Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“Go shower.” She presses both of her palms against my chest and lightly pushes. “I’ll take care of the cut when you’re done.”
She turns toward the cabinet. The metal door creaks as she pries it open. Standing on her tiptoes, she reaches for the top shelf. The movement lifts her shirt, baring the skin above the waistband of her jeans.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“First-aid kit,” she announces. Something metallic clanks against the porcelain.
“Can’t tell you if there’s anything in it.” I open my eyes. She’s at the sink, head bowed, fiddling with the rusty lock on the kit. Her long, shiny brown ponytail reaches the small of her back. The urge to wrap it around my fist seizes me.
Don’t you fucking dare.
“It’s stuck,” she mutters.
I’d help her open it, but I need to put some distance between us for a few minutes. Get myself under control.
“I trust you to figure it out.” Without taking my eyes off of her, I reach into my open locker and grab my towel. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she answers.
I’m more eager to get back to her than I have any right to be.
Molly
I wish I had the type of confidence the ring girls have. One of them would strip down and follow Griff into the shower. Or surprise him once he’d been in there for a few minutes. If I were braver, I’d pull the curtain back, startling him, and then he’d realize I was standing there wearing nothing but a smile and offer to wash my back.
That’s how the fantasy plays in my head.
In reality, the water starts up, the curtain makes that screechy sound as it’s pushed aside to accommodate Griff’s big body, and I stay right where I am. Playing with a bunch of Band-Aids that look like they’ve been sitting in this rusty tin since before I was born.
Is Griff using body wash or a plain bar of soap?
I couldn’t get naked in front of him, could I? No. He’d probably laugh in my face, throw a towel at me, and tell me to cover myself.
A tap on my shoulder startles me so hard, I jump, throwing little yellowing packets of Band-Aids everywhere.
I’ve been so lost in figuring out the mechanics of soaping up my brother’s best friend, I never heard the shower stop.
“What’d you scare me for?” I scoop the scattered Band-Aids out of the sink.
He’s wearing a lopsided grin and not much else. Nothing but a thin red towel wrapped around his hips hides his skin from my curious eyes.
I’ve been witness to Griff shirtless plenty of times, but this whole-body tingling reaction is a new development.
I’ve known him since I was little. What feels like my whole life, really. He’s my favorite person in the world besides my brother.
He’s also a man now. Nothing like the boys I go to school with. He’s cut and muscled in all the right places. Ruthless perfection honed from years of fighting, hard work, and pure survival.
The innocent crush on him I’ve nursed since kindergarten flipped to inappropriate a few years ago. Unfortunately, he still only sees me as a little sister. Probably always will.
This attraction is plain cruel. Even if he wanted me, I couldn’t have him. He’d never do anything to piss off my brother. And Remy’s made it clear many, many times his friends aren’t allowed to date me.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Griff says, and I cringe. Was it obvious that I was checking out his body? “What were you thinking about?”
“N-nothing,” I stammer. My traitorous cheeks heat, blushing hard enough to advertise exactly what smutty daydreams were dancing around in my head.
He squints, studying my face. “You sure you didn’t take a hit to the head tonight?”
“No.” I wave my hand at him. “Come here so I can fix your cut.”
He steps closer to the small sink in the corner where I set out cotton pads and antiseptic liquid. Gently, I dab the cotton over his wound. A small hiss escapes him.
“Sorry,” I whisper, hating that I’m hurting him even a little.
“It’s okay.” His low voice flows over my skin leaving goose bumps in its wake. I smooth some antibiotic ointment over the cut and seal it with a small Band-Aid. “All better. I think the bruise you’re going to end up with will be worse than the cut.”
“Won’t be the first.” He squints at me, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Or the last, I’m sure.”
I can’t laugh. Not when I hate that he loves risking bodily harm in these stupid underground fights all the time. My brother, too. And if it’s not fighting, it’s riding motorcycles or racing cars. It’s like the two of them are bonded by a common death wish. Fear vibrates at a low, constant hum in the back of my mind that one of these days one of them will get seriously hurt.