Page 11 of Griffin

He didn’t say anything, but his hand moved from mine to grip the sleeve of my sweater, holding onto me like I was some kind of lifeline.

By the time we arrived at the hotel, the tension in the cab was thick.

“We’re here,” I reminded him gently.

“Right,” Michael murmured, but he didn’t move right away.

He stared at me for a second, and then, to my surprise, he leaned in. His lips brushed against mine, soft and warm.

The kiss sent a jolt through my system, sharp and unexpected.

It had been a long time since I’d been on the receiving end of a kiss like that—so raw, so real.

When he pulled back, Michael flushed as if he’d just realized what he’d done.

He let go of my sleeve, scrambling out of the cab in a hurry. I sat there for a moment, touching my lips, still processing the kiss.

My mind raced, heart pounding as I replayed the moment in my head.

“Hey, you getting out or what?” the cabbie grumbled from the front.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I glanced at the driver and gave him the address of my own hotel.

Chapter 3

Michael

My fingers tapped restlessly on the edge of the windowsill, keeping a nervous beat as I stared blankly out the bus window.

The scenery was a blur of dark greens and grays as trees and road signs whipped by, blending together as we sped along the highway.

My seat was cramped, with my oversized backpack wedged between my knees, and my left leg had long gone numb. I shifted, trying to make just a little more room, but it didn’t help much.

After what had happened last night, Casey hadn’t given me much of a choice.

“Get out, now. Move fast and only take what you need,” he’d insisted.

So here I was, on this crowded bus, following his orders to a T. I hadn’t even slept a wink since everything went down.

The whole night had been a jittery blur. I was half-convinced that the stalker would somehow burst into my hotel room.

The paranoia made it impossible to close my eyes. When I finally called Casey, I wasn’t even sure my words made sense.

I was sleep-deprived, anxious, barely keeping it together—but I managed to get across what he needed to know.

Everything but the stranger who helped me, though. That part felt… unnecessary, or maybe just too weird to explain.

The next bus to Pecan Pines—that was Casey’s idea. He kept saying I shouldn’t do anything “predictable.”

Normally, I’d have driven myself, packed a proper suitcase instead of this stuffed backpack that weighed a ton.

Gaming laptops aren’t cheap, after all.

But Casey’s idea of a low profile had its limits. He suggested I wear a hoodie and sweatpants to blend in, but honestly?

Everyone knows that’s what someone who’s trying to hide wears.

And I’d worn hoodies plenty of times on streams, so my stalker could probably pick me out in one from a mile away.

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