Aria

“Fuck,” I muttered, hugging the wall as I rounded the corner toward the garage. “Why is he following me now?”

The concrete echoed under my boots as I approached my van, fingers already fumbling for the handle. I yanked the door open, climbed in, only for it to stop halfway as Grant’s hand gripped the edge.

“You were eavesdropping,” he said, breathless like he’d jogged to catch up.

“Hardly. You were shouting like you wanted the neighborhood involved.” I didn’t look ...