Chapter 10 Penny #3
Griffin isn’t ready to hear any of that. In fact, I think it might piss him off to know that Dominic has told me, Mom, and Dad any of his personal trauma and damage. Instead, I grin and tell him something else entirely true. “He said you’re his favorite asshole.”
A sprinkle of fondness, tempered with a touch of crude. Perfect.
The gruff laugh that rumbles Griffin’s chest feels like a win, and after today, I could really use one. “Other than himself, you mean,” he corrects.
I nod, laughing my own agreement about my arrogant bastard of a brother whom we both love dearly.
We fall into comfortable silence for the rest of the ride back to my apartment, and when the driver pulls over to the curb, Griffin gets out and holds his hand out to help me from the car.
It feels like a trick, so I intentionally ignore it and get out on my own, without tripping and everything. I should get an award.
“Thanks for going with me today.” Mom would be proud of my manners.
I might not be Griffin’s biggest fan, nor he mine, but I do recognize that it was nice of him to escort me to the sketchy stores.
I would’ve gone, with or without him—I wasn’t lying about that—but it was definitely quicker and safer with him at my side.
“You’re welcome.”
I expect him to casually wave before hopping back in the car to go home, but instead he walks toward the door of my building. I freeze, staring at his back. His very wide, muscled back. “What are you doing?”
Annoyingly never missing a step, he glances over his shoulder. “Walking you to your door.”
“Why?” I ask, more confused about that than almost anything else today.
Griffin should be eager to get rid of me, especially after a day of dealing with my roller coaster of emotions, the highs of my hopes and the lows of my letdowns over and over again, especially when they’re mixed with my rambling and tangents, a.k.a.
side quests, as I like to consider them.
“Just get inside,” he says with a heavy sigh.
Fine, I guess we’re doing this. For no good reason.
Because it’s definitely not a date, where the guy walks you to your front door.
And we’re not friends who take care of each other.
He probably just wants to make sure I don’t trip walking up the stairs or something.
Dom would kill him if I got hurt mere seconds after he released me into the wild. That’s got to be it.
At my door, he pauses, and I search his face, trying to figure out what is going on inside that thick skull of his. Something, obviously, but his expression is inscrutable.
If this were a date, I might think he was trying to decide whether to try for a kiss since he’s standing nearly toe to toe with me and his brown eyes are locked on mine. But if eyes are the windows to the soul, Griffin’s are so shuttered that I couldn’t tell you if his soul is even in there.
And he definitely has less than zero interest in kissing me. Not that I want that either!
Maybe there’s something on my face? Or pepper in my teeth?
Surely not! The food truck lunch we had was hours ago, and he would’ve told me before now, right?
I laugh internally at my own naivete because, no, Griffin wouldn’t have.
He would’ve let me walk around with pepper, broccoli, and whole grains of rice in my teeth, smiling at everyone I passed, and never saying a word, laughing at me the entire time.
I lick my lips unconsciously, letting my tongue quickly slick over my teeth, but find no stray bits of lunch. I swear he tracks the movement, and I frown, preparing for one of his textbook-standard, jabbing insults.
“I’m sorry.”
He says it so quietly that I might’ve imagined it, then quickly whirls on his heel, striding down the hall.
Sorry for what? That we didn’t find the ring? It was a long shot. I’d hoped, really hoped, we would, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t likely. Still, I don’t call out that it’s okay as he rounds the corner. Instead, I watch his butt as he disappears.
I don’t like him. And that was weird. But a nice ass is a nice ass, and Griffin has that gyat-damn posterior.
That I’m totally not into since I like .
. . um, short, skinny, nerdy guys who talk a lot and are in touch with their emotions.
Yep, that’s totally my type and I’m not overcompensating at all.
Inside, Talia is sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn at her side and a glass of wine in her hand. “Hey! Where’ve you been?” Given her Snoopy pajamas and freshly washed curls, she’s been holding down the couch for a bit, and hasn’t been outside today at all.
“It’s a long story, which I’ll share in one second, but first—”
I head over to the window and peek out, looking at the street in front of my building.
I’m not sure what little voice in my head told me to do it, but I’m glad I do, because when Griffin appears, he looks .
. . mad? I’m not sure that’s exactly it, but his eyes are narrowed, his jaw is set, and his shoulders are down and back like he’s trying to appear intimidating.
It’s the game face I’ve seen hundreds of times.
He scans up and down the street in both directions for several seconds.
“What’re we looking at?” Talia says from right beside me. “Oh! Griffin,” she says casually. And then I feel her eyes land on me heavily and she screeches, “OhmyGod! Griffin! Girl, you need to start talking.”
As though she’s got an ear pressed to the wall and was just waiting for us to make a peep, Mrs. Rosenthal bangs three times.
I ignore them both in favor of continuing to look out the window.
“It’s not like that.” But something about the way he’s searching the street has my Spidey senses tingling.
Like he’s looking for something, or someone.
It hits me with a duh. “He’s looking for Dom, probably scared my brother would murder him in broad daylight, no questions asked, if he saw us out together. ”
Talia gasps. Not about the murder, because she’s seen Dom in action firsthand, but about Griffin and I being out together.
“No, not like that,” I rush to explain. “I need a glass of wine too. And Thin Mints.”
“On it,” she replies, high-kneeing it to the freezer. “Are we celebrating? Or commiserating?”
“Both.”
“I feel like I’ve missed an entire season of my favorite show, and I was only gone for three days,” Talia whines, throwing her head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling after I’ve told her everything from Carolynn’s call to striking out on recovering the stolen ring.
She wasn’t really gone gone. She’s a radiology tech at one of the local hospitals and works three twelve-hour shifts each week.
