Page 9 of Accidental Husband

Those are facts. They don't matter to me one way or another.

Griff chuckles. "You have to hand it to Haley.” He refers to Haley Williams, the lead singer of my favorite band, by her first name. “She makes some of those guys look like Boyfriend of the Year."

"Which guys are these?" I fold his five-dollar bill.

"I'm gonna let you have that 'cause I feel sorry for you."

"Thank you for the charity." I slide the bill into my shorts. "It will buy an entire matcha latte."

"Not by my count."

I swat him.

Griff's fingers brush my neck as he pauses the song. "If you only listened to Paramore, I wouldn't worry so much."

"You worry about me?"

He nods.

I tap the band logo on his hoodie. The Black Keys. Of course. "This guy sounds like he's about to OD on Xanax."

"Maybe he is. That's good shit."

"Oh my God, really?"

He nodsreally. "I know you've swiped your mom's stash."

I shake my head. “You're the one who swiped it." I was terrified. Hell, I'm still terrified she's going to realize it and send me to therapy. She's an anxious flier, not a drug addict. She's not exactly popping pills like they're candy.

"You led me into her bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet."

"And you opened the bottle."

He shakes his head. "This inability to take responsibility is pathetic."

"Uh-huh." I turn my headphones off and slide them into the back pocket of my backpack.

"You still have that?" Griff points to the sharpie scribbles on the bright blue fabric. Well, the once bright blue fabric. It's more of a faded denim now.

His fingers trace the lines of a design—a rose with a knife through its blossoming petals (he insists it's not a sex thing).

"Yeah." I cross my legs and press my outer knees into the blanket. "I found it in the back of my closet."

His gaze shifts back to the design.

Neither one of us mentions that he drew it. That he used to hang out on the floor, doodling on my backpack, jeans, skin, while I read. That it was our normal, everyday routine until Mom freaked out.

We started cutting our hang out sessions short, so he'd be out of the house by the time she got home from Pilates.

Then I started dating Jackson and… we knew things had to be different. He stopped sleeping in my bed. I stopped offering my skin as a canvas. We sat at opposite ends of the couch.

It was different. There was a line. AnI know we're totally not into each other, and we never would be, but it so obviously doesn't matter, because I have a boyfriendline.

Now…

He's closer than he's been in a long time.

"I brought you something." He rifles through his backpack. Pulls out a folded piece of paper. Hands it to me.