Chapter 23 #2
A laugh explodes out of me so suddenly that I snort. Griffin points across the room while bouncing his knee, still singing, and I jump in again.
I match his energy, letting myself be big and loud and ridiculous.
Griffin leaps up on the coffee table as DJ claps, absolutely delighted.
He exaggerates every hip thrust until my ribs hurt from laughing.
He jumps onto his knees. His prosthetic buckles and he almost goes down, but he recovers enough to keep from falling off the coffee table.
The song ends, and both of us collapse onto the couch. My face hurts from smiling. It’s been a while since I last felt a good type of pain.
“I didn’t think you’d know that song,” I say, running my hands down my face.
“I have sisters,” he tells me.
I say a silent thank you to his sisters for having such good taste in movies.
Griffin’s shoulder is pressed firmly against mine. I can smell his cologne—a light citrus smell that makes my brain go fuzzy.
“You smell good.” The words slip out, and my mind is still too foggy to decide if I should be embarrassed.
He huffs through his nose. “You smell like a distillery.”
“I’m sobering up.”
“Are you?”
“Marginally.”
He reaches for the bag of microwave popcorn Benji made on the coffee table, his arm brushing mine. I inch away from him, except the couch doesn’t have much room, so I basically press myself into the armrest like I’m trying to merge with the furniture.
“Relax,” he tells me. “I don’t bite. Unless requested.”
I focus so hard on the screen that the images blur, my fingers twisting into my sleeve. DJ said Griffin would flirt with a house plant if it leaned close enough, but could there be any actual intention behind it?
I try to focus on the movie, but Griffin’s shoulder keeps brushing against me when he reaches for more popcorn.
In the middle of Sandy, Griffin presses his shoulder against mine and drops his voice. “Is this what I’ve got to do to win you over? Learn some choreography and serenade you in the backyard while Bob barks his head off at me?”
I turn to glare at him, except we’re way closer than I thought we were, and my nose is practically an inch from his. “I’m trying to watch the movie.”
“You are not,” he says. “You’re trying very hard not to look at me.”
DJ’s eyes narrow as she appears to take in the microscopic distance between Griffin and me.
“Is he bothering you?” she asks, and there’s an edge to her voice that says she’s about two seconds from physically removing Griffin from the couch.
“DJ, mind your business,” Griffin says.
“We just got back from the bar, Griffin, what are you doing?” she hisses.
“I’m fine, really,” I say.
DJ glares at Griffin for another couple of seconds before turning back to the movie.
Griffin reaches his arm across the back of the couch.
It’s close enough that if I leaned back even half an inch, I’d make contact.
His leg is inches from mine, and there’s a tiny hole forming in the denim just above his knee.
I stare at that hole because looking at it is easier than acknowledging how my body is responding to him being so close to me.
His arm moves forward, and the gentle weight of it falls across the top of my shoulders. A burst of energy shoots through me.
I spring onto my feet, my legs wobbling underneath me as I grip the arm of the couch for balance. “I need some air.”
“You okay?” Griffin asks.
Nodding, I grab my jacket and half-stumble to the door, feeling everyone’s eyes on me but not caring enough to turn around.
Cold air slaps me in the face. I suck in a breath that tastes of pine trees and winter, gripping the porch railing to steady myself.
What’s wrong with me?
My body is still buzzing from that touch, which is ridiculous. It was an arm on my shoulder. I reacted like he’d stuck his hand down my pants.
I try to calm my racing heart. I know DJ said Griffin is a flirt, but she admitted he’s good for casual hookups. That’s probably what he wants from me. Probably feeling out if I’d be interested.
The pathetically touch-starved part of me wants to lean into him.
Wants to enjoy the weight of his arm resting on me, instead of running away.
It’s been years since someone so much as hugged me.
Actually hugged me, and not just Dylan stepping into the shower with me and running his hands over me like he wants to take something from me.
I’m so lonely.
And pathetic. So pathetic that I’m practically vibrating over a man sitting too close to me on a couch.
I don’t know why I’m making this complicated. Griffin probably would hook up with me. DJ said he’s decent in bed, so what’s my problem?
Because he’s not the one whose attention I want.
Admitting it makes me hang my head, but only for a second before I shake it. Hard.
I’m not going to pine over someone who begged his boss to get rid of me.
Nico must be going through hell right now with what’s happening to Donny, and I understand that, but I’m also done hoping he’ll change his mind about me.
I don’t need his permission to do my job.
I certainly don’t need him to like me to prove I belong here.
I barely talk to Nico during our training the next day, only saying the bare minimum to get through. I manage to keep my stage up long enough for Richard Fenton to get one sentence out, which is not exactly a conversation, but at least it’s a step in the right direction.
I’m reading in the library the next night when the alarm goes off in the house. But this time, I know what it means.