Page 101 of Triple Play
Then I open the door and walk into the war zone that used to be our kitchen.
CHAPTER TWENTY
FINALLY
Elise
We managed to calm Teddy down by lying through our teeth.
“It’s not what you think,” I’d said, which was technically true because what he was thinking was probably tamer than reality.
Grant had gone cold and corporate, explaining it was a “misunderstanding” and that Teddy was “reading too much into casual roommate dynamics.” Jordie deployed the charm offensive. Wyatt just stood there looking intimidating enough that Teddy seemed to decide pushing further wasn’t worth it.
It took two hours, but eventually Teddy left with a warning about “being careful” and “not letting anything distract from medical school” and approximately fifteen pointed looks at Grant that could’ve melted steel.
The second his car pulls out of the driveway, I collapse onto the couch.
“That was—”
“A disaster,” Grant finishes. He’s still standing, wound tight, that muscle in his jaw jumping.
“I was going to say ‘close,’” I mutter.
“He knows.” Wyatt’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Maybe not the specifics, but he knows something’s going on.”
“He’ll get over it.” Jordie drops onto the couch beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. “Or he won’t. Either way, not really his business.”
Grant’s eyes track the point of contact—Jordie’s leg against mine—and something dark flickers across his face.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine, Elise.” But his voice is tight, controlled, and I can see his hands flexing at his sides.
“Grant—”
He moves before I can finish the sentence. Crosses the room in three strides and hauls me up off the couch by my wrist.
“Hey—” Jordie starts.
“I need to talk to her.” Grant’s voice leaves no room for argument. “Alone.”
He’s pulling me toward the stairs and I let him because the look in his eyes—possession and need and something almost desperate—makes my stomach flip.
We make it halfway up before he stops, turns, and kisses me.
It’s not soft. Not tentative. It’s two and a half years of wanting compressed into the press of his mouth against mine, his hand fisting in my hair, his body crowding me back against the wall.
I kiss him back just as hard, my hands finding the hard planes of his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palms.
When we break apart we’re both breathing hard.
“I can’t—” His voice is wrecked. “I can’t watch them touch you anymore without—”
“Then touch me.”
