But He's My Fake Fiancé (But He's a Carter Brother #3)

by Annah Conwell

I don’t know why I’m still here. I sigh and swirl my straw around in my mostly melted strawberry banana smoothie. My ballet class ended a half hour ago, but I can’t bring myself to go home. I know when I get there, I’ll go into my room and see my laptop on my desk taunting me. I haven’t been able to write all week. Every time I sit down, I get the urge to throw my laptop into a trashcan, pour gasoline on it, and light a match. My eyes wander around the gym, finding their way to where Grayson is working out in the free weights section. Again. Because even though my silly brain knows that he is trouble, I can’t help but be drawn to him. He picks up two large dumbbells and starts lifting them, doing lateral raises. I’m not close enough to pick up on the details of his appearance, but even from here, I can see his muscles working and the sheen of sweat on his skin. His head lifts and I whip back toward my smoothie, taking a drink to hide my flaming face. There’s no way he saw me watching from this far away, but somehow I think he would know. He probably already does. My face twists up at my room-temperature smoothie. What a waste of eight dollars. Simone makes better ones, and would probably make me one if I asked. But again, home is where my laptop is, so it must be avoided at all costs. Even if the cost is an overpriced smoothie. I look up once more, determined to look everywhere but the free weights section.