At first, I think I’ve intruded. I mean, what the hell am I doing here? I’m not his real girlfriend, but before those thoughts and insecurities can take flight, Grayson is striding across the room, still in his hockey kit, and scooping me into his arms. A loud humph flies from my chest at how tightly he squeezes me. “I’m sorry, I’m sweaty. I just…need to hold you.”
