Chapter 31
TIANA
The atmosphere between Griffin and me has been weird all morning.
Last night, he kissed me like he was starving for me, as if wanting me was the only honest thing his body knew how to do.
Yet, today, he can barely look at me.
I should be used to it by now.
That’s the humiliating part.
I should know the pattern, have it memorized at this point. Griffin gets close, Griffin remembers he has feelings, Griffin panics, Griffin retreats behind that handsome, emotionally stunted face of his until I’m left standing there trying to figure out whether I imagined the whole thing.
Except I didn’t imagine it.
By the time I make it downstairs, Griffin is already in the kitchen, standing at the island with a coffee.
Sylas is out for the day with Brianna and Maggie, which means the house is calm.
“Morning,” I say.
His thumb pauses against his phone screen. His eyes lift to mine, then they drop back down.
“Morning.”
I walk to the coffee machine and grab a mug from the cabinet; I refuse to stand here and look wounded in front of a man who thinks intimacy expires at sunrise.
I can feel him behind me.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask, because I enjoy emotional self-harm before caffeine.
“Yes.”
Liar.
His voice is too tight. His shoulders are too stiff. His coffee is still full, which means he’s been standing there performing productivity instead of actually drinking it.
I turn around and lean back against the counter, holding my empty mug. “Wow. That was almost a sentence.”
His jaw shifts. “Don’t start.”
“What?” I ask, blinking innocently. “I’m just making conversation. Isn’t that what people do in the morning? Ask how someone slept. Comment on the weather. Pretend they didn’t make out the night before.”
His eyes snap to mine. Then he looks away and sets his phone down. “Last night shouldn’t have happened.”
The words don’t surprise me.
I breathe out a chuckle because the alternative is doing something pathetic, like asking him why he keeps touching me like he cares if he’s just going to regret it every time.
“Right,” I say. “Of course. I get it.” I lift my mug in a mock toast even though there’s nothing in it. “We’re back to the regularly scheduled Griffin-Hayes-guilt-spiral. Should I leave the room now, or do you need to brood at me for another five minutes first?”
His mouth tightens. “That’s not fair.”
I stare at him. “Isn’t it?” The laugh that leaves me is sharp enough to cut. “Don’t worry, Hayes. No offense taken. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen and move on.”
He’s silent for a moment, searching my gaze, as if checking that I’m not actually going to murder him when he turns his back. Which is very tempting.
Instead, I spend the next twenty minutes hovering around him while he cleans up like a very attractive storm cloud.
I know I’m getting under his skin. I can practically see it in the way his jaw ticks every time I smile. And it only makes me want to push a little harder.
Unfortunately for Griffin, I cope with emotional tension and hurt by becoming very annoying.
I lean against the counter while he loads dishes into the dishwasher with the concentration of a man diffusing a bomb.
Every plate has to face the same direction. Every cup is positioned with alarming precision. He adjusts a spoon three separate times before seeming satisfied with its placement.
I narrow my eyes. “Do you know that you have OCD?”
Griffin pauses mid-reach.
Slowly, he looks over at me. “I beg your pardon?”
“That,” I point toward the dishwasher, “is not normal behavior.”
“It’s called being organized.”
“No, organized is color-coding a calendar. You’re emotionally bonding with ceramic plates.”
“I like things in order.”
“You rotated that mug four times.”
“It wasn’t fitting properly.”
“Sure.”
He slides another plate into place, then immediately adjusts it.
I gasp dramatically. “Oh my God. You did it again. You’re literally proving my point in real time.”
He shuts the dishwasher with a sigh and turns toward me.
“For the record, I do have OCD and I don’t want to talk about it, so I’m ignoring you now.”
“No, you’re not.” I push off the counter and trail after him toward the coffee maker.
Griffin mutters something under his breath as he grabs another coffee.
“What was that?” I ask with a sugary smile.
“I said you’re exhausting.”
“And yet you let me suck the soul out of you last night.”
He nearly chokes on his drink.
I grin.
Griffin drags a hand down his face before heading toward the back door.
Naturally, I follow him.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside.”
“You say that like I’m not coming too.”
“You absolutely are not.”
“You can’t banish me from the backyard.”
“I can try.”
Griffin slides the door open and steps outside.
The morning air is warm already, sunlight reflecting off the pool in shimmering waves. He walks across the patio with the exhausted energy of a man trying very hard to find five minutes of peace and failing.
Sadly, I’m right behind him.
He sets his coffee down on one of the lounge tables before grabbing the hem of his T-shirt and pulling it over his head.
