Page 64 of The Dis-Graced

My eyes bulge in response to his vulgar comment. “Excuse me?”

“I’m pretty sure ALAN made that part clear.”

“No. You distracted me! But not inthatway! That damn machine was just too loud.”

Why are you lying, stupid! You could have him right here, right now!

“Excuse me?” His brow arcs in offense. “My rowing machine doesn’t make a sound.”

Before I can answer, ALAN cuts in. “Grace was distracted from the moment you entered the room. Her already high heart rate increased. Her breathing—”

“Alright, alright!” I shout in no particular direction. “We get it!”

ALAN cuts in with, “The reaction you exhibited—”

“Shut up—ALAN!”

I look over at Drake to see his face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving from laughter.

If I wasn’t bright red from my workout, I certainly am now.

For a brief moment, our eyes lock, his betraying his want, mine revealing my vulnerability.

But Drake Dallanger is the last person I should be thinking about right now in any romantic capacity because coupling with him would take away my only chance of landing a reputable reporting job where I don’t have to flash my tits. I clawed my way to the top of my field with little help and without a rich friend. As exciting as Titty Tuesday Townhall sounds, I need to do everything I can to salvage my career.

One little kiss won’t hurt. A gentle lock of lips. The faintest of touches.

“I-I think I need to walk around for a bit,” I say in a voice a little more than a whisper. “To make sure everything’s fine.”

He stares at me as though I’m speaking a foreign language, and I wonder if he’s going to let me up off the couch or just sit back on his heels, staring at me with those intense, blue eyes.

God, please do more than stare. I could really use another good workout…

“Of course,” he finally says to my utter despair because I’d be more than happy to test my physical limits by climbing on top of him.

He rises from his position, turns, and walks in a small circle, hands raised over his head. Seeing his tight muscles flex and move does nothing to help my situation.

I stand up, stretch my limbs, and catch Drake staring straight at me.

“ALAN, is Drake doing one of those micro-movement things you were talking about?”

“No,” ALAN says. “Drake is staring at you quite blatantly.”

He looks hungry, and I know I’m starving. Closing the distance between us would take less than a second, a heartbeat perhaps—the blink of an eye.

“When you’re up to it, Grace, there’s something we need to talk about.”

Could we do less talking and maybe work on other forms of communication?

His phone rings, breaking our connection, and suddenly, I feel like I’ve been cast into darkness. I want to be the only think he’s paying attention to. I’m ravenous for him.

“What the hell are you doing calling me?” Drake mutters into his phone, walking from the room without so much as a glance back at me.

Did I imagine it? Did I just imagine that moment we had between us? That—spark?

“ALAN?” I whisper.

“Yes, Grace?”