Chapter 7 Griffin #2
His face goes this soft, unreal red, dusting across those sharp, perfect cheekbones like it doesn’t quite belong on a real person.
It’s not the blotchy crimson of a drunk, sweaty college kid who’s had one too many cheap beers, and it’s definitely not the over-the-top flush of someone swooning.
It’s gentle and warm. The kind of pink you’d see on the skin of a Pink Lady apple.
It’s fucking beautiful.
It hits me square in the chest, sharp and unexpected. For half a second my brain just straight-up blue screens, stuck on one impossible fact that I did that. I made him blush.
“You noticed where I sit?” he asks softly like he’s trying not to sound weird about it. Like he’s deciding whether this is flattering or mildly alarming.
I shrug with my good shoulder. “I notice a lot of shit.”
And then I actually do notice something. Not just the passing, half-assed acknowledgment that, yeah, he’s pretty. I really look at him this time, let my eyes linger longer than they probably should.
He’s beautiful.
Like… really fucking beautiful.
Strong jaw, stupidly full lips, long lashes that should honestly be illegal on a man, and that carved-from-marble kind of face that looks like it belongs either in a museum or on some TV. He has the kind of face that feels unfair in an academic setting.
And I don’t know why I’m only clocking it now.
I mean, I’ve seen him before, obviously.
We have some of the same classes. Hughie’s brother, for fuck’s sake.
But now, maybe because he’s standing so close, or maybe because my emotional stability today is about on par with a wet paper towel, it all hits at once.
The way his arms flexed when he wrapped the tape around my shoulder.
The way his brows pull together when he concentrates.
Even the small scar above his left eyebrow.
How the hell did I never notice that?
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here shirtless on a training table, staring at him like a full-blown creep.
Awesome.
I clear my throat again, way more awkward than smooth. “Anyway. That class sucks. The professor talks like he’s actively trying to lull us into a coma.”
Jacob lets out a short laugh, barely more than a breath.
“It’s not that bad,” he says, glancing at the clock. “You just need to actually do the reading.”
I scoff. “Okay, nerd.”
That earns me the tiniest smile.
And fuck me if it doesn’t make him even more attractive.
What the hell is happening?
I’m still lowkey spiraling, quietly questioning my entire personality, sexual identity, and emotional intelligence, when the door swings open and in walks Hughie.
And if I thought I was confused?
The second Hugh sees us, me still sitting shirtless on the table, Jacob sitting by the desk, he freezes. Like full-body, deer-in-the-headlights energy.
His eyes dart from me to Jacob and then back again, and I swear to god, the guy pales. Like, visibly.
He opens his mouth to say something, then immediately shuts it again, looking like he’s mentally flipping through flashcards labeled WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.
I blink, trying to figure out what exactly he thinks he’s walked in on because, let me tell you, nothing even remotely suspect is happening here. Unless you count me realizing I apparently have a thing for smart, ripped trainers. Which I guess is kind of suspect.
Before either of us can say anything, Jacob speaks up in the calmest, most even voice. “It’s fine.”
That’s all he says.
And Hughie, like a goddamn golden retriever trained to detect emotional landmines, immediately relaxes.
He still looks about 80% tense, but he nods slowly, like that one statement answered a question only he had the context for.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting here wondering what the actual fuck is going on?
This entire interaction has been weird, and that’s fucking saying something when Hughie is involved.
The guy is great, don’t get me wrong. But he is super socially awkward and he hates people so you never know what you’ll get.
But this feels like new levels of weird.
I swing my legs off the table, grabbing the ice pack so it doesn’t slide off my shoulder. “Okay, someone want to clue me in? What the fuck was that?”
Hughie’s back to being stoic as shit, which is annoying, and Jacob’s already heading back to his laptop.
“Nothing,” Hughie says too quickly. “Just didn’t realize you were still here.”
“Still here?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been here ten minutes. What, you thought I ran off and joined a cult in the twenty minutes that have passed since practice ended?”
Jacob doesn’t even look up at my terrible joke. Hughie shrugs, clearly ready to bury whatever that moment was in the deepest pit of emotional repression he can find.
I scoff, sliding off the table fully. “Whatever. You two are fucking weird.”
Neither of them denies it.
And as I head toward the door, I catch Jacob’s eyes for half a second and for a moment, just a moment, I swear there's something there.
It looks a whole fuckton like guilt but that makes no sense.
Maybe I’ve just been hit in the head too many times. Honestly, I don’t fucking care anymore.