Ashley
Gray: Gonna be busy all day. Pack a bag. Want you to stay at my place.
I stare at the text, propped against my pillow with the sheet clutched to my chest—not because I'm embarrassed. Please. Gray's already seen every inch of this fine-ass body, and I'd flash the whole damn block before I ever pretended to be ashamed of it.
The sheet's just something to hold on to while I fight the urge to yeet my phone across the room.
Stay at his place? The hell does that even mean—one night? A week? Am I pulling up with a cute little overnight bag, or should I be backing a U-Haul into his driveway?
My thumb hovers the screen, itching to fire back a smartass, "define pack a bag." But under the attitude, my chest squeezes tight. Because if Gray's really asking me to stay with him, then maybe—
