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)
Dominic has said a lot of things about Griffin. That he had a shitty childhood and is no contact with his parents, that a high school hockey coach saved him from ending up as another juvenile delinquent or prison statistic, that he went straight to a development team because hockey was all he had, and that playing in the NHL was his one and only end goal, so now he’s in a constant state of now what. That his walls are built up taller and stronger than a fortress, that he doesn’t trust easily or fully, that he’s a no-strings-attached guy with women, and that he’s the only guy Dominic would want at his back if he was going into battle, because Griffin is both loyal and completely stone cold. His heart beats in his chest, but it doesn’t beat in his soul because it died long ago. Okay, that last bit is my creative liberty with what Dom said, which was closer to Griffin being an emotionless zombie, but I think it’s more accurate.
Griffin isn’t ready to hear any of that. In fact, I think it might piss him off to know that Dominic has told me, Mom, and Dad any of his personal trauma and damage. Instead, I grin and tell him something else entirely true. “He said you’re his favorite asshole.”
A sprinkle of fondness, tempered with a touch of crude. Perfect.
The gruff laugh that rumbles Griffin’s chest feels like a win, and after today, I could really use one. “Other than himself, you mean,” he corrects.
I nod, laughing my own agreement about my arrogant bastard of a brother whom we both love dearly. We fall into comfortable silence for the rest of the ride back to my apartment, and when the driver pulls over to the curb, Griffin gets out and holds his hand out to help me from the car. It feels like a trick, so I intentionally ignore it and get out on my own, without tripping and everything. I should get an award.
“Thanks for going with me today.” Mom would be proud of my manners. I might not be Griffin’s biggest fan, nor he mine, but I do recognize that it was nice of him to escort me to the sketchy stores. I would’ve gone, with or without him—I wasn’t lying about that—but it was definitely quicker and safer with him at my side.
“You’re welcome.”
I expect him to casually wave before hopping back in the car to go home, but instead he walks toward the door of my building. I freeze, staring at his back. His very wide, muscled back. “What are you doing?”
Annoyingly never missing a step, he glances over his shoulder. “Walking you to your door.”
“Why?” I ask, more confused about that than almost anything else today. Griffin should be eager to get rid of me, especially after a day of dealing with my roller coaster of emotions, the highs of my hopes and the lows of my letdowns over and over again, especially when they’re mixed with my rambling and tangents, a.k.a. side quests, as I like to consider them.
“Just get inside,” he says with a heavy sigh.
Fine, I guess we’re doing this. For no good reason. Because it’s definitely not a date, where the guy walks you to your front door. And we’re not friends who take care of each other. He probably just wants to make sure I don’t trip walking up the stairs or something. Dom would kill him if I got hurt mere seconds after he released me into the wild. That’s got to be it.
At my door, he pauses, and I search his face, trying to figure out what is going on inside that thick skull of his. Something, obviously, but his expression is inscrutable.
If this were a date, I might think he was trying to decide whether to try for a kiss since he’s standing nearly toe to toe with me and his brown eyes are locked on mine. But if eyes are the windows to the soul, Griffin’s are so shuttered that I couldn’t tell you if his soul is even in there.
And he definitely has less than zero interest in kissing me. Not that I want that either!
Maybe there’s something on my face? Or pepper in my teeth? Surely not! The food truck lunch we had was hours ago, and he would’ve told me before now, right? I laugh internally at my own naivete because, no, Griffin wouldn’t have. He would’ve let me walk around with pepper, broccoli, and whole grains of rice in my teeth, smiling at everyone I passed, and never saying a word, laughing at me the entire time.
I lick my lips unconsciously, letting my tongue quickly slick over my teeth, but find no stray bits of lunch. I swear he tracks the movement, and I frown, preparing for one of his textbook-standard, jabbing insults.