Page 82 of A False Start
Something that is reaffirmed when I get to the top of the hill and gaze down over the small yard attached to the guesthouse.
There is Griffin. Reading a book in a beach chair. Swim trunks and nothing else. Just patterns painted over his endless muscles. Another empty beach chair sits beside him, and his long legs are stretched out before him, feet soaking in a small, blue plastic pool. His Bluetooth speaker is blaring some sort of Caribbean sounding music and he has a bucket full of...
I walk closer, heart crawling up into my throat and eyes wide.
A bucket full of my favorite pineapple flavored sparkling water.
Moving toward him, a blush creeps up over my cheeks. It’s too hot out for anyone else to notice, but I can feel it all the same.
When he glances up and grins at me from beneath the brim of his hat, I trip. I mean, goddamn. The man should not be allowed to look this good. All tanned skin, and black tattoos that give him a slightly threatening edge.
“What’s all this?” I call out, drawing closer.
“As close to a tropical vacation as I could reasonably get you right now.”
My stomach flips over on itself and my chest aches as I look over the setup again. Towels beneath a big sun umbrella. A stack of trashy magazines. A skimpy pink bikini. The man has literally thought of everything.
“Well, shit. This is pretty romantic, Sinclaire.”
He tips his chin at the bikini a little sheepishly. “Go get changed.”
“I could change right here...” I trail off suggestively.
He presses his lips together. “As good as that sounds, let’s not risk someone seeing you.”
“Right.” His point is so valid, but it stings all the same. I don’t want to hide this thing between us. “I’ll be right back.”
I head to the house to change, but I can tell something isn’t quite right. Something is off with him today. Who the hell turns down the girl they’re into getting naked in front of them? The chances of someone seeing us are practically zero. I slept here last night for crying out loud.
I slip into the bathing suit, and it fits perfectly because of course it does. Griffin is like this growly, dirty-talking, romantic dickhead that I can’t get enough of.
As I march back out to where he’s sitting, I get more and more annoyed. Blame it on the heat, my hormones, whatever. I walk right up to him, cock a hip, and cross my arms the way he likes. His eyes always fall to my breasts when I do this. And I’m willing to use every weapon at my disposal to find out what the hell is wrong with him.
“You’re acting weird.”
I can see him fight to keep his eyes trained on mine, but they eventually drop, and I try hard not to look smug about it.
He scrubs his beard with his free hand, the other is wrapped around a can of my favorite drink. “I know.”
“Why?”
His eyes are wide and clear, and I can see the hesitation in them. Thepainin them. “Something from my past. Something I’ve been running from. Actually, more like neglecting to deal with.”
Anything but that. Anything but that becausethatI can empathize with. Not wanting to talk about it. After all, we don’t know each other very well. There are dark parts of my past I haven’t told him. Things I’m sure will come out over time as our trust grows. Tidbits of my story here and there that I’ll tell him when the time is right.
So instead of giving him shit, I just sigh, looking back over the field briefly. “You wanna talk about it?”
His lips roll together as he regards me. “Not really. I’d rather just sit here with you. Just being near you makes the world feel like a better place.” He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob beneath the stubbled skin on his throat. “You make me feel happy.”
Even the way he swallows has me pressing my thighs together.
“Okay.” I nod and flop into the chair beside him, and I swear I can feel the relief flowing off him.
He cracks a yellow can and hands it over to me, and I sink back into the beach chair. I’m tired, I’m overwhelmed, and I’m overthinking the hell out of things.
But when he reaches over and takes my hand in his, everything feels better. Actually, for the next several hours, everything feels a little bit better. I revel in his company, soak in the cool water, and read bullshit news about celebrities.
It’s actually bliss.
