7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
GRIFF
I jolt awake from the deepest sleep I’ve had in ages. The kind of sleep where you’re so disoriented you don’t even recognize your own bedroom for a few seconds and your whole body feels too heavy to move right away. I grumble and fling my arm across my face to block out the sun streaming in from between the slats in my blinds. I can’t remember the last time I slept all the way through the night without waking up to toss and turn and grapple with my thoughts for long hours. Maybe the extra work hours wore me out enough to sleep soundly…
Or maybe it was thanks to the relaxing massage and bone-shattering orgasm.
My already stiff cock throbs at the memory of Ledger’s warm skin against mine, his hot breath on my lips, and all those achingly sweet words he purred the whole time he was touching me. I groan and slip my hand under the covers to grip my erection.
A rapid, impatient sounding knock has me immediately pulling my hand back and growling in frustration. Who the fuck is pounding at my door on a Sunday morning? Maybe if I ignore it, whoever it is will go away. The knock comes again, and I grit my teeth, flinging my blankets aside and clambering out of bed in a huff.
I snag a pair of sweatpants off the floor next to my bed and shove them on one leg at a time, grumbling under my breath as I do it. I stomp through the house towards the front door and fling it open with another growl right on the tip of my tongue.
“What?” I bark before I even pause to take in who’s been knocking.
The kid who makes deliveries in this neighborhood flinches back, his hands tightening on the package he’s holding. Ugh, fuck. Clearly, I need to rein it in. I try to pull back on my irritation, settling for a resting scowl. I eye the delivery guy for a few seconds, thinking about Stone’s theory that he could have been the one to send me the flowers. There’s no way though. He can’t be a day over eighteen, and if there weren’t an age limit on this job, I would guess younger. He’s gangly and terrified, with acne scars and a bad haircut.
“This delivery requires a signature,” he says, averting his eyes and thrusting the digital signature pad towards me.
“I didn’t order anything.” I eye the package suspiciously. It’s not flowers this time. As irritated as I am at being interrupted and left with blue balls, curiosity flutters in my chest. It couldn’t be from the same person, could it?
“If you don’t want it, I can mark it as return to sender.”
I perk up a little and snatch the signature pad from him.
“You have the sender listed?” I grunt, nodding towards the package.
He glances down at it and squints at the label.
“Uh, yeah, it says here ‘Fruitful Arrangements, Canton, Ohio.’”
I grumble again. That’s not fucking helpful. I toss the pad back at him and grab the package with a muttered “thanks” before slamming the door. I know he’s just doing his job, but I’m too annoyed to care right this second. I’m sure I’ll feel a little bad about acting like such a dick after I’ve had my coffee. I tear into the package and find a plastic container filled with chocolate covered fruit, along with a note.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Please eat me slowly
And I’ll lick you too
— Your Secret Admirer
I furrow my brow and chuckle, flipping the card over to check for a name, any name. But just like with the flowers, there’s nothing but the short, funny message. I tighten my grip on the container and a strange feeling pulses in my chest—happy and confused at the same time. Who in their right mind could possibly like me enough to do all this? It doesn’t make any sense.
I shuffle through the house into the kitchen, setting the fruit down on the counter and going through the motions of making coffee on autopilot. There’s still the possibility that the whole thing is a mistake, someone has the wrong address, and whoever these presents are intended for isn’t getting them. I haven’t completely ruled out the idea that it’s a prank, but the way all the guys got so excited to play detective makes me think it’s unlikely. Unless it’s just one of them and the rest are in the dark, but that doesn’t seem likely either. All the suggestions they came up with were laughable. There’s no barista, no cougar, no one who could possibly be harboring a secret crush on me.
The coffee maker beeps and I pour myself a cup, then pick the fruit back up and head out back for my favorite part of my morning routine. It’s a warm, sunny morning and the birds are singing louder than ever. Usually, it’s just an indistinguishable mess of sound to me, but all of Ledger’s chatter about birds has me vaguely curious about which kind is making the short, high-pitched whistles, and whether the hooting sound is an owl or a dove.
I set my mug down on the deck railing and open the container of fruit. Almost as soon as I have it open, I hear jingling. I cock my head and glance around. A pair of little, dark eyes framed by a furry bandit mask peers at me over the edge of my low deck and I jump back. The creature pulls itself up higher with another jingle-jangle, and I let out a relieved breath.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping, TP? Raccoons are nocturnal, aren’t they?” I’m not one hundred percent sure that’s true, but I feel like I heard somewhere that if you see a raccoon during the day, it’s probably rabid. I frown at the overgrown rodent. Ledger would know if his pet was rabid, wouldn’t he?
She climbs up onto the deck and scampers over, standing on her hind legs and reaching out with her palms up in a clear request for food. My heart melts and I grunt in an attempt to hold on to my irritation rather than let myself get pulled in by such a blatant act of adorable manipulation. She chitters at me and opens and closes her tiny fingers.
“If chocolate is toxic to dogs, I probably shouldn’t risk feeding it to you either.” In spite of my protest, I pick up one of the slices of melon that’s only half covered in chocolate and bite into it. I check the half that’s left to make sure I didn’t miss any of the chocolate, then hand it to the little trash panda.
She chirps and sits down in the upright position to start eating it. I pick up my coffee mug and take a sip while I watch her with curiosity. I guess she is pretty cute. Ledger said she was contraband; I wonder where he got her. I pop one of the chocolate covered orange slices into my mouth and chew it slowly, considering something I hadn’t before.
Could Ledger be my secret admirer?
