Page 41 of Vixen's Guide to Christmas
“A family full of lawyers? How many are we talking here?”
“Currently practicing? Seven. A few are still in college. Another four retired, who at one time practiced under the flag.”
“And then there’s you.”
He nods. “And then there’s me, putting out statements that it wasn’t my client who flashed her boobs on the roof patio before trying to fight a bachelorette.”
“I remember that story!” I say. “I didn’t know it was you behind the PR. You handled it beautifully.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Once I got her to get her story straight, that is.”
I laugh, and can relate. “But she did it, right? She did the flashing and the fighting?”
He nods and lets out a laugh. “Oh, she did it. She very much did it.”
“See, I think that’s more impressive than being a lawyer. Sure you have to pass a few tests and know when to scream words like ‘objection!’ at the right time, but it takes a special skill to be able to get a diva to admit her wrongdoings, without really admitting it, and apologizing in just a way that seems sincere even though she was rolling her eyes while you were writing it for her.”
Grayson’s smile is so pure it hits me square in my heart. “You get it.”
“Comes with the job.”
The silence is back, but the awkwardness is gone. Thank goodness. Except replacing that is the overwhelming desire to float to his side of the hot tub, sit between his legs, and let him hold me tight as we lose all sense of time.
How did I think this was a good idea? Trying to get him out of my system by putting him in the friend zone was great in theory, but the execution is clearly failing. Though what did I expect? That one night of small talk was going to make me not like him anymore? That just separating myself from him wasn’t going to make me want him? For a smart woman, sometimes I’m dumb as hell.
I need to leave. Get out of here while I still can. Before I do something stupid like kiss him.
“I’m going to get going,” I say as I move off the wall where the jet was hitting my lower back just right.
“You just got here.”
“I know,” I quickly say as I stand up. “But this way I’ll get in and out of the shower first, so you can have the bathroom. And I haven’t eaten. Stomach is growling. You know how that goes. It’s just…ACK!”
This is what I get for trying to move quickly in a tub full of water. Because one minute I’m standing up, talking a mile aminute and trying to make my exit, and then the next I’m losing my footing and about to fall back, ass first, into the water. My arms are flailing. I can’t seem to get my balance. And just when I think I’m about to make a Shamu-level splash, I feel arms under me, stopping me from my fall.
“Easy there, Vixen,” Grayson says, holding me still as I catch my breath. “I got you.”
Dammit, he does. He really does. In so many ways.
Gradually he lifts me up, and I slowly turn around to face him. He doesn’t move his hands from my arms, which could be passed off for him making sure that I have my balance. Secretly, and selfishly, I hope it’s not.
I hope it’s because he wants to touch me. Because I want him to. More than that, I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. It could happen so easily right now. We’re inches away from each other. Our chests are touching, and I can feel every breath he takes. Our eyes are saying the same things.
We want this. We want each other. We want this moment—right here, right now.
God, I want to give in. I want to say fuck my rules and fuck every wall I’ve built over the years to protect myself.
But I don’t. I can’t. I know what will happen when this goes bad. When our careers get in the way. That heartbreak will be worse then than it will be now.
Which is why I do the one thing my body is screaming at me not to do—I get out of the hot tub, and I walk away.
13
grayson
I don’t runafter her.
I should. I want to. But I don’t.
