Chapter 23 Ellie
Ellie
Ishouldn’t have come up to his room. Or sat on his bed. Or laid my head on his shoulder. It’s so much, so fast, and now I’m in too deep to back out.
And it feels good. The control freak in me is hyperventilating into a paper bag, but the part of me I don’t ever listen to–the impulsive part–is screaming for more.
Boy, do I want more.
I don’t think anything has ever felt more intimate than this simple act of watching a movie, Griffin’s broad shoulder holding the weight of my head, and the weight of everything I spilled tonight.
My hands are neatly folded in my lap, a desperate attempt to keep from clawing and grasping for every bit of him I can get. The logical part of my brain is begging me to have some shred of self preservation–hello, this boy ripped your heart to shreds less than two years ago? Have you forgotten?
I haven’t forgotten, and that’s what has me so at war with myself.
Watching five minutes of some dumb disaster movie with Griffin feels easier and more natural than anything in the entire span of my relationship with Bennett.
I didn’t realize how hollow that relationship was until I let myself remember how full of life Griffin makes me feel.
That scares the ever-loving shit out of me.
Griffin shifts, scooting a bit lower so that my full weight is now leaning on him, and angling his shoulders so that I’m tucked into him instead of maintaining the distance (“distance”) I tried to put between us.
I know this is a disastrous idea, but I don’t stop him. In fact, I decide to dig the hole even deeper by shifting my body so I’m practically laying on him, bringing my hand up to his chest and smoothing his shirt out again.
He tenses under my touch, and for a moment I worry I’ve crossed some invisible line. But then his arm snakes up around my shoulders, his thumb swiping a gentle rhythm on my collarbone.
His breaths turn shallow, almost panicky. Or maybe those are mine. I can’t tell over the roaring of my blood in my ears. There couldn’t be a more minuscule amount of skin contact, but my whole body feels on fire.
I spent months hoping he would reach for my hand, living for the moments he would tuck my hair behind my ear or wrap me in a hug with the other boys. Now I’m here, being touched by Griffin Hart, and every voice inside my head is screaming that I should run.
I stopped paying attention to the movie a long time ago, so I turn my face up to his, alarmed at how close he is.
He leans back to look into my eyes, and my heart rate goes up in a way that would alarm any cardio doctor.
His grin reaches all the way to the warm depths of his irises, glittering like he’s looking at the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen.
No one has ever looked at me like this.
My eyes drop to his lips, just for a second, then back up to his eyes. There’s nothing playful or warm about the way he’s looking at me now–it’s all heat, anticipation, want. His gaze fixates on my mouth, and he doesn’t look back up at me.
He leans forward slowly, hesitantly, giving me the space to back away if I want to.
I don’t want to.
All at once the weight of everything we’ve been through hits me.
This moment feels like it’s been planned since the dawn of time–and maybe it has, despite all the pain and anger and heartbreak.
From the very first time I heard “Howdy there,” I think something deep inside me has known Griffin is inevitable.
I don’t know if I ever had a choice here.
I don’t think I’d choose different even if I did.
I lift my mouth up to his, closing the remaining gap between us.
His lips are soft, gentle, and he tastes like some sort of spice–maybe cinnamon?
I don’t have time to pinpoint it exactly, because the hand on my shoulder moves to the back of my neck, his other hand coming up to my jaw, tilting my head back and deepening the kiss.
My hand slides up to his collar, dragging him as close as I can get, the kiss turning from sweet to hungry, and the bed might go up in flames if this gets any hotter. In my entire relationship with Bennett, I never felt like this–like if he stopped kissing me the world would end.
Breaking apart, he presses his forehead to mine, our breathing both heavy and shaky at the same time. He pulls back to look at me again, tucking my hair behind my ear, a dazed look in his eyes.
“I’ve wanted to do that ever since I met you, darlin’,” he says in a hoarse whisper. “I’ve dreamt it a thousand times. None of those dreams even came close.” He presses another soft kiss on my mouth, and pulls me to his chest, holding me tightly like he’s worried I might float away.
He hums contentedly, his thumb rubbing circles on my arm as I lay on his chest, the wild thundering of his heart grounding me in the comfort of his arms.
As we lay intertwined in his bed, with the white noise of the movie playing in the background, the butterflies in my stomach drown in waves of anxiety.
My thoughts are reeling–we’ve crossed a line there’s no coming back from.
We’ve danced around this for years, and now that it’s finally happened, I’m panicking.
Maybe this is real. Maybe this is the right person at the right time. I want it so bad it hurts, but my mind is replaying the day I found out about the bet like a scene from a horror movie, and fear overrides happiness before I can stop it.
Clearing my throat, I try to pull away nonchalantly, fighting the urge to run out of his room, his house, this town, and never look back. I would rather deal with the what ifs than set myself up for that kind of hurt again.
Oh my God. What if this is another stupid bet?
“It’s getting kind of late,” I say tensely, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “I should probably go home.”
A small crease between his brow appears, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out what just happened.
“Are you okay, darlin’?”
“Yeah,” I say, sounding overly cheery. “Everything is totally fine, I’m just feeling tired.”
“Was that too much?” he asks, his frown deepening in concern. “Did I read that wrong? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable! It was great, really. Exactly what I needed.”
“What do you mean by that?”
I can hear the worry in his voice, but it doesn’t stop me from saying the absolute worst thing I can think of.
“It was a perfect distraction, thank you for helping me get my mind off of things.”
I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, my stomach dropping when I see the hurt flash across his face.
He recovers quickly, raking his hands through his hair and replacing his frown with a grin–one that doesn’t reach his eyes this time.
“Anytime, Eleanor,” he says casually, his voice still a little hoarse. “Glad I could help.”
He follows me as I rush downstairs to gather my things, in such a hurry that my shoes end up on the wrong feet.
I should take it back. I should apologize, tell him I didn’t mean it, plead with him to kiss me that way forever. I should tell him that I’ve felt lighter in the last few hours than I have in the last two years, that I don’t ever want to lose him again.
Instead, I wrench the door open and whisper, “Goodnight, Griffin.” I sneak a final look at him and immediately wish I hadn’t. His composure has slipped, a tortured look now spreading on his face as he begins to say something.
I close the door and half run to my car, before I can give in to the urge to turn around and beg him to say something that might make me change my mind.