Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
I continue up the stairs after him, rushing into the room to check on the party.
“The chocolates were a hit,” Patrick says as he clears a few tables.
“When did they leave?” I ask, upset with myself that I was too busy worrying about Griffin than knowing when my party left the building.
“Like five minutes ago. They had a great time.”
Phew.
“Good.”
I help Patrick and a few of the other servers break down the place for the night. It’s late once I’ve finished the paperwork, and when I turn out the lights to leave, Griffin is by the back door.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says.
I glance up at him. “What are you still doing here?”
He steps closer, and I suck in a breath. “Someone has to walk you out. It’s not safe.”
“My car is really close.” I can’t turn my eyes away from his. They’re this light brown color, and it makes me want to lean in and see if I can pinpoint where the iris ends and the pupil begins.
“Then I don’t have to walk you as far.” He offers a small laugh, and the sound reverberates through my body, making my nipples pebble.
What is happening to me?
I almost want him to kiss me. But that’s an absurd thought. Isn’t it?
I blink at him, and shake my head slightly to break myself from this spell that has fallen over me. “You didn’t have to stay late just for me. I feel bad,” I say to him.
“I’d never be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.”
My chest squeezes tight at his words, and I want to kiss him. So, feeling brave, I lean in, rest my hand on his bicep and close my eyes.
“Anya,” he whispers. “What are you doing?” He steps back, and oh my god.
I slide my eyes open slowly, and Griffin stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. And I am mortified.
Without a word, I rush out of the back door and hurry to my car.
“Anya, wait,” Griffin says behind me, but I don’t turn back.
I’m humiliated.
I let my mother get in my head. ‘He has a crush.’
Stupid Anya.
There’s no silly crush. There’s nothing.
I feel like a dang fool.
Chapter 8
Griffin
I stand there watching Anya’s tail lights, feeling like an asshole. She put herself out there. Put her feelings on the line and I crushed them.
My head falls back as I scrub my face. I had no idea she was attracted to me. Which makes this that much worse. If she wasn’t Callum’s sister, I would’ve slammed my lips to hers. I would’ve pulled her against me, sinking my fingers into her hair while I deepened the kiss. She would’ve had no doubt about how I feel about her.
But, she is Callum’s sister and I made a promise that I can not break.
I climb into my truck and once the door is closed I slam my hands against the steering wheel. “Fuck.”
As I drive home the image of Anya leaning in to kiss me plays over and over in my head. My anger rises. I’m pissed at myself for denying her. I’m pissed at Callum for making me promise something I now regret.
Another man, a better man, would have followed her home and tried to explain himself. But as I pull into my driveway, I shake my head. Even if I was that man, what could I say? I can’t tell her that her brother has put her in the off-limits category. I can’t tell her that not kissing her back is something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. The only thing I could do is lie and tell her I don’t feel that way about her and I’m sure she’d see the sham in my eyes.
My mother didn’t teach me much, but she always told me not to lie. Which is a fucking joke because her entire life was a lie.
I grab a Kunt Kicker IPA out of the fridge and sit down on my dark navy couch. After taking a long pull, I sigh, closing my eyes. I make it a point to block out as much of my childhood as possible, but feeling like I’ve hurt Anya, makes it impossible to keep those times pushed down.
Growing up in my house was the equivalent of walking around a minefield. One misstep and everything would blow up.
Ever heard the saying ‘walking on eggshells?’ Well my life was walking on the whole damn egg, a mess no matter which way you saw it.
My father was an angry man, a storm always on the horizon. If he wasn’t happy, no one was happy. A loud child running around laughing wasn’t something he appreciated. He didn’t like a messy house. Toys scattered on the floor, and snacks left on the table, were just unacceptable to him. He liked silence. He liked order. Things that a child doesn’t give you. Every noise, every cluttered space was an affront to his need for control and tranquility.