Grayson: An MM Friends To Lovers Romance

“You look like you need this more than me,” I said.

Grayson hesitated for a moment. “Is this a trick?” he said, narrowing his eyes as his fingers grazed mine, taking the chocolaty marshmallow treat.

“No trick. I just… noticed your marshmallow skills seem a little… beginner,” I said, flashing him a smirk. Thanks to the wine, I felt a bit better than I usually did. I found myself just talking instead of trying to constantly figure out the right thing to say.

Or what not to say.

“Well, we all have our skills, it seems,” he said as he bit into the s’more, the marshmallow caving and exploding as he groaned.

Same marshmallow, same.

I picked up his stick before heading over to the dessert cart that boasted all the ingredients for everything from s’mores to hand pies to banana boats. I grabbed some marshmallows, noticing how everyone else was in their own little bubbles with one another. Laughing, singing, dancing. Drinking.

When I came back to the lonely log that Grayson was taking up residence on, I slowly set to fixing his stick—and my own—with their prospective sweets.

“It’s all in the wrist,” I said, motioning to him as I held the stick, to watch how I turned my wrist and not the stick itself. “You want to make sure you get at least ten seconds on all four sides.”

“A marshmallow does not have sides,” Grayson grumbled, but his tone was marginally lighter.

I gazed back at him with a confident smirk of my own. “Everyone has sides,” I said, realizing my error far too late.

Grayson’s shoulders loosened, and I didn’t even bother to correct myself.

How could I, when it seemed it was the right thing to say?

I handed him his stick and he took it from me with ease.

“All in the wrist, huh?” He cocked a smile.

The heat in his tone was like a spark to dry kindling. Normally, I agonized over socializing like this.

Innuendos, flirtations, jokes.

But after a few drinks, and being near Grayson—a man who seemed to unravel me whether I wanted him to or not—I couldn’t help but respond.

“As you said, we all have our skills, Grayson.”

Did I really just say that?

Grayson let out a dark chuckle as he rose, heading for the fire to roast his marshmallow, and I followed. Taking my spot beside him, I didn’t realize how close I was until I bumped his shoulder.

“Sorry,” I said instinctively.

Grayson shifted his stance as he leaned closer to the fire, watching his marshmallow intently. “Trying to throw me into the fire now are you?” he teased.

I shifted my stance, bumping into him again, smiling at his tone before reaching out and gently turning his wrist.

The touch itself was warm, and not at all sexual.

I was, after all, just helping him with his sub-par roasting skills.

But something about the way his skin felt beneath my fingertips reminded me of the warmth of his hand over my stomach, of his body curled around mine, and I let out a small gasp. I brushed the underside of his wrist rhythmically with my thumb, and swallowed harshly.

I knew I should let go, but…

I didn’t want to let go.

Grayson didn’t move either. Instead, his gaze fell to where I held his wrist.