Neville returned to the living room and dropped to his knees beside the table, scrubbing the stains with more vigor than necessary. The motion gave him something to focus on.
Scrub. Wipe.
Don't think about Grayson.
Scrub. Wipe.
Don't think about that alpha.
HIIIK—!
A sudden poke to his side made him almost squeak in surprise.
Neville whipped his head around to find Grayson lounging on the couch like some kind of ancient emperor, looking entirely too pleased with himself. His damned tail was reaching toward Neville, the tip hovering near his ribs.
"What—" Neville exclaimed out loud this time as the tail poked him again, this time just below his shoulder blade.
Grayson looked down at him with an expression of pure innocence. Those silver eyes were wide, guileless—the picture of a man who had no idea what his own fcking tail was doing.
Neville was not fooled by the innocent act for a second.
