Page 81 of You and Me, For Real
His eyes sparkle with humor and delight. “Sure, I’ll be right in to grab them.”
I left Teddy and the fosters at Griffin’s house while I got ready with Wren. Figured Teddy would help run the energy out of them before we left. Though I’m staying with Wren, Griffin agreed to keep the pups at his house.
Griffin holds out his arm. “My lady, your chariot awaits.” He opens my door and helps me in but pauses before closing it. He rests one hand on top of the roof and the other on the door, staring at me. “Gosh, you’re beautiful. Thank you for coming with me.”
“Of course,” my voice squeaks.
He closes the car door and jogs inside to get the dogs.
Meanwhile, I pray I’ll survive the night.
22
GRIFFIN
All too soon, we pull up to the Rhodes mansion.
My stomach churns as my two worlds are about to collide.
More than anything, I want to keep Ashton all to myself. I want to protect and savor the perfect bubble we’ve been in for the past forty-eight hours. But it’s time I make things clear to Scarlet. Ashton and Scarlet deserve that.Ideserve it. I want to move forward with this tentative relationship with zero guilt. I don’t want any more confusion between Scarlet and me. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us.
Ashton and I walk up the long drive, passing numerous parked cars, Roxy and Teddy in tow. She’s quiet, but her nervous palm-wiping down her dress gives her away. I hate to rush in and immediately leave her to the wolves, but I want the conversation with Scarlet over and done with.
Ashton’s holding on to my arm. The contact is perfectly innocent, but as we approach the large portico, the porch lights illuminating the surrounding area, she drops my arm. Her pace slows, her limp more prominent.
“You can keep holding on to me for support.”
Her eyes dart to mine. “No. It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
The tension between us is as taut as a bowstring. Maybe this night is a mistake, but it’s too big of an opportunity for her to pass up. I certainly don’t want to get in the way.
The Rhodes mansion is all white, with classic pillars and stained wooden shutters—basically, a stucco beach version of the White House. There’s a small line of guests being greeted by Scarlet and her father at the front door.
I keep my voice low. “Are you sure you’re okay to do this?”
“Mm-hmm.” Her eyes stay steady on the doorway.
Scarlet spies us and waves over the crowd. She leans in to say something to her father, then gracefully walks down the steps, smiling at guests like she’s a pageant contender. She’s dressed like it, too—wearing a bright-red spaghetti-strapped dress similar to Ashton’s, though hers is worn as a second skin. A much shorter, more revealing version of Ashton’s.
I prefer Ashton’s. It allows my imagination to wander, and my fingers ache to touch her.
She clutches her crossover purse with her hand.
I try to distract her. “You have your business cards?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes stay straight ahead.
“In that tiny thing?”
My incredulous tone draws her attention enough to look at me.
I smirk.
“Yes. And my phone, credit cards, license, and dog treats, if you must know.”
“Dog treats?” I laugh. “Don’t see that in a woman’s purse every day.”
“Do you often investigate the inner workings of a woman’s purse?” Her lips twitch.
