Chapter 18 Zero Fox Given
ZERO FOX GIVEN
ARTEMIS
Iwoke up still wrapped in Gryff's arms, my face pressed against his chest, our legs tangled together like we'd been trying to merge into one person while we slept.
For a moment, I let myself have this—the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart under my ear, the way his hand had found its way into my hair even in sleep.
Then reality crashed in.
Vegas. The honeymoon suite. What we'd done. What he'd done. What he'd made me feel.
That's how it should always be. Someone who sees you, really sees you.
His words from last night echoed in my head, and I had to fight the urge to burrow deeper into his chest and pretend the morning hadn't come.
“You awake?” His voice was rough with sleep, and I felt it rumble through his chest.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moved. We lay there, both awake, both aware, neither willing to be the first to pull away. The weight of what had happened hung between us like a physical thing.
Finally, Gryff cleared his throat. “That was... Artie, I...” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and held me tighter for just a moment.
“The practice helped, right?”
Practice.
The word hit like cold water. Right. Practice. Trust exercises. Me learning to be comfortable with physical intimacy so I could date other people. That's all this was.
“Right,” I managed, finally pulling away. The loss of his warmth felt like losing a limb. “Super helpful practice.”
“Good. That's... good.”
We got ready in painful silence, both of us being way too careful not to accidentally touch, not to make eye contact for too long, not to acknowledge that something fundamental had shifted between us.
The car ride home was torture. Jules had claimed the front seat again, chattering about the wedding and Elvis and how Everett's face had looked when he saw Penelope.
Flynn and Tempest kept exchanging worried looks from the front seat to where Tempest was all the way in the back again.
And Gryff and I sat in the middle, each pressed to our own windows, the space between us feeling like the Grand Canyon or the Marina Trench.
Every time Jules said something about love or romance or feelings, Gryff tensed up. Every time I shifted, he seemed to stop breathing. We were so hyperaware of each other it was like the air between us was charged with painful electricity.
“You two are being weird,” Jules announced, turning around to study us. “Weirder than normal.”
“We're not being weird,” we said in unison, which was definitely weird.
“Right.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did something happen in Vegas?”
“No,” Gryff said too quickly.
“Nothing,” I agreed too forcefully.
“Because you know what they say about Vegas—“
“Jules,” Flynn warned from the driver's seat.
“I'm just saying, if something hypothetically happened—“
“Nothing happened,” Gryff said, and something about the firmness in his voice made my chest tight.
Right. Nothing happened. Just practice. Just my best friend giving me my first orgasm with another person while looking at me like I hung the stars in the sky. Nothing at all.
When we finally got home, Vincent and Holly were waiting by the door like furry little judgmental parents. Vincent immediately headbutted Gryff's shin while Holly grabbed my shoelace in her teeth and pulled, clearly punishing us for our abandonment.
“I should deal with them,” Gryff said, already scooping up Vincent under one arm and Holly under the other.
“Yeah, I should... unpack,” I said, even though I barely had anything to unpack.
We fled to opposite ends of the house like we were on fire.
And we stayed like that for a week. Everything between us was awkward and weird and horrible.
I went to practice and work and sucked at both. Gryff went to practice and played so bad in his game on Sunday that he got benched in the first quarter.
The next week went exactly the same.
And the next.
Moving to the UK was starting to look like a good idea.
Mid-week I was rotting in my bed when my phone buzzed.
TYSON
Hey, would love to reschedule for tonight if you're free? That Fox Daws movie's still playing.
I stared at the text. Three weeks ago, I would have been excited. Tyson was perfect, handsome, sweet, genuinely interested in me. But now, after Vegas, after Gryff's hands and mouth and the way he'd made me feel...
Tonight works.
What was wrong with me? Why was I agreeing to this?
Because Gryff had made it very clear in Vegas it was just practice. Because I needed to prove to myself that I could do this. Because maybe if I went out with Tyson, I could stop thinking about my best friend's mouth between my thighs.
I found Gryff in the kitchen, making a protein shake and studiously not looking at me.
“Tyson wants to reschedule that movie date for tonight.”
His head whipped around and I prayed he was going to tell me not to go.
Stop me.
“Oh. Right. That's... cool.”
