Forget Knocking Nicely
Maisie
My stomach roiled as I pounded on Griff's door. And yes, I was pounding. I wasn't tapping. I wasn't knocking. No, I was whaling on the door like I was trying to knock it off its hinges.
The door was so flimsy that I actually stood a chance.
And hey, if the door held, but he still didn't answer, there was always my foot.
I was on the verge of giving the door an experimental kick when I heard Griff's voice calling from somewhere inside the apartment. "Oh, fuck off, will you?"
I froze. Fuck off? That ship had sailed – and set itself on fire. But I was a little surprised that he wouldn't open up so we could settle this in person. I cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered, "Open the damn door!"
He was silent for half a beat before calling back, "Maisie?"
My heart hiccupped, but my rage steamrolled right over it. "Great guess," I yelled, hoping the sarcasm carried. "Now open up, so you can say it face-to-face."
A moment later, the door flung open, and there stood Griff, dripping wet, clutching a white bath towel around his waist.
And of course, the jerkwad looked insanely good doing it. Yes, I meant standing there, nearly naked with pecs glistening and water droplets sliding down his six pack, heading southward toward the promised land.
My heart gave a dangerous little flutter that only served to piss me off. Bastard.
I put my hands on my hips. "So? Are you gonna say it?"
He frowned. "Say what?"
I gave a defiant jerk of my chin. "Go ahead. Tell me to fuck off."
He winced. "Shit. Sorry, Maisie." He gave me a sheepish smile. "I thought you were Ryder."
When I replied with only a scoff, he added, "He left maybe ten minutes ago. I figured he'd forgot something." Adjusting the towel, Griff stepped aside before asking with obvious reluctance, "So…you wanna come in?"
I gave him a thin smile. "You don't look so welcoming."
"No kidding," he said with a half-hearted chuckle.
I was in no mood to laugh. "Because…?"
"Because the place is a dump."
Yes. It was. And this, too, explained a lot. Nobody in their right mind would want to stay here, so of course, he'd prefer to camp in my shop.
Sure, I'd known this already. But a new question, dark and sinister, skittered across my brain. Had that been his plan all along?
To find a better place to crash?
If my funny-bone weren't broken, I might've laughed.
He should've taken up with Sandy Grabowski. She ran a bed & breakfast with percale sheets and killer omelets. Then again, Sandy was no fool. Unlike me, she had a working bullshit detector and would've seen straight through Griff's act.
But me?
Not so much.
Damn it. All throughout college, Delaney had told me I was too nice, too trusting, and too eager to believe the best of people. She had never liked Devon, not even at the start.
She'd called him a rat.
In the end, she'd been proven right.
And me? I'd been proven a fool.
Even worse, I hadn't wised up at all, not even with Griff, a guy whose story had never quite added up.
Something hard squeezed in my chest as I considered where all of us stood now. Devon was sticking with Sierra. Delaney and I weren't even friends. And even Tessa, who'd helped fill the empty spot left by her sister, had been MIA for the past couple of days.
I'd been planning to apologize – and ask her about letting Griff crash at the house. But now, at the mere thought of it, my mouth thinned with disgust. No need for that anymore – and I didn't mean the apology.
Griff wouldn't be crashing anywhere near me – or near Tessa, if I could help it.
Once again, I was on my own – really, truly alone.
My relationship with Griff – if you could even call it that – was spiraling faster than a truck in a tornado.
And yet, you'd never know it, looking at his face. In spite of my deliberate rudeness, he didn't look angry. Mostly, he looked concerned, like I was sporting one heck of a head-wound and didn't even know it.
In a surprisingly tender voice, he said, "Babe? Everything okay?"
Now that was funny. It was the same thing he'd said back in the beginning, the very first time he'd pretended to be my boyfriend. Back then, I'd thought the show was for Devon and Sierra.
Now I knew better. His whole performance – the sweet gestures, the charm, the slow-burn looks – none of it had been real.
All along, the show had been for me – and not in the way I'd hoped.
I tried to laugh, but it came out all wrong, somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
From the open doorway, Griff moved forward as if to gather me in his arms. I scrambled back, only to realize I'd run out of landing. Almost before I knew it, the ground was gone beneath my feet.
The only thing that stopped me from tumbling backward down those rickety stairs was Griff's strong arms, pulling me back to safety.
His chest was bare, and his skin was warm. The towel had fallen to God knows where, leaving him naked, holding me tight against him while I tried not to cry.
He ignored the loss of his towel, like it didn't even matter, which somehow made everything worse.
With nothing except my own clothes between us, it would've been oh-so easy to forget what I'd just learned.
And heaven help me, part of me wanted to forget, to live out the next nine days in blissful oblivion until Griff returned to his regular life – a life that was so far out of my reach, it might as well be on the moon.
But that wasn't me . I had never been good at pretending, and even if I were, there were some things even I couldn't ignore.
And yet, idiot that I was, I was still hanging on like he was the only lifeline in a storm. For a long moment, I just stood there, soaking up the feel of him, like a blissful dreamer refusing to wake up.
But this was no dream.
It was a nightmare.
Because even now, I wanted him – or rather I wanted the guy I'd thought he was. There was only one problem.
That guy?
He didn't exist.
With a little groan, I pushed him away. Desperately, I scanned the grubby floorboards and spotted the wayward towel near my feet. I scooped it up and tossed it vaguely in his direction before saying, "We need to talk."