My brain short-circuits.
Oh.
Oh wow.
Griffin glances over. Then the asshole smirks.
“You okay there, Jones?”
My brain reconnects like a faulty Wi-Fi signal.
“Yep.”
I recover quickly, crossing my arms as I lean against one of the patio chairs.
“Although, it’s very inconsiderate of you to look like that.”
He huffs out a laugh and lowers himself onto one of the lounge chairs beside the pool.
“I’m failing to see the problem.”
“You distracted me from my plan to annoy you all day.”
“How tragic.” Griffin stretches one arm behind his head, looking far too relaxed for a man who was emotionally constipated thirty minutes ago. “You have spent an alarming amount of time harassing me already.”
“You haven’t told me to stop,” I point out.
“I’m learning resistance is useless with you.”
I smile. “Good. Acceptance is the first stage.”
He shakes his head before taking another sip of coffee. “You’re a menace.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
“I did not say it affectionately.”
“Uh huh. If you say so.”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
My hand flies to my chest. “That’s rude, Griffin.”
Griffin’s eyes narrow. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“How could I not? You should see your face every time I tease you.”
He suddenly gets off his chair and moves right in front of me, towering over me. The air between us crackles.
Then he bends down, grabs me around the waist, and lifts me like I weigh nothing.
“Griffin,” I start. “Don’t you dare—”
Too late.
Before I can even scream, cold water explodes around me.
I come up sputtering, soaked and fuming. “What the fuck, Griffin?” I shout, pushing wet hair out of my face. “I could’ve had my phone on me!”
He’s standing at the edge of the pool, broad shoulders shaking with laughter, completely unapologetic. The grin on his face is so smug I could scream.
“You’re a Neanderthal!” I snap, splashing water in his direction.
He doesn’t even flinch, just smirks down at me like he’s won. And damn it, maybe he has. Because despite the anger burning in my chest, my pulse is racing for an entirely different reason.
“You needed to cool off, sugar.”
“Screw you. Help me get out.”
Griffin sighs, as if I’m deeply inconveniencing him, but he steps closer to the edge anyway and crouches, extending a hand toward me.
Big mistake on his part.
I grab his forearm, planting my foot against the pool wall, and tug. Griffin’s balance gives out.
His eyes widen. “Oh, you little—”
He crashes into the pool beside me with a massive splash, disappearing beneath the surface.
I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe when Griffin surfaces. He shoves his wet hair back from his face while glaring at me.
Or at least I think it’s supposed to be a glare.
Because the second our eyes lock, my laughter dies in my throat.
The look on his face isn’t anger—it’s something way more dangerous.
Water drips down his face and over the sharp line of his jaw, sunlight catching in his auburn hair until he looks like fire and ice somehow collided into one devastatingly attractive man.
And suddenly I’m very aware of the fact that we’re alone.
My pulse stutters.
Griffin starts moving toward me.
“Tiana…”
The sound of my name in his voice makes my stomach tighten.
I move back until my back hits the edge of the pool.
Griffin follows and braces one arm beside me against the ledge, trapping me there without touching me.
“That was a dangerous choice, sugar.”
The warning in his voice sends a shiver straight down my spine. I swallow hard.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and without meaning to, I lick my lips.
The look that flashes across his face almost undoes me; my breaths turn uneven.
All I can think about is the way Griffin looked at me last night, as if he couldn’t decide whether to worship me or ruin me. The way his mouth felt against mine—hot, demanding, controlled—until it wasn’t.
Now Griffin is standing in front of me soaking wet with that same look in his eyes, and I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to resist him. Especially when he seems to be struggling just as hard.
My pulse pounds so loudly I’m convinced he can hear it.
I move closer—just enough that our bodies brush beneath the water.
Griffin’s hands tighten against the pool ledge beside me, muscles flexing under wet skin like he’s holding himself back by force.
“I dare you to come closer, Tiana,” he growls, and the sound vibrates through my bones. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll regret what I do to you next.”
It’s supposed to read like a threat, but the way his chest is heaving, the heat in his gaze—it’s anything but that. It’s a promise. A very dangerous promise. And I can’t deny the tiny part of me that leans forward, curious to see if he means it.
Water beads down my collarbone, cold against my warm skin. I move until there’s nothing but a breath between us.
I jab a finger at his chest and lift my chin , meeting the burn in his gaze head-on. “Do your best, Hayes.”
Griffin narrows his eyes, a corner of his mouth twitching.