Page 98 of PR Stunt

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out right away. I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. “And what’s in it for you?”

His grin is all slow, easy charm, but there’s something else under it. “I get to be in Mexico with a beautiful woman who isn’t actively trying to kill me.”

I stare at him, trying to read between the lines, trying to figure out if this is some kind of trap.

Grayson just lifts his beer. “What do you say?”

I hesitate. I shouldn’t say yes. I should shut this down before it starts. But…I do deserve a break. A temporary slowdown. Isn’t that what I wanted from the very beginning?

He tilts his head, studying me, eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to amusement. “Do you have it in you?” The challenge is clear.

I exhale, fingers brushing against the condensation on my glass. “Okay.”

He lifts his drink, eyes gleaming, and taps his bottle lightly against my glass. “To whatever happens next.”

My fingers tighten subtly around my glass. Not enough for him to notice. At least, I hope not. But I feel it. The way my stomach tightens, the way a strange heat unfurls low in my spine, winding up through my chest. I swallow back my nerves as I lift my drink to my lips and take a slow sip. This is very uncharted territory, but I remind myself to not overthink it. The server returns, and we both order an assortment of tacos plus chips and guac to share.

As the server walks away, I tilt my head, studying Grayson. “How did you learn to speak Spanish so fluently?”

His fingers pause against his beer bottle. His gaze darkens for a fraction. “I’ve come to Mexico a lot, especially here to surf, so I picked it up,” he says simply.

I arch a brow. “That’s all?”

He leans back in his chair. “Spent a lot of time around people who didn’t speak much English growing up. It stuck.”

I sip my drink, letting his words settle. “You mean on set?” I press.

“Nah. Not on set.”

I frown, ready to push further, but he smoothly shifts the conversation. “Tell me, what was it like growing up in Bellingham?”

I narrow my eyes at him, knowing exactly what he’s doing. Deflecting. But still, I play along.

“Safe,” I respond, lifting my margarita. “Quiet. Small-town life, you know? Not much to do except go to the same handful of restaurants, walk along the pier, or hang out at someone’s house.” I pause, considering. “Spent a lot of time reading. And watching 2000s rom-com movies with my mom. I think that’s what started it all. The acting thing. Just…falling in love with stories.”

Grayson listens intently.

I toy with the rim of my glass, rolling the salt between my fingertips. “It was nice, though. Simple. My parents are the best, so it never felt like I was missing out on anything. It was the kind of place where you always ran into someone you knew at the grocery store. Where people showed up with homemade casseroles and cookies when you were sick.” I huff out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “I think I always knew I’d leave, but I loved it while I was there.”

When I glance up, Grayson’s already watching me, his expression soft.

“What?”

His lips twitch. “Nothing. Just trying to picture you as a small-town girl.”

I snort under my breath. “It wasn’t that small.”

He leans in slightly, voice dropping just a bit. “Did you ever get into trouble?”

“Define trouble.”

His grin deepens, teasing. “Come on, tell me. Was there ever a rebellious phase? Snuck out? Broke curfew?”

I take the last sip of my margarita, setting the glass down as I think. “Honestly? Not too crazy. I borrowed a coworker’s id in twelfth grade to get into a pub in a neighboring town, but that’s about as wild as it got.” I shrug. “I’ve always had a great relationship with my parents, so I never really felt the need to act out, you know? If I wanted to do something, I’d just…tell them. I could go to them about pretty much anything.”

The server returns, balancing two steaming plates of tacos, and sets them down in front of us.

“Another round,” Grayson says, nodding toward my empty glass and then lifting his own bottle slightly.