Page 66 of Dream Chaser
My thrift-loving heart expands. “So, I’m guessing you went to school on a scholarship and that’s?—”
“Another fun Griff?—”
“Don’t do?—”
“Full ride to a D3. Pissed, because I was ranked high as fuck but ended up missing some games due to dislocating my damn shoulder at the end of senior year. Decidedfuck itand did an eleventh-hour application to a couple of schools named on a website I stumbled across for student athletes. The article was the top twenty-five colleges for athletes. Applied ’cause it was free. As soon as I got that acceptance, I told my grands.” He smiles so big as he continues. “Grandad called the damn coach; told him if he loved the game half as much as his grandson did, he needed to take a look and give me a shot. He looked over everything on me. That’s how we found out I was on the injured list. My dislocation was apparently coded as something else. He told Grandad he wanted me, but was also honest with him and told him to get my medical info together and go knock on doors. Grandad”—he chuckles—“negotiated with him for a full damn ride. When he told me, he also told me that Lincoln may notbe ranked well, but that Coach T was a good man. I accepted immediately.” He grins. “The rest is history.”
“Griffon should call himself Lucky instead,” I joke.
His face does something—his eyes narrow and his head cocks to the side.
“What?”
“Not sure you’ve ever called me anything but Skinner since that first time I met you in the merch closet, back at the beginning. Kinda like it, Isobel Ross.”
“It’s Iz. My aunt was Isobel. But fine, I’ll call you Lucky from now on.”
“Iz, you can call me anything you want.” He grips the back of my head, and his lips press against mine. This kiss, hot just like the others, but … different.
When we break apart, I turn my back to him and look in the fridge, knowing it’s empty except for a few bottles of sparkling water. “Drink?”
“Yeah, Iz, I’d love one.”
I eat a few fries and, in search of plates, I end up unboxing the kitchen stuff. Within an hour, every box is unpacked, except for those containing my bedroom things.
He picks up the biggest box. “Which room is yours?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” I glance down at Wile, who is so tired from following us around that he’s now just lying by the door. “I need to take him out before I decide.”
“You think he’s going to wanna get back in that wall again?” he asks curiously.
“Um, yes. Otherwise, his bladder will explode.”
“Or he’ll piss all over your floors.” He chuckles.
“Oh no, Wile would hold it forever. He’s only had an accident once, after he was neutered.”
He cringes. “I don’t understand that kind of torture.”
“Visit any animal shelter, and you’ll never question it.”
“In my quest to figure out if I wanted to start a foundation or charity, and which ones I’d support in the meantime, I did.” He shakes his head. “Wrote a check and left fully believing I was going to go all-in.”
“What happened?” I ask as he walks toward Wile.
“Visited a homeless shelter, women’s shelters, cancer wards, veterans, abused kids, women.” He bends down and scoops up Wile.
I cringe, worried Wile’s old bones and joints may hurt being lifted like that, but when he doesn’t balk, I know he’s okay.
He continues, “Elderly, Iz? I can’t narrow it down. Everyone needs a fucking hand once in a while, you know?”
Fuck me.
I nod. “Yeah.” I can’t say much more because Griffon ‘Lucky’ Skinner just gave my heart an orgasm and that … hell, that’s the kind of orgasm I can’t give myself.
“While we boys are out, pick a room.” He looks back. “Leash? Those little shit bags?”
“Downstairs, hanging on a hook.” I begin to move toward them. “I can get?—”