“I should probably get ready for my date,” I announced, watching his face carefully.
Tell me not to go.
“Cool. Have fun.” He didn't even look up from the blender.
Tell me that night meant something.
“I'm going to shower,” I said, louder than necessary. “For my date. With Tyson.”
Why couldn't I just tell him how I felt? Because it clearly didn't matter.
“Sounds good.”
I stood there for another moment, willing him to say something, anything. Willing myself to do the same. But he just kept adding ingredients to his shake like it required his complete concentration, and I just stood there.
“I'm going to wear that blue dress,” I tried.
His hand paused for just a second on the protein powder. “The one where you taught me rugby with beer cans?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. You look good in that dress.”
Tell me not to wear it for him. Tell me to stay home. Tell me you want me.
But he didn't. He just started the blender, the noise effectively ending the conversation.
An hour later, I stood in front of my mirror, blue dress on, trying to feel something other than wrong. The dress looked good. I looked good. But all I could think about was Gryff admitting he'd noticed my thighs in this dress years ago.
I walked back to the living room where Gryff was now on the couch, Vincent and Holly in his lap, all three of them looking morose.
“How do I look?”
He looked up, and for a moment, his face was completely unguarded. Raw want flashed in his eyes before he shuttered it away.
“Perfect,” he said quietly. “Tyson's a lucky guy.”
I don't want Tyson to be lucky. I want you to tell me not to go.
“Thanks.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, so many unsaid things hanging in the air between us. Then my phone buzzed.
TYSON
On my way. Be there in a minute.
“He's coming,” I said unnecessarily.
“Great.”
“Yeah. Great.”
Neither of us moved. We just kept looking at each other like we were trying to memorize something we were about to lose.
A car honked outside.
“That's him,” I said.
“Have fun,” Gryff said, his voice hollow.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I left him sitting there with our goats, all of us looking lost.
Tyson was perfect, as always. He opened my door, complimented my dress, had already bought our tickets online so we wouldn't have to wait. He held my hand as we walked into the theater, and it was warm and nice and completely wrong.
His hand was too big. Too smooth. He didn't rub his thumb over my knuckles the way Gryff did. He didn't interlock our fingers properly.
“You want popcorn?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He ordered a large with butter, not knowing I preferred it with that weird cheese powder Gryff always made fun of me for.
He got me a Coke, not the cherry one Gryff would have grabbed without asking.
He chose seats in the middle of the theater, not the back corner where Gryff and I always sat so we could whisper without bothering people.
Everything was fine. Nice. Polite.
Wrong.
The previews started, and all I could think about was movie nights with Gryff.
How he'd make up ridiculous alternate plots for every trailer.
How we'd share Twizzlers and argue about whether they counted as real licorice.
How his hand would always end up on my knee, not romantically, just naturally, like it belonged there.
Tyson's hand was on the armrest between us, clearly available for holding. I didn't take it.
The movie started, and if anyone could distract me from this disaster it should be, Fox Daws driving fast cars unnecessarily shirtless, and I tried to focus.
But Tyson was sitting so properly, watching so intently.
Gryff would have been making quiet comments about the plot holes by now.
Would have been stealing my popcorn even though he had his own.
Would have been existing in my space in that way that felt like breathing.
Then, about twenty minutes in, I heard a familiar snort-laugh from somewhere behind us.
No.
I turned slightly, and there, three rows back, was Jules in the world's worst disguise. Sunglasses indoors, a baseball cap that said “INCONSPICUOUS” (where did she even find that?), and what looked like a fake mustache that was coming unstuck on one side.
Next to her, slouched down like he was trying to disappear into his seat, was Gryff.
Our eyes met across the dark theater, and even in the flickering light from the screen, I could see everything written on his face. Longing. Regret. Something that looked a lot like love.
“Is that Gryff?” Tyson whispered, following my gaze.
“Unfortunately.”
“And his sister?”
“Apparently.”
Jules chose that moment to throw popcorn at the screen, shouting, “That's not how physics works!”
Several people shushed her. Gryff sank lower in his seat.
“Do you want to... move?” Tyson asked.
“No,” I said, because even having Gryff here being ridiculous was better than him not being here at all. “They'll get bored eventually.”
They did not get bored.