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)
His nostrils flare and his eyes search my face for a few seconds. Then he frowns—it’s brief, but I catch it.
“What’s wrong? You don’t want to be alone with me?”
“It’s not that.” He lifts his chin. “Get in.”
I slide onto the buttery, quilted leather seat. Now that I’m not anxious about prom and my friends, I take time to admire the interior of the luxury SUV.
“This really is nice,” I say to Griff when he settles behind the wheel. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Muffin.” He leans over and pops a kiss on my cheek.
Once we’re on the main highway, he asks, “Did you get any sleep?”
“A little. Did you?”
Instead of answering, he yawns, then laughs. “Not enough, I guess.”
“I’d almost rather go for a drive.” I slide my hand over the complicated dashboard. “Before this turns into a pumpkin.”
He grins. “Want to drop your stuff off at the house first?”
I nod quickly. “And maybe grab something to eat. I’m starving.”
His smile falters. “Instead of buying the flowers, I should’ve brought you a breakfast sandwich or something.”
“No.” I rub my hand over his. “That was sweet.” After the way my friends were talking about Griff’s anatomy this morning, I’m not sure they deserved the roses, but I can’t tell him that.
“You weren’t mad, were you?” He glances over, worry creasing his brow. “I thought since they were pink and I’d—”
“No! Not at all.” I cover my face with my hands. “This is so dumb,” I mumble.
“What’s wrong?”
Distress vibrates through his voice.
“Ugh. They were asking me…how, um, big you are. They have this theory that since you have big hands, your, you know, must be huuuge.” I don’t want to tell him Hayden’s the one who started in with the hand comparison.
He snort-laughs. “All righty, then.”
“I’m sorry.” I hate the whiny tone my voice takes on. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
He reaches over and pats my leg. “It’s fine, Muffin. No worse than the shit talk that went down in locker rooms when I was in high school.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah. The year I played football was awkward as fuck. Some of the other dudes on the team were obsessed with checking out everyone else’s equipment.”
“That’s, uh, creepy.”
He snorts but his mouth flattens into a thin line. “They wanted to compare everything—dick size, ball size, ball stretchy-ness—”
“What?” I practically scream. “Why?”
“I don’t fucking know,” he scoffs. “They did all sorts of weird shit. This one fucker, Timmy Puck, snuck up on me in the shower once, then ran around telling everyone else mine was the biggest and had everyone call me Flagpole for the rest of the season.”
I glance over and his face has taken on a pink hue. “That’s deranged. No one ever pointed out it was weird to be peeping on your teammates?”
“Nope. They’d yell, ‘Prank!’” Griff pitches his voice higher. “Or ‘just for research!’ but it was uncomfortable as hell.”
“Ugh. I’m sorry.” I wish I’d never started this conversation. The last thing I want to do is make him relive crappy high school memories.
“Given the choice, I’d rather have girls talking about me, than guys.” He slides his hand over my leg. “Although, I won’t ever be able to look any of your friends in the eye again.”
“Girls aren’t much better.” I cross my arms over my chest. “In sixth grade, Cindy Adams stole one of my bras after gym class and showed it to everyone.”
“What?” He glances over. “Why?”
“Because she was a bitch?” Heat flames across my face. “I was already almost a C-cup and no one else in our class was, I guess?”
“Shit, Molly, I didn’t know that happened.”
“I sure as hell wasn’t telling anyone.” I lower my voice. “Mom hadn’t been gone long. Nana’s the one who had to take me bra shopping, which was embarrassing enough. I wasn’t doing it again. I kicked Cindy’s ass to get my bra back.”
He chuckles. “Good girl.”
“She didn’t mess with me after that, but everyone still called me Boobzilla for weeks.”
He mashes his lips together. “Kids aren’t very creative, are they?”
“No. They suck.” We’re quiet for a few seconds. “Just so you know, I didn’t confirm or deny my friends’ guesses about your, um, size.”
“Thank you, Muffin. That mystery belongs to you.”
I snicker and stare out the window.
“Uh, just to be clear,” Griff says. “Your brother and I never did weird shit like whipping it out and comparing ourselves.”
“Gross.” I stick out my tongue and gag. “I’m not surprised. Remy’s so convinced that he’s God’s gift to women, I can’t see him bothering to compare himself to anyone.” I shiver with revulsion. “But don’t worry—I’ve overheard some of the dingbats he likes to bang yapping about his ‘stallion status.’” I lean forward and pretend to retch. “I needed a lobotomy after that.”
Griff chokes and pounds his fist against his chest. “Shit, that’s a disgusting thing for a sister to hear.”