Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
It’ll be weird if I hide. Griff was just as into what we were doing last night as I was. I have to see him.
As if pulled by an invisible string, I grab a brush off my dresser and dash into the hallway. The need to see Griff outweighs any lingering embarrassment.
I hurry down the stairs, running the brush through my hair as I go. Ugh, I don’t want Remy to open the door first.
Griff’s in the living room, my brother nowhere in sight. I stop dead at the foot of the stairs.
“Morning, Muffin,” he says, holding up a brown paper bag that has to contain at least one blueberry muffin from Busy Beans Cafe. He almost always brings me muffins on the weekends. The bag bulges with goodies, an irregular greasy stain seeping through the paper.
My mouth waters, and not from the plump muffins that will be bursting with sweet blueberries in Griff’s hands. I rake my gaze over Griff’s faded blue T-shirt and loose gray track pants. It doesn’t matter what he wears though—he always looks good.
I toss the brush toward the couch and slow my steps. Don’t look too eager. Chill. You’ve got this.
“Morning.” My hoarse voice sounds like I just woke up. I take the bag from him and bounce it in the air a few times. “It’s heavy.”
“I brought extras for your brother and me.” He raises an eyebrow. “If you’re willing to share.” A smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
His mouth. His lips. The memory of kissing him—no, making out with him last night slams into me, dampening my underwear. The rush of desire is quickly followed by a hot flush of shame.
Did I really grind on his lap until I came last night? In his car? Out on the street? What’s the matter with me?
“Hey,” he says in a low voice, crowding into my space. He brushes his knuckles over my cheek and stares into my eyes, concern darkening his expression. “What’s that look for? You don’t like muffins anymore?”
“No, it’s not that.”
His gaze continues searching my face, like he’s trying to unlock my mind.
I swallow hard and slick my tongue over my dry lips. “Last night. I—”
“Griff, what the fuck, bro? You coming in or not?” Remy calls from the kitchen. At least I hope he’s still in the kitchen. I don’t think he’ll appreciate Griff and I standing so close.
Touching each other.
I back away first, clutching the paper bag tight in my hands. Griff’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. He looks so bewildered, I almost reach for him again.
“There you are,” Remy says from behind me. “What are you two doing?”
Griff’s mouth opens, but I spin around and flash a big smile at my brother. “Nothing. Griff brought muffins.”
“No shit. He brings them every week.” He narrows his eyes, staring at both of us.
Anxiety flutters in my chest. I can’t stand Remy being suspicious of his best friend because of me. “Well, he brought enough for me to share today.”
Remy focuses on Griff again. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Griff finally says to my brother. About time he said something.
“Waitin’ on your ass.” Remy waves him outside. “Come on. We gotta leave for that party in a couple hours.”
I trot into the kitchen where I drop the bag on the counter and set out three napkins. Remy made coffee earlier, so I pour some into a travel mug and add extra cream.
A few minutes later, Griff’s heat whispers over my back and his arms snake around my middle, giving me a brief hug. “You all right?” he murmurs against my ear.
Tremors wrack my body. Why is Griff so determined to flirt with danger this morning? My brother could walk into the kitchen any second now and catch us in this intimate moment. He’d lose it for sure.
But my body doesn’t care about any of that. It wants to take Griff to a secluded location and do more of what we did last night. Preferably skin on skin.
Unless he thinks I’m a weirdo? Or too inexperienced. Why’d I have to admit I’d never done that before?
“Let’s go!” Remy shouts from the front porch.
“Be right there!” Griff yells.
His hands grip my hips, and he turns me to face him. Only, I can’t meet his eyes.
“Molly, look at me. What’s wrong?” The distress in Griff’s low voice undoes me and I lift my gaze.
Heat spreads over my cheeks and I can’t answer his question. Instead I lift one shoulder. “Nothing.”
I’m staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. He settles two fingers under my chin and tips my head back.
“Are you upset about last night?” he asks, quiet enough not to carry beyond the kitchen.
“No. Not really. It’s not that.” I force more conviction into my tone.
His forehead wrinkles in frustration. “What does that mean?” He cocks his head, listening for any sign that my brother might overhear us. “Talk to me.”