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)
“Molly,” Griff warns in a low voice.
“I love it!” Diane claps her hands. “Good lord, aren’t you an adorable thing, too.” She reaches for my hair, pulling one of my long braids like she wants to film a shampoo ad next. “Smile, sweetie. Aren’t you excited? Griff’s going to be on television.” Her voice takes on the babyish tone you might use to train a golden retriever puppy.
Gritting my teeth, I force my cheeks up, but I doubt what my face is actually doing resembles a smile.
“Look at those perfect, straight, white teeth.” She pats the side of my face. “Such a pretty girl.” Her gaze swings to Griff then back to me again. “You make a stunning couple.”
Officially creeped out, I glance at Griff again.
“Diane, I have a job. I need to give notice,” Griff says, instead of protesting the way she’s studying me like I’m a racehorse she wants to load into a trailer and haul to Saratoga.
“We took care of that. Jerry was very excited for you,” Diane gushes. “What a nice man.”
“He’s a good boss,” Griff mutters. I can only imagine how stressed Griff is, thinking he’s leaving Jerry in the lurch. He continues glaring at Diane. “I’m not packed, yet.”
“It was in your contract. You should be ready to go at a moment’s notice,” Diane says.
“Yeah, and this is weeks ahead of the time frame I was given,” he counters.
This is all so unfair. Ridiculous.
My eyes prickle and my nose stings. Pain wraps around my throat, and I force myself to wheeze in an agonizing breath.
Oh no.
I’m not crying in front of these people.
“I’ll help you pack,” I mutter, ducking out from underneath Griff’s arm. I hurry toward the bedroom without waiting for a response.
“Thanks,” Griff says. In a lower voice, he says, “No.”
That “no” wasn’t meant for me.
Afraid the creepy camera dude might chase after me, I run to Griff’s bedroom and quietly close the door.
Is this really happening?
My heart pounds wildly. I count to five and then ten, desperate to get my breathing under control and not cry.
My gaze strays to the bed. Still rumpled from last night. The first night we…
Scalding tears roll down my cheeks, and I brush them away with the back of my hand.
Everything was so beautiful. So perfect. We had plans today.
Hurry. There isn’t much time.
A ragged sob tears out of my throat. I stuff my fist in my mouth and bite hard to muffle the noise.
Bed. What if they come in here and film? Absurdly worried it’ll look like we had sex, I hurry to straighten the sheets and comforter. I scoop up our scattered clothes, folding them into a neat pile on one side of the mattress.
My frenzied gaze pings around the room. Pack. I came in here to help Griff pack.
What will he need for the next two months?
Clothes. Closet. Griff rotates through a collection of T-shirts and shorts in the summer. Some sleeveless shirts—God, I love when he wears those—and a bunch of work shirts. I doubt he wants anything with his job embroidered on the front, so I flip by those. What about Zips? I know the guys race and gamble illegally there, but Uncle Pax hosts legitimate car shows and stuff too. Griff would want to support the racetrack if he had a chance. I set that shirt in the maybe pile.
A T-shirt with the crown, brass knuckles, and flowers logo Griff and Remy use to represent The Castle crew. It doesn’t have any writing on it. I toss that on the maybe pile.
Support your local LOKI MC, Port Everhart Virginia. Why does he have one for Virginia but not New York? Doesn’t matter. No time! Griff said he wasn’t supposed to mention the Lost Kings MC on the show. I leave that shirt on its hanger.
There’s a T-shirt with Clary’s Tavern emblazoned on the front. Remy can use all the publicity he can get for the bar. I throw that one in the definite pile.
A muscle tank with Strike Back Studio. Doing those promo videos for Sully’s gym are what got Griff into this mess. Sully’s gym could use the free advertising too. I toss that shirt on the definite pile.
I throw a bunch of plain T-shirts on the bed, then go through the rest of his wardrobe. Lots and lots of flannel shirts. Long-sleeved Henley’s, hoodies. His wardrobe is pretty basic. A crime, since he looks so good in a tux.
Focus.
This feels too intimate. Personal. Pawing through his clothes. Trying to figure out what he’ll feel most comfortable in when he’s in a strange environment. What he’ll need for the next eight weeks. He’ll have access to a washer and dryer, right? Will they let him run to a store and grab something if he forgets it?
So many unknowns.
On the top shelf, a large backpack peeks over the edge. I hook my finger in the strap and drag it down, grab a few pairs of shorts, then carry everything to the bed. The front of the backpack has tons of little stash pockets. I unzip one outer pocket and find another inner pocket nestled inside. I hurry to the nightstand and grab the tube of cherry lip balm I tossed there last night. Griff once told me how much he liked the taste of it on my lips.