Chapter 12 #3
"We're supposed to be dating," he said. "Couples make out. At Christmas events. In parking lots. Wherever. It's practically tradition."
"Not usually where Mrs. Ames can find them."
"Fair point." Grant couldn't help but grin. "But for what it's worth? Totally worth it."
Riley's laugh was reluctant but genuine. "You're impossible."
"And you're beautiful."
"Flattery will not make this less embarrassing."
"Worth a shot." Grant kissed her forehead. "Come on. Let's get back before they send a search party."
They rejoined their friends, who took one look at them and immediately started grinning.
"Where'd you two disappear to?" Mark asked, far too innocently.
"Hot chocolate run," Grant said.
"Right. Hot chocolate." Hannah's eyes gleamed. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Leave them alone," Emily said, but she was smiling too.
The evening continued—caroling, hot chocolate, laughter, and conversation. Grant kept Riley close, his hand never leaving her waist, and if anyone noticed how tactile they were being, how Grant couldn't seem to stop touching her, no one said anything.
Or maybe they did. Grant wasn't really paying attention to anyone but Riley.
When it was finally time to leave, they said their goodbyes and headed to Grant's truck. The drive back to Riley's house was quiet, tension humming between them.
Grant pulled into her driveway and killed the engine, neither of them moving to get out.
"Tonight was nice," Riley said finally.
"Yeah. It was."
"Grant—"
"Don't." He turned to face her. "Don't overthink it. Don't try to talk yourself out of it. Just—" He stopped, searching for the right words. "Just let it be what it is."
"What is it?"
Grant's eyes held hers in the darkness. "Whatever we want it to be."
Riley's breath caught. The words hung between them, heavy with possibility.
"I should go," she whispered, not moving.
Grant's mouth curved into a slow smile. "Maybe you should kiss me before you go."
Riley's heart stuttered. "Maybe?"
"Definitely."
"That's pretty presumptuous."
"Is it working?"
Riley leaned across the console, her hand finding his jaw. "What do you think?"
"I think—"
She kissed him before he could finish, and Grant made a sound low in his throat that sent heat pooling through her. His hand slid into her hair, angling her head, deepening the kiss.
This was supposed to be a goodnight kiss. Quick. Simple.
It was neither of those things.
Riley's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer despite the console between them. Grant's other hand found her waist, thumb tracing circles through her sweater that made her shiver.
"Riley—"
"Don't stop."
"I'm not planning on it."
He pulled her closer, and Riley climbed over the console without thinking, settling into his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. Grant's hands slid up her back, and Riley gasped against his mouth.
Better. This was so much better.
The windows started to fog. Grant's mouth found her neck, and Riley's head fell back, her fingers tangling in his hair.
"We're in your driveway," Grant murmured against her skin.
"I know."
"Your parents are inside."
"I know that too."
"This is a bad idea."
"The worst." Riley pulled his face back to hers. "Don't care."
Grant kissed her harder, deeper, his hands gripping her hips. Riley rolled against him, and he groaned, the sound muffled against her mouth.
This was insane. They were in a truck. In her parents' driveway. Making out like teenagers.
Riley didn't care about any of it.
She was pulling Grant's shirt free from his jeans when a bright light suddenly flooded the truck.
They both froze.
"What—" Riley started.
The light came from the porch. Grant squinted past her, and Riley twisted to look.
Her dad stood on the porch in his bathrobe, holding a massive flashlight, shining it directly at the truck.
"Oh my god," Riley breathed.
Grant started laughing—quiet at first, then harder, his shoulders shaking.
"This isn't funny," Riley hissed, but she was grinning too, adrenaline and embarrassment making her giddy.
"Your dad has a spotlight."
"He has multiple spotlights. He's very prepared."
"I can see that."
Her dad made a "wrap it up" gesture with his free hand.
Riley scrambled off Grant's lap, trying to straighten her clothes, her face burning. "I have to go."
"Yeah, you really do."
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." Grant was still grinning, his hair a mess from her hands, his lips swollen. "That was worth it."
"My dad saw—"
"I know."
"He's never going to let me live this down."
"Probably not." Grant caught her hand before she could climb out. "Riley?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm not sorry."
The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering in overdrive. "Me either."
"See you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
Riley climbed out of the truck and ran for the porch, her dad still standing there with the flashlight, looking way too amused.
Riley climbed out of the truck and ran for the porch, her dad still standing there with the flashlight, looking way too amused.
Grant watched her reach the porch, saw her say something to her dad—probably protesting—and heard her father's laugh carry across the driveway.
The front door opened and Riley disappeared inside, but not before shooting Grant one last look over her shoulder. Even from here, even with her dad still on the porch with that damn spotlight, she was smiling.
Grant waited until the door closed before putting the truck in reverse.
David Monroe gave him a two-finger salute with the flashlight before heading back inside, and Grant couldn't help but grin.
Busted by his girlfriend's dad. Except Riley wasn't his girlfriend—not really—and that made the whole thing more complicated than it should be.
The drive home was quiet. Grant's hands were still shaking slightly on the wheel, adrenaline and want still buzzing through him. The truck smelled like Riley's perfume. His lips were swollen. His hair was a mess.
And he couldn't stop grinning.
His phone buzzed when he was halfway home.
Riley: My dad will NEVER let me live that down.
Grant: Probably not.
Riley: He's literally still laughing. I can hear him from upstairs.
Grant: Can't say I blame him.
Riley: This is YOUR fault.
Grant: You climbed into my lap.
Riley: You didn’t seem to mind too much
Grant: You can say that again. It’s my new favorite place for you to sit.
Grant pulled into his own driveway where the farmhouse was dark except for the porch light his dad always left on.
Riley: You’re incorrigible.
Grant: It’s your fault.
Riley: LOL. Oh, okay. I’ll remember that Lawson. Next time you want to sneak off.
Grant: So, you’re saying there’s a next time…
Riley: See you tomorrow?
Grant: Of course. Sleep well.
Grant climbed out of the truck and headed inside, his mind still full of Riley—the way she'd tasted, the sounds she'd made, the way she'd looked at him in the moment before her dad's spotlight had interrupted everything.
Fake dating.
Right.
He was fooling exactly no one. Least of all himself.