I look over my shoulder, half expecting Grayson to laugh and say he was joking. Two stunning women carrying bulging tote bags walk toward me. One is a petite blonde who looks like she spends her days studying in the library of a mystical academy. The other looks like an explosion of color with a dash of 1970s flare. They’re both much more fashionable than I am in my sweaty workout clothes. “Oh. My. Gosh,” the woman who embodies everything bright and colorful stops in her tracks. “You’re Sloane Rose.” My stomach tightens like a fist inside of me. I tuck a stray hair behind my ear and muster a
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