CHAPTER ELEVEN
P IPER
It’s Sunday morning.
I wake up at a leisurely nine a.m. Well rested and ready for my delightful day off.
I stretch and yawn in the big comfy queen bed I’ve been calling my own here at Griffin’s house. Barely ten seconds pass before my brain gloms onto the one thing I spend every day trying to avoid thinking about: Kru .
I roll over and groan into my pillow. Just when I think I’m making progress— not meeting him at the fence, not sucking his face off on a nightly basis, not losing yet another item from my wardrobe to an overzealous rose bush—I remember the way I found him during his soft launch.
Not just the way his biceps strain at the sleeves of his black work tees or the adorable tousle of his hair, but his attention to his job.
Hyper-focused, in control of the chaos, moving around his kitchen like he’s been doing it for years.
Hot guys are a dime a dozen, but hot entrepreneurs? Hot chefs ? They have a little something extra. At least for me.
And now my fantasies of what Kru might sound like ordering me around the kitchen will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I smash my pillow over my face as though this will somehow quiet my thoughts. Spoiler alert, it doesn’t work. All I can see in my mind’s eye is Kru popping me up onto the edge of that prep table after hours, filling the space between my legs with his body, kissing me so hard my lips go numb.
I’m dying to see him again.
But since I know what’s best for me, I won’t let myself dip even a toe into those waters.
So what’s the smartest idea for my day off?
Distraction. I force myself out of bed and into the bathroom.
My cousin Bella is arriving in Bayshore today with her brand-new, honest-to-god famous rock star boyfriend, Jackson Bedd.
Nobody in the Keegan family has met this man yet, but today is the big day.
We’re all excited, but Mom has been tittering the most about this.
She’s going to flip when a rock god plays euchre with her on Wednesday night.
I freshen up in the bathroom, change into a fresh set of clothes, and wander down the hallway.
It takes me a few moments to understand what I’m seeing. Maybe I’m still waking up, but Griffin is mopping the kitchen floor like he’s on a timed game show.
I blink a few times. “Morning.”
He looks up at me, and jerks his chin. His breath comes out in quick bursts of air. “Morning.”
No mention of working that mop like it might double as a hockey stick.
“Why are you so, uh…vigorous right now?” I gingerly step past him, making sure to stick to the already-dry areas of the floor.
I can’t stop looking at his mop technique though.
Amazing how you can know someone for your entire life and still not know this is how they mop a floor.
“And have you always mopped a floor like this?”
He pauses, straightening slightly, chest heaving. “Like what?”
So he doesn’t realize he looks like he’s bailing water out of a sinking ship. “Nothing.”
He grunts and returns to his maniacal mopping. “Kay.”
I begin brewing some coffee, glancing back at his full-body mopping. “Like, are you specifically trying to burn calories?”
He stops mopping, standing up straight. “Do you have a problem with the way I mop?”
“No. No mop problems.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. I file away this tidbit for when I really need it around my other brothers. “You absolutely mop like a normal person.”
He narrows his eyes at me and continues.
Thwump, thwump, thwump, goes the mop against the kitchen floor.
He’s even got a booty wiggle involved. I’m about to make another comment about how he apparently learned how to mop by watching aliens give it their best guess without ever having seen a mop, but my phone buzzes on the countertop and distracts me.
BELLA: WE’RE ON OUR WAY!!!! ETA 3 hours!
I gasp. Then a squeal escapes me. Griffin pauses, leaning against the handle of the mop.
“What is it?”
“Bella texted! She’ll be here in three hours!
” Bella is my cousin, but she might as well be my sister.
She lost her parents at a young age and came to live with my family from about eleven onward.
So my mom is basically her mom now. This is the first time she’s been home since a whirlwind work trip led her straight into the arms of America’s most famous rock star.
Griffin’s face falls. “Shit. There’s so much more to do.”
The pieces begin clicking together. “Is that why you’re mopping like you’ve been possessed by a disgruntled 1950s housewife?”
