Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Remy drills me with an unreadable stare. “Why?”
“So I can apologize and let him finish telling me about the show.”
“Okay.” He snorts. “But promise me you’ll make him apologize to you for keeping it under wraps for so long first.”
My desire to see Griff is so overwhelming, I’ll agree to pretty much anything right now. “Deal.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Griff
How the fuck am I going to fix this with Molly? I didn’t want to ruin her prom, so instead, I ruined the day after prom. Smooth.
I can’t lose her.
I don’t think I can back out of the show either.
Worse, I don’t want to back out of the show. I need to explain to her that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me. For us.
After leaving Molly, I stop at Strike Back and work out my frustration in the gym. Sweaty, exhausted, and no more sure how to work through this than I was before, I return to my place and hop in the shower.
As I step out to dry off, a steady thumping echoes through my apartment. I shut off the fan and step into the hallway.
Thump. The sound is coming from my front door.
I wrap a towel around my waist and run my hands through my wet hair. Whoever it is will have to wait a fucking minute. I hurry into my bedroom and slip into a clean pair of gym shorts.
Thump. Plastic rustles. Another thud.
“Be right there!” I shout. Why can’t this impatient asshole take a hint and get lost? I don’t even bother to look and see who it is, just fling the door open.
Molly. On my doorstep, holding two big colorful reusable grocery bags. Wearing tight black leggings and a shoulder-baring cropped black sweatshirt with pink skulls and flowers all over the front. I couldn’t ask for a better surprise visitor.
“Oh, wow.” She gasps and lets her gaze roam over my torso, then lower. “I brought dinner, but there you are, looking like dessert.”
“What?” I laugh and grab the bags out of her hand. “How’d you get here?”
“Remy dropped me off.” She steps inside, her curious gaze darting all over the place.
“He let you carry all this shit up here by yourself?” I jerk my head toward the kitchen, indicating she should follow me.
“Nooo,” she answers slowly. “He brought the bags upstairs and then I told him to get lost.”
Wish I’d seen that. “No you didn’t.”
“Believe what you want.”
I hoist the bags on the counter and peer inside one of them.
“No peeking.” She presses her arm over the top of the bag, flattening the sides down to obscure the contents.
Warm herbs and spices tease my nose—a scent that could only be one thing. My mouth waters in response. “Is there a rotisserie chicken in one of those bags?”
“Maybe.” Her serious blue eyes focus on my face. She reaches up and brushes her fingers through my damp hair. “Did I interrupt your shower?”
I’m tempted to say yes and invite her to join me, but we have too many things to talk about. “Not really. I was getting out when I heard you pounding on the door.”
“I tried knocking like a civilized person at first.”
“I should’ve given you a key.” I pull open the kitchen drawer closest to the door where I keep a bunch of crap and locate the spare key. “Remy has one somewhere. But you should have your own.” I hold it out to her, but she just stares at it.
“Really?” She slowly reaches for the key dangling from my fingers. “You’re…okay with that?”
I reel in my arm, forcing her to step closer. “What’re you going to do? Sneak in here and steal my collection of gym shorts?”
She drops her gaze to my groin. “Never. They look way too good on you.”
Nope. Can’t let those curious, big blue eyes distract me.
I hold out the key to her again. “Yes, I want you to have it. I trust you.”
She curls her fingers around the key. “Thank you.”
“So, what are you making?” I gesture to the bags on the counter.
“Well, it depends on what kind of cookware you own.” She bites her bottom lip. “If you have a baking dish, I thought I’d make buffalo chicken enchiladas. If not, it’s going to be soft chicken tacos.”
Laughing, I lean over and open one of the bottom cabinets. “We’re in luck because the first option sounds awesome.” I pull out a heavy, green glass baking dish and set it on the counter. “Will that work?”
“Yup.” She grabs it and sets it on the other side of my oven, then starts unpacking the bags, neatly laying everything out over my counters and kitchen table.
“Let me grab a shirt, then I’ll be back to help you.”
Lost in thoughts of meal prep, she only nods at me. Her eyes dart around as if she’s trying to figure out where I store everything.