Page 53 of Home Safe

Griffin’s face turns solemn as well. “Understood. I won’t have that as an expectation.” He leans down, lips a temptingly-close half inch from mine. My breath hitches in anticipation of his kiss, but instead oferasing the distance, he grazes his lips up my jawline. He whispers in my ear, “That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and the shiver that begins in my neck makes its way down the length of my body. My hands involuntarily clench the back of Griffin’s shirt, and his eyes are molten when he draws back to meet my gaze.

“Am I allowed to kiss you again, or is there more you’d like to say?” he asks, voice low. He brushes a strand of hair away from my forehead, tracing the lines of my face and neck. Even if I had more to say, there’s zero chance that I could form coherent sentences while he’s doing that.

“No more words,” I breathe. And then his lips are devouring mine again. A kiss I return with reckless abandon.

My heart has officially claimed its seat at the table.

Chapter twenty-three

Griffin

I’ve dated a fair amount. I’ve kissed a reasonable number of women. But Danae’s lips against mine make me think that I have never trulykisseda woman before. Because this is a completely different feeling, possessing every part of my mind, body, and heart.

Maybe it’s the way that Danae is melting into me when I know she’s naturally reserved. Maybe it’s the way her kiss is unhesitating when I know she wrestles with anxiety. The thought thatIcould make her feel that way, make her kiss that way—it’s intoxicating.

Sheis intoxicating.

The sweetness of the syrup she slathered over her waffles at dinner lingers on her lips, her tongue. Paired with the natural sweetness of who she is, I’ll be on a sugar high for days.

Danae slowly slides her fingers along my beard, and I’ve never been more thankful to have facial hair. I’m lost in every sensation of her when the tiny voice of reason in my brain tries to speak up.

You still have another joker.

I try to ignore the little jerk, but his insistence grows louder, unrelenting until I finally break away from Danae’s lips. The waves of her hair are disheveled by my hands. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to resist weaving my fingers back through her hair and resuming our kiss.

“There’s something else I need to tell you, Danae,” I say. “Something else I don’t like telling other people.” Her eyes were foggy with the intoxication of our kiss, but they suddenly clear as she pulls further away from me.

“What?” she asks, voice hardly more than a whisper.

“You explained why you don’t like baseball—which is my favorite thing in the world. It’s only fair that I explain why I don’t like reading—your favorite thing in the world,” I say, and the fear evaporates from her demeanor.

“Okay,” she says, then quiets.

I gently tap my fist on the counter next to her. “I’m dyslexic.”

Her eyes immediately flicker with understanding, then bounce back and forth between mine like she’s putting pieces into place. “Oh,” she says. “That’s why you said you use voice-to-text a lot. And it’s why you chose eleven as your number for the Crowns, isn’t it?”

I nod. “Looks the same no matter which way you look at it. Specifically, I deal with vertical dyslexia, and I don’t struggle nearly as much as some people do. But it was much harder to get a dyslexia diagnosis back when we were kids. I wasn’t officially diagnosed until I was an adult, and I still get embarrassed when people find out,” I say. Danae nods in understanding again. “Growing up, I thought I was just dumb. I hated books because I felt like a failure when I tried to read, and I’m not fond of feeling like a failure.”

Danae’s lips quirk to one side in response to my statement, which tempts me to stop talking and go back to exploring those lips. But my wandering thoughts are reined in by her next question. “They’ve made a lot of progress in recent years at making books available in dyslexia-friendly fonts. Have you seen those?”

I shake my head. “I use a dyslexia app on my phone to help with text messages and what-not when I can’t use voice text. But I haven’t really tried reading books with the updated fonts.”

She considers my answer before asking her next question. “Have you tried listening to audiobooks?”

I shrug. “Once. But they’ve really only become widely popular in the past few years, and I was already hooked on podcasts by that point. Iguess I’d rather listen to someone share about their own experience than some narrator reading a made-up story.”

Danae’s face scrunches, and I can see the thoughts running rampant in her mind. “You might enjoy memoirs then. Especially ones narrated by the author. There are a few—”

Placing a finger on her lips to cut her off, I say, “Us working out cannot be contingent upon you changing my mind about books.”

Her eyes spark as she smiles smugly at me. “Touché.” The smirk disappears as she asks, “How are we going to coexist when we despise each other’s greatest passions?”

“In case I haven’t made this clear, I’m not interested in merely coexisting with you, Danae,” I say, tucking the hair behind her ear. “And I think I’m interested in having a greatest passion other than baseball.” I lean in close before adding, “So we’re going to figure this out. No matter what it takes.”

The magnetism between us takes over, drawing our lips wordlessly back to each other.

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