His brows draw together. “Piper, the floor is dirty. I’m cleaning it. I don’t know how else you’d rather I do it.”
“You’re using, like, 300% body strength when you only need 5%.”
He huffs. “I don’t have time for your bullshit. Bella is gonna be here soon and the house is not ready.”
“Not ready?” I laugh as I look out over his sparkling house. “Griff, this could be a model home.”
“I haven’t even touched the baseboards.”
“Do you need to…?”
His death stare helps me understand. I nod slowly.
“Okay. This is important to you. I can help. Even if I don’t understand how you were ever able to set foot in my apartment with these cleanliness standards, I can help.
Also, please don’t go into my bedroom at any point while we’re living together because you may have a heart attack.
” I live in what I like to call organized chaos, which is the opposite of how Griffin operates.
While he finishes mopping, I prep my coffee, take a fortifying gulp, and get to work.
To my eye, there isn’t much that needs done, but I try to see things from his perspective.
I head to the shoe rack and toe a few pair of shoes into alignment.
I fluff the jackets hanging on the hooks on the wall, making sure the pockets are facing outward.
I tweak the collar on Griffin’s team coat.
“Piper what are you doing?”
“I’m helping.”
Griff sighs and rolls his eyes. Thankfully he’s finished mopping so I don’t have to watch him punch morse code into the linoleum any more.
I drift to the couch, gathering the throw blanket.
I try draping it in an aesthetic way over the back of the couch, but that seems messy if I’m looking at it from Griff’s perspective.
I wrap it into a tight little roll and stuff it behind the couch cushions.
Griffin raises an eyebrow at me from across the living room.
"What? Is there a better place to stash it?"
"Pretty much anywhere other than behind the cushion.” He heads to the bookshelves and begins dusting off his various trophies and awards. "That makes it look like contraband."
"This is faster," I argue. "Time is of the essence. And they're not going to be inspecting your couch cushions."
"You don't know that." Griffin's gaze darts my way before he begins dusting the television screen. "Bella's engaged to a rock star now. He probably has people who check for, I don't know, listening devices or something."
I snort. "In Bayshore? Who's spying on them here, the seagulls? Let’s be real though—are you nervous about meeting Jackson Bedd?”
“Well, I’d like to make a good impression,” he stammers, which tells me all I need to know.
"Griff, seriously. Relax." I grab the dusting wand from him before he can start on the shelves for the third time.
"Bella's still Bella, and she has assured me that Jackson is normal. Yes, he might be the resident American heart throb and all over the radios right now, but he’s a small-town guy with a big talent, just like you.
They don't care if your throw pillows are perfectly fluffed. "
What he doesn't know is that I'm just as nervous. Life has changed a lot for Bella. She’s the first one to have a serious partner out of all of us. And she’s the youngest of the Keegan clan…so maybe that’s a little embarrassing for the rest of us.
Asher’s in his mid-thirties and still hasn’t even had a whiff of a girlfriend, though I suspect that’s because he’s secretly in love with his assistant.
And even Dane, the only one with a child, didn’t date Lia’s mom before they had her, since Lia was the product of a one-night stand.
And while I’m pretty sure Jett fucks his way through the female population, I don’t think he’s ever called a single girl twice.
As for Griff, I’ve caught him chatting to a couple girls on his phone before, but he’s never brought anyone home and never talks about his dating life.
And since I’m not allowed to even think about a boyfriend according to my father-brothers, I don’t think any of us Keegans have a shot at significant others.
Griffin disappears into the kitchen, presumably to sanitize the refrigerator or alphabetize his spice rack.
I drift toward the glass sliding back door, straining to see through the foliage into Kru’s backyard.
It’s Sunday, so he’s probably home. Maybe I could slip outside and trim back the rose bush.
Deadhead some of the plants so Jackson Bedd doesn’t see what secret heathens we are.
Hell, it might be a good time to seed that patchy backyard before company arrives…
“Griff, you want me to clean up your patio?” I offer. If he tells me to do it, then it’s not me deciding to go snoop on Kru.
“Do the front porch instead,” he instructs.