Page 99 of PR Stunt

I grab a chip. “Okay, your turn. What was it like growing up in l.a.?”

His smile lingers, but something shifts behind his eyes. There it is again, that hesitation. The same one as before.

Grayson exhales, leaning back slightly. “Loud. Fast. A little ridiculous.” His lips twitch. “Basically the opposite of Bellingham.”

I arch a brow. “That’s all I get?”

“You had a local pub. I had industry parties with people twice my age.”

“Industry parties, huh?” I pick up my taco, tilting my head. “Sounds…boring for a kid.”

Grayson reaches for a chip. “Boring isn’t the word I’d use.”

He snaps the tortilla between his fingers, his expression careful. “It was just…different.”

“Different how?”

“Well, while you were sneaking into your cozy little pub with a fake id, I was twelve years old at a producer’s house party, surrounded by adults I didn’t know, pretending I wasn’t too tired to stand.”

He doesn’t look at me as he says it, like it’s just a memory he’s walked through too many times to flinch at anymore.

“That sounds…” I hesitate, trying to find the right word.

“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his beer, shrugging. “Different.”

The server returns and sets our drinks down, and I wrap my hands around the fresh margarita.

I should make a joke. Keep it light. That’s what we do, isn’t it? But something about the way he said it sticks with me, a tiny crack in the version of him I thought I knew. I take a slow sip, swallowing around the unexpected lump in my throat. For the first time, I can’t help but feel a little bad for him.

I glance at him, tapping my nails against the glass. “So…no awkward prom photos or part-time job at the local coffee shop?”

“No, I missed prom. I was working a night shoot.”

I smile, just enough to soften the moment. “Guess you missed out on prom king and corsages.”

He chuckles quietly under his breath. “Thank fuck.”

I glance at him, but something about the way the dim light catches on his jaw, the way he looks so relaxed here, like this version of him is only meant for off-the-grid nights in Mexico. It makes me look a second too long.

His eyes meet mine. “What?” he asks, voice quiet, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I smile too. “This is a nice, fresh change.” My voice is softer than I meant it to be.

Grayson’s eyes stay on mine. “It is,” he agrees.

I reach for another chip, scoop up some guac, but a bit lands on my finger. I bring it to my mouth, sucking it clean without thinking. When I glance up, his eyes are locked on my lips.

Movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention. A table with two girls, mid-twenties, phone angled just enough to be obvious. Grayson must notice too because he moves. His hand finds my knee under the table, thumb brushing against me. A flicker of heat shoots straight through me. Right. Sell the romance. I shift slightly, inhaling slowly, ignoring the way my skin tingles beneath his touch. Grayson keeps his hand where it is, thumb idly tracing along my skin, as if he’s completely unaware of the effect he’s having. Or maybe he is, and he just enjoys it.

By the time we roll into the hotel’s parking area, I’m breathless from laughing. Grayson slows the scooter to a stop, cutting the engine as I pull off my helmet, still grinning. “Okay,” I say, hopping off. “You almost hit three potholes and a palm tree.”

“To be fair, that palm tree came out of nowhere.”

I shake my head, trying to smooth my hair, still laughing as we make our way toward the villa. Our steps are lighter now, looser, radiating energy that only comes after a brush with reckless fun. But underneath the easy banter, something else lingers. A spark of something unspoken. That quiet weight of whatever agreement we made over dinner still hums between us.

I glance toward the couch, shifting my weight slightly. “I think I saw extra pillows and blankets in the closet.” My voice is casual, but when I meet his gaze, it’s there. A flash of heat.

And restraint.