18. Griffin
Chapter 18
Griffin
I Regret My Choices
M orning came quickly, with an empty bed.
I flopped onto my belly, stretching out to find the sheets cool. She’d been up for awhile.
Wouldn’t shock me if she was actually gone at this point. I thought maybe last night we’d had found a way to make this work beyond just an occasional bounce, but maybe I’d been wrong.
The clang of a pot and a soft curse dented my pathetic moment.
I sat up and noticed her jeans still on the bench at the bottom of my bed. I slid out of bed and grabbed a pair of sweats from my wardrobe along with socks and a T-shirt. It was noticeably cooler this morning.
I was learning spring in the northeast meant winter in the morning and summer in the afternoon some days.
I left my room to find Lennon in my kitchen. She’d filched more of my clothes. This time, a hoodie that went to her knees. Those long legs of hers made my mouth water even more than the scent of fresh coffee.
She turned around, her hair in a high tail and no makeup, leaving her looking far too young for me. “Hey. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”
I raked my hands through my hair. “I was more worried you left.”
She tucked her hands into the front pocket. “I wouldn’t.”
I just arched a brow at her as I crossed the living room to the stairs.
“Okay, so maybe I would have. Not now.”
That was a good step, but I decided to keep it to myself. Instead, I climbed the three stairs and wrapped my arms around her, lacing my fingers at the small of her back. “I like seeing you in my place.”
Flustered, she tried to wiggle free. “I only make one thing well. Don’t make me burn it.”
I let her go and peered over her shoulder at the stove. “Are you making frittatas?”
“Sure am.” She did a quick stir of the egg mixture with ham and tomatoes. Then she bumped me back and slid the cast iron pan into the oven.
“Very domestic. I like it.”
“Don’t get excited. You cooked for me—twice.”
“Laverne’s stew doesn’t count.”
“It’s nice. Making meals for myself sucks.” She cleared her throat and went to the coffee maker and poured a hefty mug of coffee for each of us. She came back and handed one to me. “You’re not going to make it weird, are you?”
“I’ll attempt to keep myself in check.” I hooked my free arm around her and lifted her against me to kiss her lightly. “Smells great. There’s creamer in the fridge, if you want.”
“You like the good stuff.”
“Sometimes. Mostly black, but sometimes I want something sweet.” I let her go and went to the fridge and put a dollop of the Snickers creamer in mine and hers.
“Fifteen minutes for the frittata.”
“Good. We can make out for ten.”
“Hey, now.” She laughed as she darted down the stairs to the record player. “What are you feeling today?”
“Blues.”
She touched each edge of the record as she perused them. “Your organization skills are odd.”
“Because there isn’t one. I gave up on it.” I took my mug with me as I followed her down. “I’m not the color coding or spreadsheet type.”
“How about alphabetizing?”
“Nope.”
She laughed. “Easter hunt, it is. Oh, this is a good one.” She flashed the limited press Miles Davis and set it on the turntable.
The soulful trumpet filled the room.
She picked up her mug and took a sip, her dark eyes on mine. “Do I get my Jeep back someday?”
“Today. Might even be out there now. Tommy said he’d drop it first thing.”
She set her mug on the end table and headed for the door. She peeked out, then closed it with a wrinkled nose. “Not yet.”
“Let me check my phone.” I went into my bedroom and returned with it, scrolling for any messages. “Said he’ll be here before noon. Found something wrong with your axel.”
“What? My Jeep is in perfect shape.”
“I’m not the mechanic. I appreciate cars and motorcycles, but I know nada about them.”
“Sure he’s not hosing you?”
“No. But he’s Justin’s friend, so I doubt it.”
She blew raspberries at me before returning to the kitchen to take out our breakfast. I set the table, finding a carafe in my cabinet for some orange pineapple juice I had on hand, and the always important hot sauces.
“I didn’t even know I had the ingredients in my fridge.”
“I’ve learned to make do with what’s on hand.” She brought the frittata out on a plate, and we sat down to eat.
“Justin and Beck are taking today off for the renovations. We can head out and do something if you want.” I cut into the fluffy quiche-like breakfast and hummed out an appreciative sound at the taste, then added a bit of hot sauce. “Really good. Thanks.”
“Like what?” She added her own—generously enough to give me heartburn for her—and forked up her own bite. “And I need clothes.”
“Think we can manage that. Maybe we will head over to Crescent Cove. Looks like we might be getting a pretty day.” I glanced out at the big window to see blue skies and very little clouds.