As soon as the thought occurs to me, I bark out a laugh so unexpected that I end up spewing half-chewed orange slice all over the deck. I cough and wipe my hand over my mouth. No way could it be Ledger. First of all, he’s way too direct for that. Besides, in what universe would a hot, fun, confident guy like him have an actual crush on a grouchy old asshole like me? Sex is one thing, but there’s no way he has feelings for me.
“There you are.” His voice startles me out of my thoughts.
I look up to find Ledger standing on his own deck with his hands on his hips. He’s wearing the same white tank top he had on last night and a pair of athletic shorts. My lips twitch and he glances down at himself, then back to me.
“Missing my pecker already?” he teases.
I choke back another laugh and just shake my head.
“I hope she isn’t making a nuisance of herself.” He nods at TP, who’s busy picking up the pieces of soggy orange from around my feet and stuffing them into her mouth.
I shake my head again. “Just begging for food.”
“She’s shameless.”
I grunt in agreement and keep looking at the raccoon, because I’m not sure how I’m supposed to look at Ledger and not think about him naked. It’s been too damn long since I’ve done any of this and I’m pathetically out of practice. Not to mention, it’s been decades since I’ve had to remember how to play things cool and casual. I’m bound to come across as too needy or too distant with no chance for anything in between. I’ll be lucky if Ledger isn’t over this long before I finish fixing his living room.
“Hey, you hear that bird call, the rapid-fire one?” Ledger’s voice is closer, and I look up to find him standing on the steps to my deck with his hands in his pockets and a big smile lighting up his face. “It’s a goldfinch. If you listen it kind of sounds like they’re saying, ‘potato chip.’” He cocks his head and holds up a finger like a conductor. I hear the quick series of chirps he’s talking about and then he sing-songs in the same tone, “ Po-ta-to-chip .”
I snort and the wood creaks under his feet as he comes closer to snag a piece of fruit.
“Another present from your secret admirer?” he guesses.
I jerk my head up and look at him. How did he know that? It couldn’t really be him, could it? There’s no teasing in his expression though, just that same sweet, eager grin. I suppose it wouldn’t be that hard to guess. It’s not like anyone buys chocolate covered fruit for themselves.
“Mm-hmm,” I grunt, grabbing another piece of fruit to pop into my mouth.
He leans against the railing next to me, not quite touching me but close enough that I can feel the heat of his skin and smell the faint hint of soap, like he just got out of the shower. He helps himself to more fruit and chatters away, pointing out more bird calls to me with funny ways of describing each one, just like the potato chip call.
It’s not the peaceful, quiet morning I usually prefer, but I guess it’s not so bad either.
LEDGER
“It’s official, I’m obsessed,” I gush with a happy sigh as I cruise down the ATV trail with Jericho in the passenger seat.
“Was that… was that not official before?”
I chuckle and speed up a little more, taking the next curve a bit faster than I probably should. Jericho grips his seat dramatically.
“Maybe I should be the one driving until your bear-induced orgasm euphoria has passed,” he deadpans.
I roll my eyes and ease off the gas, but keep grinning like an idiot, replaying last night and the impromptu coffee hangout this morning. True, Griff didn’t actually invite me to share his fruit or help myself to his coffee and then spend an hour teaching him how to pick out all the neighborhood bird calls, but he was into it. I’m really good at reading these types of situations. Mostly.
“It was even better than I was imagining, Jer, I’m serious.” I sigh again and finally slow to a stop near the first small lake on our list. I jumped on volunteering to check the blue-green algae levels today rather than being stuck in the visitor center. I didn’t become a park ranger to be trapped inside all day. I am a free bird, I need to flyyyyyy.
“Alright, go ahead and rub the details in my sad, single face.” He grabs a jar out of his bag and hops off the ATV to go get a scoop of the lake water, while I scoff and pick up my clipboard to note the absence of any visible bloom on the surface of the water.
“I’m not giving you details, perv.”
Jericho recaps the jar, shakes the excess water off of his hands, then looks at me with both eyebrows raised.
“Since when are you shy? Last time you were in la-la land over some emotionally closed-off bear, you forced me to listen to every graphic detail about the hour-long rimming session you treated him to.”
I rub my jaw, getting a phantom ache at the reminder of that particular sexcapade, then shake my head. He’s right, I’m usually not so tight-lipped. Not like I go around telling strangers the details of my sex life or anything, but Jericho isn’t exactly a stranger. There’s a weirdly protective feeling in my gut this morning though, and it’s keeping me from spilling all the details about the way Griff trembled so eagerly for every touch and melted for me like he needed the attention more than he needed air. My chest aches and I bite back an impatient groan.
It’s a beautiful day and I get to spend it being paid to drive an ATV around this beautiful state park, but all I can think about is getting it over with so I can spend time with Griff again tonight.
“I know you think I’m just being silly, but I think there’s something special about Griff.”
Jericho labels the jar with the date and location and tucks it into his bag, then gives me a concerned look.
“What?” I already know what, but I’m going to force him to actually say it, not just look at me like I’m terminal or tragically misguided.
He shakes his head and puts a hand on my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.
“You’ve got a big heart, Ledgie. I love that about you.”
“Ugh, with the pity that sounds like you’re trying to be nice.” I groan and bat his hand away. “Griff could be different.”
Jericho chews on his bottom lip and I can tell he wants to say something. I can practically hear the gentle lecture brewing on his tongue.
‘ You have a type, Ledgie. You can’t just keep going for the same kind of guy over and over and expecting the next one to be different. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. ’
I’ve heard the lecture dozens of times, and I always say the same thing back.
‘ I’m not going to get hurt. I know what I’m getting myself into. I’ll be fine . ’
My heart twinges and we just stare at each other for a few seconds in a silent standoff until he offers me a halfhearted smile.
“I hope so, Ledgie.”