Shattered Asylum

Chapter 70

This is the hair I imagine Nate having...

"I'm gonna use the bathroom," I say abruptly, pushing myself up from the table. It's not a lie, but mostly, I need a second. A second away from Kristina, from this whole conversation, from whatever the hell that just was.

I'm sure I misheard her. She slurred her words, and was muttering pretty bad. Maybe she didn't say what I think she did.

But I know what I heard.

The room tilts slightly as I stand, and I grip the edge of the table, trying to steady myself. Wow. I'm drunk.

Like, embarrassingly drunk. The kind where my feet don't quite work right, and my brain is a second too slow.

Kristina giggles behind me, her laughter light and careless, like she didn't just say something that made my stomach twist.

She's probably just laughing at how dumb I look right now.

"Let me help you," Grayson says, his voice laced with amusement as he stands and walks toward me.

"I'm okay. Thanks, though," I say, waving him off. Though, honestly, it's probably more embarrassing to refuse.

He ignores me...obviously...stepping behind me and settling his hands on my shoulders. His touch is steady, warm. His presence is stabilizing, a sharp contrast to my uncoordinated state.

"Why do you smell like... milk?" I blurt out, scrunching my nose at the odd scent clinging to him.

He chuckles, clearly entertained. "Uh... you'll just have to wait and watch the video," he says, closing the bathroom door behind us.

I squint at him, too drunk to even attempt deciphering that, and turn my attention to my jeans. I fumble with the buckle, my fingers clumsy. In an effort to see better, I grab the bottom of my shirt and hold it between my neck and chin... like a kid would.

The action lifts my shirt just enough to expose a strip of my stomach.

Grayson snickers. "Oh, look at that. Someone's been working on their abs."

My face flushes instantly, and I drop my shirt, yanking it down like that somehow erases what just happened. "Shut up," I mutter, glaring at him, though it's hard to be intimidating when I can't even stand up straight.

He grins, clearly enjoying himself. "Just saying, you've got some definition there. I'm impressed."

I roll my eyes, focusing back on the buckle. "How did I get this drunk?" I mumble to myself, shaking my head.

"Well, how much did you drink?" He asks, teasing but also genuinely curious.

I stop to think. My eyes widen. "Uh... good question."

A sudden wave of urgency hits me, and I start shifting my weight from foot to foot. "Ugh, help," I whine, crossing my legs, my bladder on the verge of betrayal.

Grayson chuckles, stepping closer. "Alright, hold still."

Relieved, I lift my shirt just enough to give him access to the buckle, exposing the smallest sliver of skin. His eyes drop for a fraction of a second, and I swear I catch a flicker of something before he focuses on the task.

His fingers brush against my stomach, warm, sharp and immediate, and I swear I forget how to breathe.

His movements are slow, almost careful. His knuckles graze my skin again, and I can't help the sharp inhale that betrays me.

My eyes snap up to his face.

He's looking down, jaw set, completely focused. But when his gaze finally lifts to meet mine, it's intense. Heated. And for a moment, I swear the air in the room shifts.