of my room through the little house to the door. Unlocking it, I squeeze the doorknob a little tighter than I probably should and draw it open just enough to see Griz standing on my small porch, that sexy grin of his in place.

“You gonna let me in?”

“I’m debating on that one,” I tell him, knowing I’m going to let him in. But I can’t not play first. “What makes you think I’d let you in my home? Do I look like the type that would just let someone in my house? For all I know, you’re a serial killer in disguise.”

Griz chuckles and holds his hands out to his sides. “Think I’m the type who could be considered a serial killer?”

I slowly rake my gaze over him, memorizing every last inch of the man standing at my door.

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