It’s a great way to make full-time money, and gives her plenty of time off if she doesn’t take extra shifts.
Unfortunately, she’s still too new to get the primo schedule, so her assignments are usually spaced out and then she’s sleeping at odd hours.
Mix that with my work-when-I-want jewelry business plus my practice and game schedule, and we sometimes go entire weeks without seeing each other in person, even though we’re coming and going from the same apartment.
“Four. It’s Thursday,” I correct.
Talia’s eyes pop as they jerk to mine. “It is not.”
Nodding, I say, “Yes, it is. We had a single against the Beavers, then the whole ring situation happened, and there are games tomorrow and Saturday. Hawks versus Vortex.”
The games are how I keep track of time, and for some reason, the logic works on Talia, too, though she has no interest in hockey despite living with me and our apartment being constantly invaded by two professional hockey players.
Actually, it’s probably a good thing she doesn’t give a rat’s ass about it, because if she flirted with Dom or Griffin when they came over, we would’ve never made it as roommates.
Or best friends. And that would be a tragedy since she’s one of the best human beings to ever grace the planet as far as I’m concerned.
“It’s Thursday,” she says flatly. “Oh my God, I work Sunday. I have just over forty-eight hours before going back. I can feel the minutes slipping through my fingers.” She groans dramatically and virtually melts into the cushions, her arms and legs askew and her head lolled over to the side.
She looks on the edge of dying right on the green sofa we nearly came to blows over buying in the middle of IKEA.
Not because we didn’t both love it, but because it was over our budget and she wanted to pay the extra with her sign-on bonus from the hospital, which I vehemently disagreed with.
In the end, we halved it, and she’s currently lying on what I consider to be my half.
Talia’s reluctance about going to work is unusual. She loves her job. Like she’s one of the rare people who truly, deeply loves what she does.
“What’s wrong?”
She exhales heavily. “Nothing.”
Something is obviously wrong, and while she might not want to share, she needs to.
It’s for her own good. But I don’t pry, at least not verbally.
Instead, I hold up a Thin Mint and lift an eyebrow, the offer silent but there.
It’s a surefire winner. I just have to patiently wait for her to give in to the chocolatey bribe and veiled threat.
“Bitch,” she mutters with less than zero heat, surrendering easily as she snatches the cookie and shoves it in her mouth. “We had a run of really hard cases. Motor vehicle accident with a van full of kids that all needed X-rays. Crying kids gut me.”
She closes her eyes, seeing the kids in her mind. I’m sure she helped them and was as gentle and caring as possible, but it makes sense that she’d want a break before going back.
“They all okay?”
Eyes still closed, she nods. “Nothing permanent. A surgery here and a cast there. They were just so scared without their parents.” She shakes her head hard like she’s rattling the memories out. “Let’s talk more about Griffin.”
“Or the ring debacle,” I suggest, stating the obvious priority. “What am I going to do?”
But Talia’s unswayed by my focus on the real problem at hand. “You really think he eats ice cream at a cat-themed shop all the time?”
Of everything I told her, that’s what she’s stuck on? Seriously? “Apparently. The lady in there knew him by name.”
“It seems so cute and sweet, especially since he’s all growly and grunty. Me, hockey man. You, go away.”
It’s a fair impression of Griffin’s usual gruff, short rudeness, and usually, I’d laugh.
But it feels wrong to do that after he was kind and helpful.
I mean, he also did kinda get my ring stolen, but he’s tried several ways to make up for that and fix it, and I’m not as mad at him.
The situation? Abso-freaking-lutely. But Griffin? Not as much.
Though that might be the Thin Mints talking.
“You’re smiling,” Talia whispers, leaning my way with a grin of her own.
Immediately, my lips fall. “No, I’m not.” That lady who protested too much? Yeah, that’s me, doth protesting.
“Mm-hmm.” She takes a heavy drink of her wine, her brows arched high on her forehead, not believing me a bit.
Later, after we’ve gone through an entire box of cookies, a bowl of popcorn, and DoorDashed salads—because balance is important—I check my phone.
I half expect Griffin to have texted me, but that’d be weird.
Or for Dom to have magically divined that something was amiss in his universe today because Griffin and I were together without him. But he hasn’t texted either.
What is in my email inbox though is an inquiry from my PLDesigns website.
You bought a ring at Yesteryear Antiques yesterday. I am very interested in purchasing it from you. Contact me as soon as possible.
Of freaking course. I would already have a buyer for a ring I no longer have in my possession. And not just a ring but The Ring. I swear the universe must be laughing its ass off at me this week. What’s next . . . an audit? Immaculate conception? Hit by a bus on the way to the arena?
“Look at this.” I hold my phone up to Talia so she can read the message.
“How do they know you bought a ring?”
“Carolynn has a stack of my business cards. She hands them out to people looking to sell jewelry or have pieces redone.” I roll my head around, trying to get in the right headspace to respond, because I can’t exactly tell someone interested in my designs, Hey, sorry, there was an oopsie and I lost that super-duper valuable piece of jewelry, but don’t worry, you can totally trust me with your expensive diamonds.
That does not set the proper tone for the business I run, or the businesswoman I am, despite current circumstances to the contrary.
I type out . . .
Hello. Thank you for your inquiry. Unfortunately, that piece is no longer available. I have other designs on my website available for immediate purchase or would be happy to discuss a custom piece if you’d prefer. Have a great day. Sincerely, Penny Lee
I show the message to Talia, who nods. “That’s some lipstick on a pig of this suck-tuation.”
That it is.
I hit send and only cry a little at the loss of what would’ve been the sale of the year for me.