Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Reese
I t’s been ten days since the cat tree incident, ten days of dinners and movies and falling asleep tangled in Griffin’s arms. Ten days of him holding my hand like it’s second nature, kissing me like he’ll never get enough.
And ten days of nothing else.
“Okay,” Piper says, plopping onto my couch and propping her boot-clad foot on the coffee table. “How does it feel to finally have good and proper orgasms?”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “What?”
She narrows her eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. You and Griffin have been attached at the hip. Every free moment, it’s Griffin this, Griffin that.” Piper jostles me with her elbow. “Don’t tell me you two haven’t done anything.”
I set my mug down a little too hard. “We haven’t.”
Her jaw slackens. “Are you kidding me? You’re denying yourself orgasms with that man? Sis, you deserve it. And the word on the street?” She leans in conspiratorially. “He’s got very talented hands.”
Just what I need—confirmation that other women know exactly how skilled Griffin is.
I don’t care to imagine his past lovers, but unfortunately my brain insists on serving up a highlight reel, anyway.
Still, I can’t deny that the man is talented, from what little I’ve experienced.
He makes kissing feel like a slow-burn seduction, like he’s memorizing me one sigh at a time.
“Well,” I murmur, “he’s an incredible kisser.”
“That’s all?”
I avert my eyes, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “It’s not my choice. It’s his.”
With anyone else, I’d just assume he wasn’t interested. But this is Griffin—the man who used to trade sex for money. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t taken things further with me. Maybe he wants something different. Something special.
Or, my mind whispers sadistically, maybe he doesn’t really want you.
For a split second, Piper gives herself away—her shoulders stiffen, her eyes widen before she recovers with a too-bright smile. “That’s sweet. He’s taking his time.”
I narrow my gaze. “I know your tell. You think it’s weird too.”
She sighs, caught. “Honestly? Yeah. But maybe he’s just different with you. More careful.”
“Careful,” I echo, the word bitter in my mouth. “Honestly, what did I expect? It’s not like he enjoys sex anymore.”
“That’s a load of crap. Men love sex. It’s biology.”
Not helping, sis.
“You know what the most important thing is between Griffin and me? We’re friends. I’m blessed to have him in my life.”
Yes, I’m shifting into my normal persona—that of the unbothered, perpetually grateful, plaster-a-smile-on people pleaser.
Piper arches a brow. “And now you’re lying.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Yep. I totally am.”
Griffin says all the right things, treats me like a princess, and looks at me like I hung the stars. Mostly, I believe he’s genuine in his affections.
But then doubt creeps in. What if Griffin went rushing in, convinced he felt one way, and now realizes he doesn’t? I’ve done that before—thought I was falling for someone, only to figure out later they fit better in the friend box.
And he’s too good a man to just walk away. Too kind to cut me off clean. Maybe all these dinners, all these movie nights, are just his way of letting me down easy.
Or I could be reading into it and none of that is true.
Doesn’t matter, anyway. My heart’s already drowning in him.
Piper nudges my leg with her boot, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to make a move. Ever think of that? Just march over there and attack him. See what happens.”
I scoff at her suggestion, rolling my eyes. “Piper.”
“What? I’m serious. Some guys need a green light. And Griffin? I get the feeling he’d enjoy it. What’s the worst that can happen?”
Is she serious? Because I have a list of things that can occur if my pass-making abilities with Griffin go south.
A long list.
Like destroying the best friendship I’ve ever had. Or making every shared glance, every touch, every movie night suddenly feel like a mistake.
“Ugh,” I groan, pushing myself to standing. My fingers rake through my hair, tugging a little too hard as if that could quiet the noise in my head. “I have to get back to work before my brain eats itself alive.”
“Make the move, sis.”
“Easy for you to say.” I cross my arms tight over my chest, trying to hold in the restless energy buzzing under my skin.
“Go now. You’ll thank me later.”
“He’s not here. He left early to install a window for a customer.”
Piper shrugs, smug. “Then be waiting when he gets back. Make sure he has something delicious to come home to today.”
I’m still replaying Piper’s parting words in my head— make the move, sis —when her familiar hobble echoes down the hall. She rounds the corner, boot clunking against the tile, and plops herself against my office doorframe with a dramatic sigh.
“No, I haven’t gone and attacked Griffin yet,” I mutter before she can open her mouth.
Her brows lift. “Yeah, well, someone beat you to it.”
