Page 114 of Stabby Little

"Why not?"

"My captors are… dangerous men." My words come out soft, but danger lurks beneath them. "It's too risky to share it. The last thing I want to do is put you in danger."

"You're not putting me in danger, Ollie. Believe it or not, I can defend myself—unlike most men my age."

I can't help but smile. "I never assumed you couldn't."

Grant produces a gun from a hallway drawer and hands it to me. My jaw drops when I run my thumb over the shiny metal. It's a Glock.

"I never told Miles this, but I'm a terrific marksman,” Grant says. “On the weekends, I sometimes go to a range in Upstate New York to practice shooting."

My eyes lock on his gun. "I didn't know that."

"Linda and I used to shoot together. It was a way to pass the time at first, an activity to help us bond. After a while, I met friends who were hunters and they taught me to hunt. One man—he's actually my current work partner—led wilderness expeditions where we hunted for days. I shot a prize buck two hundred meters away with a twenty-year-old rifle. My buddy and I ate well that night."

It takes a moment to process this. Grant fires weapons. I stare at him, a pang of need pulsing through me. How perfect is he?

"Come in." Grant places his hand on my lower back and ushers me into his living room. "I'm watching home videos from when Miles was a boy. Why don't I make you a cup of hot cocoa and you can join me?"

My heart swells as I stare into his eyes. Oh my Gosh—this is theexacttype of activity I wanted to do when I came here. A morning with Grant, sitting on the sofa, strolling down memory lane. Maybe he has a home video of me that can help me recall something I forgot in the warehouse. That'd be the most incredible thing.

I stare into his eyes and force my racing heart to calm down. I'm such a baby. One look into this man's gold-speckled irises makes me want to cuddle up on his chest.

And yet there's something different about his eyes… a bolt of something I can't place courses through me. Why are they the exact same color as my mystery man's?

Knock it off. You were fantasizing that your mystery man was Grant—that's why they seem familiar. Grant's straight and would never be in a place like the Little Bunny Club. Quit being horny.

"That sounds wonderful." I bite back a grin. "Should I head to the sofa?"

"Go to Miles's old room first." Grant gestures toward the stairs. "There's a pair of his pajamas that might fit you. You don't need to change into them, of course. But if we're having a movie day, you might want to."

As Grant prepares the hot cocoa, I head to Miles's bedroom to retrieve the pajamas. I fight the surge of memories rising within me as my eyes glaze over his furniture, his bed, his window overlooking the backyard. Miles and I had so many amazing times here playing silly games and living our best lives. Two truths and a lie. Truth or dare. I never forgot how fun Miles was. He was the best friend I could've asked for.

When I return to the living room, Grant's fluffing a blanket over the sofa. Two mugs of hot cocoa steam on the coffee table, making my mouth water from across the room.

"I found the pajamas." I hold up the PJs I saw lying on Miles's dresser. They're not exactly pajamas—more of a onesie, dotted with pink heart prints surrounded by fluffy bunnies. "I'm not sure if these were what you were talking about. I can't picture Miles wearing these."

Grant takes a look at the onesie and bursts into laughter. "Miles's aunt in Naples made that for him when he turned fifteen. He tried to tell her he was way too old to wear it, but she wasn't having it."

"I imagine it's at your house for a reason."

"Miles left it here when he stayed over three years ago so he'd have an excuse not to wear it when she FaceTimed him. I don't think he ever tried it on."

I chuckle as I hold up the onesie, running my digits over it. "It's not that bad."

"You don't have to say that. I won't be offended if you don't wear it."

"Wait." Turning around, I head toward the nearest bathroom. "I'll be right back."

I shed my clothes at record speed and slide into the onesie. It's soft and delicate on my skin, reminding me of Miles's cozy sheets. I check myself in the mirror and nod when a burst of pink stares back at me.

Good. Lord. Grant was right—there's no way Miles would wear this. I look even more pathetic than I am, if that's possible.

Exiting the bathroom, I head toward the sofa. "Tada. What do you think?"

Grant shakes his head. "I really won't be offended if you take that off."

I put my hands on my hips. "I kind of like it."

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