“Don’t think I’ve ever been there.”
“You’ve been here for how long? This is your third season.”
She shrugged. “I’m not exactly the exploring type.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to change that.” I picked up a small glass of juice and held it out.
She rolled her eyes, but she clinked my glass with hers. “I have to be at the taproom in a few hours.”
“I’ll get you there.”
We finished eating, got cleaned up, and got dressed before heading out to her place.
This time, I got to come up to her apartment. It was far prettier inside than the boxy outer shell. She had a corner unit away from people.
Inside, it was cozier than I was expecting. Deep green walls and a few plants, along with framed prints and a funky painting dominated one wall.
“I’m just going to take a quick shower.”
“Grab your work stuff in case we get held up.”
She nodded, then she disappeared down the hall.
I wandered around her space, finding out what her style was. Interests and art told a lot about a person. She was a record person like me. Smaller collection, but eclectic as hell. She had a handful of books that looked well loved and re-read. Stephen King, a few Toni Morrison, and tucked in the back was even a dogeared paperback by Kerouac.
Not surprisingly, it was On the Road .
I flipped through and read a little before setting it back where it was.
My pocket buzzed and I found another message from Tommy. I wrote back to him and asked him to drop the Jeep at the taproom instead of my place.
As I sent it off, I turned to find her in the hallway. Her hair was down, and the quick punch of awareness hit me like a sock full of nickels. “Damn.”
She grinned. “I don’t get to dress like a girl too often. Found this in the back of my closet.”
“Works for me.” I crossed to her, my gaze zeroed in on the deep scoop of the front of the dress. It was one of those dresses that put a man on his ass. But because it was Lennon, it was no sweet floral sundress.
No, this was a deep violet that was nearly black. It swung around her thighs and wasn’t form-fitting, but it still made me want to find out what was under it.
She had a little wrist thing that I supposed was her version of a purse and an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.
“How the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off you?”
She grinned up at me. “I mean, if you want to actually leave, you probably should. I do have a very comfortable bed. Not quite as big as yours.”
“Don’t tempt me.” I trailed my fingers along the scoop of her dress then to the half dozen necklaces that emphasized her exceptional tits. The shamrock was back, but the rest was a mix of chains in varying sizes with a tiny cross nearly lost in the tangle of gold. “You’re gorgeous.” I lowered my mouth to hers, the kiss soft and lingering.
“Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”
“With my busted nose.”
She lifted a finger to trace the crooked line of it. “Adds character.” She backed away from me. “Now let’s get out of here.”
“I regret my choices.”
She threw a grin over her shoulder. “Good. If you’re making me go outside, then you should suffer a little.” The swish of her dress showed off that absolutely killer ass and the curve of her thighs. She wore strappy little sandals that showed off the green of her toenails.
I was willing to suffer and then some. I followed her out the door and took her bag from her as we got into the hall.
I could see she wanted to object, but she let me keep it. I had a feeling she didn’t allow many people to help her in any way. She was practically the poster child for an independent woman.
Which made me want to spoil her all the more.
The trip into Crescent Cove was an easy one. The sun was shining, and we rolled the windows down.
“My Jeep is made for these days.”
I laughed. “Well, then next trip out is in yours. Tommy texted me.”
She glanced over at me, her hair blowing around her. “Yeah?”
“I told him to drop your Jeep at the taproom so you’re finally free of me tonight.”
“Thank God.”
“Thanks,” I said wryly.
She caught her flying hair and twisted it around one shoulder. “I don’t like relying on people.”
“I’m shocked.”
She wrinkled her nose at me, then she reached over and turned up the music. It was a summery pop song that suited the sunny day. The tension that was usually between us was absent and I relaxed and stretched my arm along the benchseat to toy with her hair as we flew down the winding roads of Turnbull into the more picturesque ones of Crescent Cove.
Since we were coming from the other side of Crescent Cove, I stopped at Brewed Awakening and we got sandwiches, and a special fruity lemonade slush in honor of the first sixty-degree day in a damn long time before crawling along Main Street to the lake.
There was a lot of foot traffic at the park, and I skipped that to go out near the beachy parts of Crescent Lake. I parked out past the food trucks—which I’d remember for another day—to a stretch of beach that wasn’t congested with people. There was a walkway that meandered along with a great view of the water.
“So, we just walk?” she asked as she jumped down before I could come around and open the door for her.
“Have you ever been on a date?” I asked, grabbing the bag with our food, as well as my cup.