My pen stills over the chart. “What?”
“Some lunatic client chopped off a chunk of his hair. Dorian had to buzz the rest.”
My stomach twists. “Wait, a client ?”
Piper nods, her expression clouding. “Yeah. Psycho wanted a souvenir, I guess. Sadly, that’s the dark side of this kind of work. Some people think they own you.”
The words hit like a slap. Griffin told me he quit. Told me he wasn’t doing that anymore. And now this?
Shit. Is that why he hasn’t touched me? Because he’s still turning tricks on the side?
My thoughts flit to the woman at the bar and the way she laid her hands on him like she owned him. But she’s one of many. One of—God, don’t think about it—hundreds.
Enough, Reese. Worry about that later.
The doubt gnaws at my gut, ugly and familiar, but another emotion barrels over it. Concern for Griffin.
My heart and hormones need to chill until I ensure my friend is safe.
“Is he okay?”
Piper shrugs, running a finger along the wood grain of the door. “Would you be? I know it’s just hair, but damn, that man was known for it.”
One of my favorite parts of him, too. Along with… well, every other part.
I shove back from my desk, my chair bumping the wall. “Where is he?”
“I’m not sure he’s up for talking. He’s pretty upset about the entire thing.”
“Where is he, Piper?”
“His cabin. Chopping wood until he stops being so damn mad. At least that’s what Dorian said.”
Fury flashes through me, my protective instinct overriding doubt. “Bitch better watch out that I don’t find her, because no one touches someone I care about without their permission.”
“Go get him, tiger.”
I drop a peck on Piper’s cheek. “That’s what friends do, right? You promise you’ll tell me if anyone ever hurts you.”
“They’d be a fool to mess with me when you’re my sister.”
I skew my mouth to the side, trying my best to appear innocent. “I know a thousand ways to kill someone and make it look like an accident. Just saying.”
“Remind me never to cross you.”
“Don’t hurt anyone I care about and we’re good.” I brush past her and into the hallway.
“Reese,” Piper calls after me. “He’s lucky to have you.”
From a distance, I can’t tell any difference.
Oh, it’s obvious Griffin is mad—the force behind each swing of the ax, the guttural grunts tearing from his chest every time the blade splits wood, the way he pitches each piece across the yard like it insulted him personally. But physically? He’s unharmed.
Thank God she didn’t take the scissors to his face or body. The thought alone makes my stomach twist.
He glances up when I step on a twig, swiping a hand across his brow. “Guess you heard.”
His voice is clipped. Harsh. Nothing like the warmth he always uses with me.
“Why don’t you take a break?” I grab him a water from the cooler and nod toward the porch.
“Fine.” He buries the ax in a stump and adjusts his hat like it’s welded in place, tugging the brim low.
By the time he stomps up the stairs and drops into the rocking chair, I’ve followed, folding my arms. “Take it off.”
His eyes narrow. “Reese?—”
“Take. It. Off.”
He hesitates, flexing his fingers on the brim. Then, slowly, he peels it away.
My breath catches. The buzz cut leaves him raw, stripped bare. And God help me, still so heartbreakingly gorgeous.
“Huh.” Not the best reaction. Totally unintentional, but it slips out anyway.
Griffin shakes his head and jams the hat back on. “That is why I didn’t want to show you. That look right there.”
“Hey, give me a second. I wasn’t prepared to plot a psychopath’s demise today.”
“I know it’s just hair. That’s not the point.”
“It’s not. She had no right to touch you without permission. It doesn’t matter what role she thought you were playing.”
His eyes widen at my innuendo. “Reese, I was installing a window. That’s the sick part.”
He tips the bottle back, draining half of it in a few long swallows. Water slides down his throat, and my stomach knots.
God, it shouldn’t be possible to want someone more when I’m also furious on their behalf.
The curls used to give him this almost boyish charm, but with the buzz cut and the beard he’s let grow in over the last week?
He looks dangerous. Older. Hotter. And it only fuels the protective fire raging in my chest.
“It’s okay if you weren’t. If you’re still working as an escort… I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”
“When I told you I left that world, I meant it. I would never lie to you.”
I huff out a breath and plant my hands on my hips, my boot tapping the porch in a rapid beat. “Well, that makes it worse. Means I have to figure out a far more painful way for her to die.”
“All because of my hair? It’s that bad?”
