Worth the Risk(7)

“Hi, Grayson. Sidney Thorton.”

“I know who you are.”

For the briefest of seconds, I get a glimpse of the little boy as he tries to step out from behind his father. He’s the perfect mini-me of Grayson—olive complexion, brown eyes, lopsided smile.

And I hate how Grayson pushes his son behind him, almost as if he’s protecting him from me.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I infuse cheer to bolster my waning bravado.

“Did something happen?” Confusion fleets across his expression. “Is there a reason you’ve come down from your castle on the hill, Princess?”

“What do you mean?”

Memories flash and fade. High school idiosyncrasies every teenager endures. The popular crowd and the wannabes. The cool kids who ran together and the kids on the outside who never were allowed in. Grayson working at Lulu’s diner, kind and courteous but left to pick up after the mess I’m sure we made. Overhearing us planning our next party or get-together but never being invited. The friends who I thought were my world but who I never spoke to after leaving.

Is that what he’s referring to?

“Look, that was a long time ago. We should—”

“What do you want?” He holds his hands up as if to tell me he doesn’t want to talk about it, and it takes me a second to switch mental gears.

“I came to congratulate you on making the top twenty.”

“Top twenty of what?”

“In Modern Family magazine’s contest.”

The laughter he emits is long and rich. The shake of his head is one of disbelief. The little boy peers at me between the crack of Grayson’s body and the doorframe. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’m not the type to enter a contest.”

“It was a hot dad contest.” Why is it when I say it this time—to him—I blush considerably when it hasn’t bothered me at all with the others? Probably because I didn’t know any of the others before the contest.

“Hot dad?” He shakes his head as if I’m out of my mind. “Nice try but, uh, pageantry isn’t my thing.”

“It isn’t a pageant—you’re the one who entered—there’s a prize.”

“I don’t need anything from you. Not a prize. Not a hand up in life. Nothing.” He turns away from me and then turns back around, his brow furrowed. He seems just as confused as I am but for completely different reasons. “Is this about Mercy-Life?”

“Mercy-Life? As in the air ambulance? Huh?”

“You’re with a magazine, right? Are you trying to ply me with some fake contest so you can try to dig up some dirt that isn’t there and create some bullshit story about my grounding? Slow news day, huh?” He stares at me, head to the side, eyes boring into mine, and the muscle in his jaw ticking.

What the hell is he talking about? “I work for Modern Family. It’s a magazine on family. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re a finalist and—”

“Nice try to get your foot in the door, but whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

“I’m being serious.” Why is he playing coy when he entered the contest?

“And so am I when I say that I’m not interested.”

He goes to shut the front door, and for some reason, I have my hand out in a flash to stop it. “I just need a minute of your time.”

“And I don’t have any time to give you.” His eyes meet mine. The intensity in them mixes with his disdain. “Have a nice trip back up to your tower on the hill.”

The door shuts with a resounding thud.

From behind it, there’s a whoop from the little boy right before he yells for Grayson to put him down. Those are the sounds of normalcy. Sounds of affection. Sounds I have no interest in, and yet, here I stand, staring at the front door, uncertain of why I’m not heading back to my car.

Thortons don’t get intimidated. Or flustered. Or walk away without getting what they want.

Then why did he make me feel both, and why am I doing the last without the result I came here for?

It’s the goddamn thigh clench. That’s why. Zoey jinxed me. My thighs clenched at the sight of him, and then my head turned to mush.

But he’s the one. The total package. Grayson Malone is the missing piece.

Problem is how do I get him to cooperate when he’s clearly changed his mind about participating in the contest?

Because I need him.

This much I know for sure.





“Go pick up your mess and then you can go play out back,” I say absently to Luke as I set the colander on the kitchen counter and stare out the window. My eyes are drawn to a very nice ass highlighted by a black pencil skirt and high heels walking down my path.

Sidney goddamn Thorton.

I must be going out of my mind.

I grit my teeth as she climbs into a white Range Rover that has windows tinted so dark I can barely make out her golden brown hair.

Untouchable now, just like she was back then.

I run a hand through my hair. Did I really just accuse her of trying to write an article on a nonexistent story? Paranoid much, Gray?

Sure, her dad owns the goddamn magazine world, but I doubt she’s had to lift one of her perfectly manicured fingers a day in her life.