Page 88 of A False Start
“You’re not wrong.”
“You can’t just keep hiding up here when the going gets tough. There are people who care about you. Including me. I’m people.”
Gut punch.My voice drops along with my eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“It scares me when you won’t tell me things.”Double gut punch.“I’ve spent the last several years of my life promising myself I would choose a simple life. That I didn’t need fireworks and longing and that consuming sort of love so long as I had a safe, honest partner.”
I just grunt. That sounds fucking terrible. It also sounds distinctly like not me.
“And then you waltzed in and fucked everything up.”
I bark out a laugh and scrub my hands over my face. “Yeah. I’m especially talented at that, it would seem. Throwing a football and fucking everything up.”
“Also eating pussy.” She cracks a smile, always tossing something in to lighten the mood.Where have you been all my life, Wildflower?
“I’ll add that to my resume.”
We stand on the front step, smiling at each other. But there’s a tightness. Her smile doesn’t touch her eyes, and I’m certain mine doesn’t either.
“Want to come in? I’ll make you a shitty coffee and tell you everything.”
Here goes nothingcrosses my mind as she nods.
But as I watch her pad into my house, her acid wash jeans creasing beneath her perfect ass and waves of blonde hair trailing down her back, I realize it’s more likethere goes everything.
Because deep down, I know she’s not going to stick around now.
30
Nadia
I walkinside Griffin’s cozy home, trying to force myself to look calmer than I feel. Because I feel distinctlynotcalm. But I’m putting my big girl panties on and playing it cool.
If he can bring himself to sit down and tell me whatever has been eating away at him, then the least I can do is handle it maturely.
Unless he murdered somebody. Maybe there’s a body on his land. Maybe he’s secretly in the mafia? Maybe we’re somehow related?
My mind runs rampant as I head toward the big kitchen table and plop into a chair. I take a really, really deep breath and stare down at my hands flattened on the tabletop. I’ve seen some shit, some terrible shit, and this can’t be as bad as that.
I gaze up at Griffin, who follows slowly behind me. There’s just no way. I know in my heart that Griffin is agoodman. He’s not my father. He is gentle and considerate, and whatever he has to tell me will be completely surmountable.
I need it to be.
I check him out while he pours us each a cup of coffee. The way his shoulders bunch beneath his t-shirt in the most mouth-watering way, the hem of that shirt resting along the curve of his ass, his hair all mussed like he spent the entire night running his hands through it.
“Here.” He slides the coffee across the table and pulls up a chair opposite me before turning it around and sitting on it backward, the back rest pressing into his broad chest like some sort of shield.
His big brown eyes rest on my face, and he drinks me in. There’s a finality in his eyes that I absolutelyhate.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap. “Out with it. You’re going to give me gray hair with all this waiting.”
His lips quirk up. “You’d still be hot with gray hair.”
He’s stalling.
“Griff.” I give him a pleading look. I know he’s trying to lighten the mood or whatever, but it’s not working for me.
He stares down at his coffee cup as silence stretches between us. He trails the pad of a finger over the handle of his mug, delicately, thoughtfully, and the veins on the top part of his hand bulge and ripple, almost hypnotically. His touches are always hypnotic. With purpose—with meaning. Never sloppy or rushed.