“No, because she crossed the line. She hurt you. You are fucking gorgeous. You’ve got this bad boy thing going now—especially with the beard. Just saying.”
That does it. The grimace on his face cracks, and he chuckles. “Keep going. I need this ego boost right now.”
I take a slow step toward him, reaching for the hat and slipping it off again. This time he lets me.
“Sorry, cowboy, I’ll have to give you the abbreviated list or we’ll be here all day,” I murmur, sliding between his knees and brushing my palms gently over the bristle of his scalp.
His lashes lower as he releases a tremulous sigh and rests his head against my stomach.
“Here’s what I know. You’re the sweetest, kindest man I’ve ever met.
You fixed Chowder’s cat tree so his fluffy butt could perch in comfort.
You didn’t make a single comment about me needing to hit the gym when I tried on lingerie.
Instead, you made me feel pretty. You also happen to be the greatest kisser on the planet, but that’s secondary. ”
He looks up, his eyes bright in the morning light. “Pretty?” His voice drops, the syllables covered with a rough edge. “Baby, you’re perfect. Soft in all the right places.”
“Let’s see,” I continue, ignoring his compliment. “There are so many wonderful things about you?—”
But the words stall in my throat as Griffin lifts the hem of my shirt, baring skin, and presses a slow and reverent kiss to my stomach. Seems he isn’t interested in hearing anything more.
“So damn perfect,” he murmurs, as his hands clamp tight around my waist.
His lips drag across me, open-mouthed and wet. A stroke of his tongue, a gentle bite, and I bite back a whimper as my knees threaten to buckle. He lingers, his fingers hooking in the waistband of my jeans and tugging them lower, his mouth following with fervent kisses against the dip of my navel.
My fingers press into his shoulders, just enough to feel his muscles flex beneath the skin.
God. If he goes one inch further ? —
But he doesn’t. Instead, he seals his mouth against my skin and whispers something low and guttural. Words I don’t understand, but his voice is raw in a way I’ve never heard before and it rattles a barrage of emotions loose in me—fear, longing, confusion, all tangled together.
And I don’t know what to do with it.
My pulse hammers in my ears as a rush of heat floods through me, my body begging for what he’s refusing to give me.
God, I want him. But he’s hurting, and this moment isn’t about me—it’s about giving him something steady to cling to.
“You’re the most perfect woman,” he breathes. “How did I get so damn lucky?”
My throat tightens at his sweet sentiment. I press a shaky hand to his head, gently stroking his scalp. “I’m the lucky one, Griffin. You came into my life when I felt completely alone. And as long as I’m here, you’ll never be without someone. Never.”
His arms cinch tighter around my waist, a rough sound scraping from his chest. For a heartbeat, it feels like he’s holding on for more than comfort.
His arms cinch tighter around my waist, a rough sound scraping from his chest. “Careful, belleza,” he rasps, voice low and uneven. “You say things like that, and I’m not sure I can hold back.”
His words tie me in knots. Do I kiss him? Hold him? Console him? My body screams yes, my brain screams caution, and sarcasm swoops in like it always does—my default defense.
“Do you want to help me plot the bitch’s demise, or should I handle it on my own?”
He laughs, muffled against me, and blows a quick raspberry against my stomach that makes me squeal. The tension cracks just enough, and he tugs my shirt back down before resting his chin on my stomach to look up at me.
“I’ll leave you to it. Whatever you dream up will be worse than anything I could come up with.” His voice drops. “But I do have one favor.”
“Anything.”
For one wild second, my pulse quickens—half expecting him to toss me over his shoulder, carry me into the bedroom, and finally shatter this careful line we’re toeing.
Instead, he clears his throat, gaze steady. “Will you be there tonight? When my band plays?”
Oh. Right. Not that kind of favor. My heart dips as I force a smile. Back in the safe zone. The friend zone.
God, I hate it here.
And the worst part? I should be grateful. Most women would kill to be in my shoes. But I can’t stop wanting more.
I force that ungrateful thought away and nod. “Ah yes, fulfilling the fantasies of countless women with your soulful voice and devastating good looks.”
That earns me his low, unguarded laugh that scrapes like gravel. “Laying it on thick.”
“Not thick,” I whisper. “The truth.”
His eyes stay locked on mine. “I need to know you’re going to be there. I need to look out and see you tonight. I might have another special song planned for you.”
“If you want me there, I’ll be there.”
His grip locks on my hips. “I want you with me everywhere.”