She met me at the front of the truck. “Of course I have.”
“What’s your idea of a date?”
“I don’t know. Pool and a beer? A movie?”
“That sounds more like a question than knowing, Lenny.” I bumped her hip with mine, then I slung my arm around her shoulders. “We talk, get to know each other, make out on the beach.”
“Where’s the blanket for that?”
“Dammit.” I grinned down at her. “Got me there.”
“Well, I’m not getting sand in my underwear, so you’re shit out of luck there.”
I dropped my arm from her shoulders and took her hand, lacing our fingers. “I’ll settle for a walk with a pretty girl I want to get to know.”
“There’s not much to know.”
“Where was your favorite job?”
“Where?” She glanced at me.
“I know bartending is pretty much the job, but there had to be somewhere that made you want to stick around for a while.”
“Miami,” she said quietly. “The water and the nightlife there is exactly what I’d pictured when I started training to do flair. I could bartend anywhere, but not everywhere was suited for showing off. Some just wanted a hot chick on the stick, so to speak.”
“I mean, I enjoy a hot woman on my stick—especially you.”
“Har-har.” She stared out on the water. “I spent plenty of time making tips on my looks when I was young. I was more knowledgeable about the art of drinks than most, thanks to my mom.”
“It is an art, just like music.”
She gave me a quick and brilliant smile. “It is. Plenty don’t see that, but I didn’t mind. I was more than happy to prove myself and made a name for myself. I bounced around a few bars in Miami, but I always stayed near the water.” She brushed against me as we strolled the path around the curve to where a lookout area with tables was set-up.
We paused at the half wall, both of us leaning against the sandy-toned stone. She propped herself on her forearms and I did the same as we looked out on the calm lake. “It’s a different kind of water than something like this. The ocean has a different vibe. Especially in Miami. People want to be seen and show off and show out all the time.”
“And that’s you with the flair stuff.” I glanced over at her, away from the water and noticed she was finally relaxed. She always seemed ready to go at a moment’s notice. Or in work mode.
She nodded. “Showing off brings tips and gets me where I want to go.”
“And where’s that?” I set the bag on the wall beside us and turned to her.
“My own place.” She didn’t look away from the water, but she licked her lips. “Which is why I didn’t want to get locked up with you.”
“It doesn’t have to be a lock.”
She gave me a wry smile. “You know what I mean. I have to make a decision before the summer.”
I frowned. “About what?”
“I’ve been working my ass off for my own bar for ten years. An angel investor who believes in what I do is willing to put up half the collateral for a place in Miami.”
“Oh.” Unsure what to say to that, I blew out a breath. “That’s awesome.”
“It is. And it’s everything I’ve worked for.”
I heard a but . It laced each word and I almost mentioned it, but the tension started to build in her shoulders. “And here I am being one more complication?”
“Kind of. But you’re not the only one.”
“I heard a but in there.”
She huffed out a laugh and took a drink from her slushy lemonade. “I appreciate the restraint on calling it out. I don’t have a long time to sit on the property we found.” She finished off the drink and flicked off the plastic top to get the strawberries at the bottom. She stabbed one with her straw and popped it in her mouth. “So that’s me. Take or leave me.”
I took the cup from her and pulled her closer. “You think that’s going to scare me off?”
She rested her hands on my chest. “Maybe. If you have it in your hard head that this is more than just fun, you should know that.”
“What makes you think I couldn’t come to Miami with you if things...progress.”
She stiffened. “But you’re here to get to know your brother.”
“And because this place feels like home, right?”
She shrugged. “So, why get wrapped up in something more, then?”
“Because I lived a long time with wondering if I’d ever belong again. When the band first formed, I thought it was exactly what I’d been looking for, and instead, it turned out I’m not cut out for toxic triangles.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “So, really was the Fleetwood Mac thing, huh?”
I laughed. “Not an overstatement. While they were bed hopping and finding ways to hurt each other, I had to clean up the mess. It showed me exactly what I don’t want. Which is why I’m not going to hold back when it comes to telling someone what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“Just you.” I lowered my mouth to hers. The zing of lemons with the sweetness of strawberry lingered on her tongue.
She dragged in a breath, but she relaxed against me, and we damn well made out at the lookout for a good long while.
And it was the best date I’d had in years.
After lunch, I drove her to the taproom. Instead of going in with her, I left her to her Saturday night prep.
After I left enough beard burn on her to piss her off, of course.
It was a damn good day.