Page 120 of The Goat in the Bedroom
On Monday night, after everyone left, Bridger and Penelope over at Flynn and Tempest’s for their well-appointed guest rooms, and the calls were done, the house felt too quiet. Gryff found me in the kitchen, washing dishes from the chaos of the day.
“Hi,” he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
“Hi yourself.”
“Today was...” he trailed off, pressing his face into my neck.
“I know.”
We stood there for a moment, him holding me while I had soapy hands, and it struck me how normal this felt already. How right. Three weeks since Edinburgh and I couldn't imagine not having this.
“I can't stop thinking about Edinburgh,” he murmured against my skin.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Even with all this chaos, I keep thinking about that hotel room. About you choosing me. About how you felt?—“
I turned in his arms, sudsy hands and all. “How I felt?”
“Perfect. You felt perfect.”
The kiss was inevitable, deep and claiming. My wet hands fisted in his shirt, his hands sliding under mine to hold me around the waist.
Vincent bleated loudly from the doorway, either offended by the display, or approving. I wasn’t quite sure
“Your son is judging us,” Gryff said against my mouth.
“He's going to have to get used to it.”
Tuesday, I woke up to Gryff pressing kisses along my shoulder, his hand splayed possessively across me, one hand cupping my breast like he was staking claim to it.
“I have to go to practice,” I mumbled into the pillow.
“Five more minutes.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“And I'll say it again in five minutes.”
I turned to face him, and the look in his eyes made my stomach flip. “We're in the middle of a crisis.”
“I know. But you're also right here, in my bed, wearing my shirt, and I just...” He traced a finger along my jaw. “I can't believe I get to have this.”
“Even with everything falling apart?”
“Especially with everything falling apart. You're what makes it bearable.”
I kissed him softly. “You know people think you're going to propose soon.”
He went very still. “People? What people?”
“Crazy, right?”
“Completely crazy,” he agreed, but something in his eyes made me wonder.
“I really do have to go to practice,” I said. “Coach Maher is already worried about the documentary stuff. I can't be late.”
“How are you going to explain being this happy when you're supposed to be stressed about Sloane?”
