Page 24 of Holidating
He’d probably respond by pushing me down onto this oversized couch, where we’d make out for hours…
“Abbi?” Weston says, squeezing my hand.
“Sorry?” I say, suddenly aware that I’ve been asked a question.
“Would you like coffee?” Mr. Griggs ask, while Stevie smirks. “I’m thinking of making a pot.”
“Yes. Thank you,” I say quickly. “Clearly I’m a little dreamy today. Maybe I’ll just splash some water on my face.” I feel a little overheated too. Maybe it’s the fire.
Or maybe it’s sexy thoughts about Weston.
“There’s a bathroom just down the hall,” Mr. Griggs says, picking up the empty charcuterie board. “But why don’t you take Abbi upstairs while I make the coffee?” he asks his son. “And find a towel for her.”
“Great idea,” Weston says.
“I’ll just help you carry your stuff upstairs,” Stevie says, popping out of his chair.
“No need, punk,” Weston says, shutting him down. “What if you minded your own business for once?”
“What would the fun be in that?”
Weston wasn’t kidding. Stevie is suspicious.
I can sell this thing. If I’m successful, Weston has to take me out to dinner and split a bottle of wine.
Winning is imperative. I just have to figure out how.
CHAPTER 8
WORLD WAR GRIGGS
WESTON
God, my brother is acting like a tool. And my dad seems tense. We just have to get through the party tonight, and then everyone can relax.
“Come with me,” I say softly to Abbi. She’s the only one in this scenario I can count on to behave. I already feel guilty for subjecting her to the madness of a Griggs family get-together.
She follows me to the staircase, where I step aside to let her go first. And I force myself not to ogle her legs in that dress. “It’s the room on the left,” I say when she reaches the top. I already put our bags in there.
But when I follow her into the room it looks smaller than ever. She eyes the double bed and then her eyes jump to mine.
“I’ll get Stevie to switch with us,” I whisper. “I’ll tell him…” I pause. “Okay, I have no idea what I’ll tell him. I’ll think of something.”
“No, it’s fine,” she whispers back. “I’m winning this thing, even if you snore like a freight train.”
I bark out a laugh. “I don’t.”
“How do you know?” she counters, smiling fiercely.
“I guess you’ll tell me, then. And I promise to be a gentleman.”
“Right,” she says crisply. And maybe I’m imagining it, but sheactually looks disappointed for a split second. She turns and unzips her weekend bag, pulling out a makeup kit. “Let the games begin.”
A couple hours later, after a movie in front of the fire with my fake girlfriend, it’s time to leave for the party. So my brother and I flip a coin to decide who’s the designated driver tonight.
And I lose. Of course I do.
“You’re not even legal to drink,” I whine.
