Page 18 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

"You heard me." He shrugs like it’s obvious. "If this guy is lurking around, I’m not leaving you alone."

I scoff, trying to ignore the way my heart clenches at the idea of him staying. "That’s unnecessary."

He steps closer, his voice dropping. "Is it? Because you just called me in the middle of the night, sounding like you’ve never been more unsure of anything in your life. So let’s cut the bullshit, Evans. You don’t want to be alone tonight. And I’m not going anywhere."

I open my mouth, ready to argue, but the words don’t come. Because the truth is? He’s right.

And that scares me more than anything.

Twenty minutes later, we’re moving around my apartment, both pretending this isn’t weird. That this isn’t completely uncharted territory. I grab a spare blanket from the linen closet, tossing it onto the couch. "You can sleep here." Grayson raises an eyebrow as he toes off his shoes.

"How generous of you.”

"Don’t push it, King. I could have made you sleep in the hallway."

He smirks but doesn’t argue, shrugging off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. I try not to look, but my eyes betray me, trailing over the way his muscles shift as he stretches. I quickly turn away, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck. I head toward my bedroom, pausing in the doorway. "Don’t touchanything. Don’t go through my stuff. And if you snore, I’m kicking you out."

He chuckles, dropping onto the couch. "Noted. Now go to bed, Evans, you need sleep."

I hesitate, my fingers gripping the doorframe. I should say goodnight. I should walk away. But instead, I linger.

"You really think he’ll come here?" My voice is softer than I mean it to be. Grayson’s expression darkens. "I don’t know. But if he does, he won’t get near you." Something about the certainty in his voice makes my breath catch. My stomach tightens, and I force myself to nod, stepping inside my room before I do something really stupid. Like thank him. Or worse, trust him. I close the door, leaning against it for a second, my pulse still uneven. Through the quiet, I hear the rustle of Grayson settling in on the couch. A few minutes pass, and then, his voice carries through the door.

"Goodnight, Evans."

I hesitate before whispering, "Goodnight, King." And for the first time tonight, I feel a little less alone.

14

GRAYSON

Idon’t sleep. I tell myself it’s because this couch is a goddamn nightmare, too small, too stiff, and positioned at an awkward angle where the streetlight outside spills directly onto my face. But that’s a lie. The real reason, Margot’s in the next room. I stare at the ceiling, arms crossed behind my head, listening to the faint sounds of the city outside. It should be like any other night. I’ve crashed in worse places, dealt with bigger problems. But none of those problems have ever beenher. There’s something about knowing she’s just behind that closed door, probably curled up in bed, probably not sleeping either. Something about the way she sounded when she called me tonight, her voice missing its usual sharp edges. She was scared. And Margot Evans doesn’tdoscared.

I rub a hand over my jaw, exhaling slowly. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t care. But the thought of her dealing with this alone? Yeah, that sits in my chest like a weight I can’t shake.

A noise breaks through the quiet, a shuffle, the creak of a floorboard. I’m on my feet in an instant, pulse kicking up. My eyes dart to the door just as it opens, revealing Margot’s small frame in the dim light of the living room. She’s wrapped inan oversized sweater, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, leaving her long legs bare. Her hair is loose, slightly tousled like she’s been tossing and turning, and when she shifts, the sweater slips off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin.

Margot has always been beautiful, in that infuriating, effortless way. But like this, half-asleep, vulnerable, with the soft glow of the city lights casting shadows over her bare legs, she looks different. Less composed. Less like the woman I battle with every day and more like someone I…shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.

She freezes when she sees me standing there, like she wasn’t expecting me to still be awake.

"What are you doing?"

"You tell me," I counter, crossing my arms. "Couldn’t sleep?"

She hesitates, fingers tightening around the fabric of her sweater. "No."

I exhale, running a hand through my hair. "Yeah. Me neither."

Her gaze flicks to the couch. "Uncomfortable?"

"Like sleeping on a pile of bricks."

A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips, but it doesn’t last. Instead, she shifts, rubbing her hands over her arms. That’s when I notice, she’s cold.

Without thinking, I grab the blanket I never used and toss it toward her. "Here."

She catches it, surprised. "You didn’t use it?"

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