Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
“In front of everyone?” I pry my eyelids open and stare around the bar. It’s kind of dark at our corner table, but we’re not exactly invisible. A few Lost Kings at a nearby table glance over and smirk at us, but no one says anything. Some are involved with their own significant others and not paying us any attention.
“Everyone here should know you’re mine,” he whispers.
Is this some weird biker ritual? Or…oh, no. Did he see me talking to Torch? Is he worried some guys might think I was with Torch? Thanks to Remy’s embarrassing plan, everyone probably knows Torch was only “dating” me because my brother asked him to act like my babysitter. Does that somehow make Griff look “bad” to these guys?
“If you’re worried about Torch, I’m sure everyone knows he was only pretending to date me,” I say, casting another stink-eye toward Remy, even though he’s too busy behind the bar to notice this time.
That stops Griff from exploring all my sensitive spots with his tongue. He pulls back, his large frame hiding me from a good portion of the room. “I don’t give a fuck about him.” His eyes glitter with challenge. “Do you?”
“Not like that.” I slide my hand over his heart, feeling the steady thudding against my palm. “I just don’t want to feel like a fire hydrant you’re marking.”
Surprise or maybe hurt flashes in his eyes. “Is that what you think?” He leans close. “I hate to break it to you, but I always have a hard time keeping my hands off of you. And I already told you, it’s not true. The only person that orange-haired motherfucker was doing a ‘favor’ for was himself.”
Why bother protesting? Torch just said almost the same thing, but I can’t stop wondering if Remy put him up to that too. “Griff—”
“Stop.” He slams his lips over mine and slides his hand through my hair, cradling the back of my head.
I’m absolutely breathless when he finally pulls away.
“I love you so fucking much, Muffin.” He teases his fingers through my hair, rubbing my scalp with the pads of his fingers in a gentle, hypnotic way. “I’m so happy the show is behind me. I don’t have to hide in public or worry about someone taking pictures and posting them online. It’s an enormous weight off my shoulders.”
I hadn’t—but should’ve—realized the constraints bothered him that much. “You seemed to still go where you wanted.”
“Not really, and when I did, I was constantly worried some asshole would grab a picture.”
And yet, he still came to visit me at school.
“So, making out with me at your welcome back party is how you want to celebrate?”
His lips tilt into the slow, cocky grin I usually can’t resist. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“One fight with Remy this month wasn’t enough for you?”
He touches his cheek, gently probing the bruised skin. “Yeah, I can’t do that again. Glad we finally got it out of the way.” He taps his forehead. “I need to be laser focused from now on.”
“Me too. Finals are coming up and I’m freaking out a little.”
His eyebrows draw down. “Is coming home on the weekends messing with your study time?”
Probably. But I don’t want to say that.
“Be honest,” Griff warns.
He knows me too well.
“It’s loud in the dorms on the weekends. But Sundays, I should probably spend more time in the library.”
“If it’s that bad on the weekends, why don’t you let me rent you a hotel room? You could go there and study.”
Is he out of his mind? “I don’t want to waste money on that.”
“If it helps, you get some work done, then it’s not a waste.”
“I can study at home too.” I poke him in the chest. “I just like spending time with you more.”
“And I enjoy spending time with you too.” He pulls an exaggerated sad face. “But you know how mad I’ll be if you don’t get an A in all of your classes because of me?”
“A’s in everything is a bit optimistic, but I know what you mean.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a man approaching our booth. He stands quietly with his hands folded in front of him like a soldier—if soldiers wore all black and had throat tattoos.
Griff jerks his head to the side, noticing the guy. “Hang on a sec, Muffin.” Griff stands to talk to the dark-haired, dark-eyed man who seems vaguely familiar. Their conversation’s too low to hear over the other noise, but when Griff moves sideways, I recognize him from Zips. Black Mercedes Guy. He races often and frequently loses. Eraser told my brother to keep his eye on this guy at some point. But now he and Griff seem to be pals?
“Is this the girlfriend?” BMG says to Griff.
Griff hesitates, then curls his fingers, motioning me closer. I slide out of the booth, happy I wore jeans instead of a dress since I’ve gotten in and out of this booth at least fifty times tonight, and stand next to Griff.