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)
Fatigue hasn’t found me yet. Anxiety still hums through my brain. Go downstairs and watch television until I fall asleep? Or hide in my bedroom and watch videos on my phone under the safety of my blankets?
Cocoon of blankets wins. With my phone clutched in one hand, I burrow into my mattress and turn on my side. I tap on my YouTube app and start scrolling for something interesting to watch.
My favorite makeup channel, Tranquil Sparkle, has a new tutorial posted, and I settle in to learn how to perfect the puppy eyeliner trend.
The roar of an engine interrupts my viewing before the look is complete.
I pause the video, cock my head, and hold my breath.
Is that Griff’s bike?
I toss back the covers and peel myself out of my warm, cozy bed. The rumble intensifies, then goes silent.
I’m frozen like a deer in the middle of my bedroom. My gaze pings between the door and my phone, waiting to see if he’ll send me a text. Maybe it was someone else? No. Almost everyone in our neighborhood is over sixty and probably went to bed hours ago.
My phone buzzes in my hand, scaring the bejesus out of me. I fumble with it, trying to flick the screen on, then catch it and swipe my thumb over the screen.
Griff: It’s me. Are you up?
Me: Be right there.
I race down the stairs, skid over the hardwood floors in the living room, and almost trip over one of the tasseled carpets on my way to the front entrance. Heart racing, I untwist all the locks and open the door.
“What are you doing here?” I step back so Griff can come in. The air’s cooled since I got home. The spring night clings to his leather jacket as he crosses the threshold.
“I know you don’t like being alone at night,” he says in a hushed tone, as if he’s afraid he’ll offend me. But everyone knows I’m a big scaredy-cat. It’s not exactly a secret.
Still, the fact that he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings sends a warm shiver of pleasure through me. I shouldn’t have been annoyed with him earlier for not telling Remy about us. Griff’s shown me that I’m important to him in so many ways.
“And I brought you treats from downstate.” He holds up a small, crinkled, white paper bag. “They might be a little banged up from the ride, though.”
As if I care about the condition of the food. Griff was thinking of me while he was at the party. That’s what matters. I snatch the bag out of his hand and peer inside. Two large, flamingo-shaped cookies, complete with sweet pink frosting, rest at the bottom.
“They look too pretty to eat,” I say.
He chuckles and closes the door behind him. “Shelby brought them. There were cupcakes too, but I was worried they’d be mush by the time I got here.”
Ugh. I’m so jealous. I would’ve rather gone with Griff instead of going to Hayden’s tonight. I could’ve been hanging out with my favorite country singer—Shelby Morgan—instead of getting propositioned by Johnsonville High’s creepiest alum—Wesley Chambers. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Always.” He turns away and slips off his leather jacket, then hangs it on a hook by the door.
I slide my hand into the bag and break off the beak of one of the flamingos and pop it in my mouth. Crumbly sweetness bursts on my tongue but the cookie’s dry as sand. “Milk,” I mumble. “I need milk.”
“Lead the way.” Griff raises his eyebrows, looking so damn irresistible my breath catches. Cookie crumbs lodge in my windpipe, choking off my air. I sputter and cough, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Concern wrinkles Griff’s forehead and he steps closer, patting my back. “Take it easy, Muffin.”
“I’m fine.” Cough, sputter. Ack! Why won’t it stop?
“Come on. Let’s get you something to drink.” He presses his hand between my shoulder blades and steers me through the house into the kitchen.
Still coughing, I set the bag of cute but deadly cookies on the counter. Griff grabs a carton of milk from the fridge, fills a glass halfway, and hands it to me.
I take a few cautious sips, relieved when the annoying tickle in my throat subsides and I can breathe again without hacking. “Thanks,” I wheeze. Why do I always do something embarrassing in front of Griff?
“You all right?” He crowds into my space, touching my elbow. Concern brews in his eyes. His square jaw’s dusted with stubble that I want to brush my fingers against.
“I’ll live.”
His gaze drops to my chest, and a knowing smile spreads across his face. “Hey, isn’t that mine?” He pinches the sleeve of my sweatshirt and gently tugs.
I set the almost empty glass of milk on the counter with a soft thunk.
“Do you want it back?” I grip the bottom of the sweatshirt and pull it up an inch, keeping my gaze focused on Griff’s face.