Page 50 of Mess With Me

He only said the words I was thinking. Why am I suddenly so physically affected?

Griffin gets up, returning a few seconds later with a glass of water.

I try to push it away, but the damn bossy asshole shoves it in my face. “Drink. It’ll ground you.”

Iamthirsty, though I greatly dislike how he seems to be right about everything. I take a big gulp, then another, and finally drain the glass.

Griffin stands up, taking the glass from me. He cups it in both hands. It looks tiny. “Youaresafe here.”

“So why don’t you want to go for waffles?”

“Nothing’s ever 100 percent.”

“Do you think he followed us here?”

“No.”

“Do you think you’d be able to intercept him if he turned up?”

“Yes. I—yes.”

“I saw your cupboards. It’s like Old Man Hubbard’s house over here.”

Griffin does that face-scrubby thing again. I’m coming to know this is the move he makes when he’s either trying to find the right thing to say or trying not to say something at all.

“You’re not a man who loves words, are you?”

“What?”

“I love crosswords. TheNew York Timescrossword specifically. I like doing them over long brunches on the weekend. I like how there’s a theme to them, and I like not looking anything up on my phone because a) it’s cheating and b) Saturday is phone-off day.”

Griffin leans against the wall, looking half like he’s worried about my sanity and half like he’s enjoying it.

“You know what else I like? Taking my time with stuff and enjoying life and spending time with people I love, and if this bullshit with Sam and that asshole comes in between me and that life, we need to find a way to put a stop to it. But right now, all I want is some goddamned waffles.”

I hadn’t meant to go there, but they’re all the words that were clearly needing spilling.

To my utter surprise, Griffin nods. “Okay.”

“Okay, like, okay, we’re going for waffles?”

“Whatever you want, Sasha.”

I grin, jumping up from the bench. “Fantastic, I’m starving.”

He mumbles something I don’t catch under his breath but pulls open the door, holding it for me. I run under his arm and out into freedom, and I swear when I look back, I see the slightest twitch of a smile under those wary chocolate eyes.

CHAPTER13

Griffin

Iknew this was a bad idea the minute I saw her slipping on those ridiculous boots. But I didn’t consider how today’s Saturday—the busiest day of the week at Betsey’s Cafe. When I open the door, the little bell is like a clarion call for every single patron in there to turn and stare. Dozens of eyeballs land on us at once. A few people call out my name and wave, while several others murmur among themselves. It makes sense—it’s not like I’ve ever shown up anywhere with a woman. Especially not one who looks like Sasha.

It only gets worse when I see a man with a blond bun on the top of his head stand up and say, “What the—”

I just about grab Sasha by the waist and haul her right out of there, but it’s too late. Sasha’s laughing and crossing the floor at a run toward my brother Jude while he looks back and forth between me and Sasha as if his head is exploding.

She throws her arms around him. I feel ill seeing her throw her beautiful self against my admittedly beautiful brother. The whole restaurant is staring like this is some kind of attractive person reunion.

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