Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Griffin,” I murmur, then take his mouth with mine.
He doesn’t move for a split second where I fear I’m the one who’s fubared us. But miraculously, he groans in relief—or maybe desperation—and takes control of the kiss. His hands cradle my face, his lips move against mine, and he tastes faintly of mint and chocolate. One quick move, and he spins us, pinning me to the door. One hand to the door’s surface and the other at my throat, he devours me while the world blissfully slips away and my entire focus becomes him and the desire building inside me.
But this is not only passion, it’s promises. Promises to do better, to be patient with one another, to not let ourselves get in our own way as we learn how to love each other.
When he presses his forehead to mine, I force my lids to open, finding him staring at me. His eyes have gone dark and hungry, but there’s pain flickering in their depths. “Penny, are you sure?”
“We should talk,” I say gently. Disappointment flashes across his face as he steps away to give me space, but I grab his shirt, gripping it in my fist and using it to pull him back, demanding he look at me again. “To set up some expectations and boundaries so this doesn’t happen again in the future,” I clarify.
“The future?” he echoes dumbly.
Smirking sassily, I boop his nose, being gentle because I’m not sure if it’s still sore from my brother’s punches. “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?” Not waiting for—or wanting—that answer, because I’m well aware that I have the potential to be a stage-five clinger-on-er where Griffin is concerned, I sit down on his couch, pulling a pillow into my lap and then patting the surface in invitation.
He lowers himself slowly, peering at me like he doesn’t trust me, which, to be fair, is understandable. “I truly am sorry,” he starts, running his fingers through his hair. In just the last few weeks, his hockey flow has gone insane. The Hawks are superstitious and won’t cut their hair or shave during the playoffs, so it’ll be interesting to see how mountain man he gets. I think I might like it on him.
I wave a hand dismissively. “I think we’ve both apologized enough. Mistakes were made, tears were shed, voodoo curses were chanted over NHL-authorized bobblehead figurines.” His eyes widen in shock. “Oh, was that one just me?” I tease, smirking like I’m just kidding. I’m actually not. I already have the bobblehead of Griffin, with his teeny-tiny signature printed on the bottoms of the feet like Woody in Toy Story. The collectible has come in handy a few times over the years, like when he pissed me off or said something particularly hurtful. “By the way, for no reason at all, how’s your butt feeling? Any tingling, numbness, or sharp poking pains . . . say, around midnight last night?”
His brows climb sharply, his eyes saying, Seriously?
“Huh, guess it didn’t work, then. Noted.” I scribble in the air like I’m actually taking note of that chicken nugget of information. “To the matter at hand, or at heart, as the case may be—” I grin and his lips twitch like he’s fighting off a smile. “Are you done pretending like I’m not the love of your life?” I ask airily, flipping my hair over my shoulder.
He barks out a laugh. “Pen, I never wanted to pretend. I felt like I had to. So yeah, I’m done. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Even when I was acting like an asshole and making you think I hated you, I loved you.”
“I’m gonna hold you to your promise of a long, detailed apology to make up for some of that,” I warn, running a fingertip on the pillow’s tassel while sending a flirty look his way. “Because I’m done pretending too. I’m scared this could get messy, and it definitely has the potential for dramatics, but ‘messy drama’ is basically my middle name, so I might not know the difference. And you’re signing up for this knowing that I attract all manner of uncontrollable chaos, so that’s your poor decision-making in action.” He’s definitely grinning now, and so am I. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to face down scary shit like love with anyone else but you. I mean, you took on the Mob for me.” The praise is well deserved because I don’t think anyone else would’ve done that for me. But Griffin did. Without hesitation, and without wanting a trophy or applause or a cookie. “We can figure out this whole relationship thing together. Starting with brutal, complete and total, no-holds-barred honesty. Don’t hide anything from me, ever.”
I can see the hope trying to grow inside him, making his face seem boyish and his smile happy. But he tamps it down, still fighting, still doubting. “Deal. And on that note, while you’re making it sound all cute like we’re getting matching shirts—”