Page 31 of Playing Hard to Hate
“Thought you lived in some fancy condominium with a private gym and all that jazz.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him.
Had he been lying to me to make himself look good?
Millie was right. Did I just set up my own demise?
Was everything about to be spelled out right in front of me in the words of I told you so?
The room was filled with silence, the question hit a chord with Griffin. “Yeah.” He took a seat and gestured for me to join him, not looking interested in answering the question I’d asked.
“He does,” Graham answered from the kitchen.
“Fucker spent a pretty penny on the place for his privacy,” Hunter added, using his finger to add air quotes to the word privacy. I instantly held back a giggle.
“Then why are we here?”
“Paps aren’t staking out our house,” Graham answered for Griffin again.
“Plus we already had plans, and we weren’t about to get ditched,” Hunter chimed in.
Looking over at Griffin, who grimaced, I stepped closer to him and dropped my crossed arms.
“Why did you need me?”
He linked our hands, his touch unbelievably soft and gentle as his big fingers locked with mine. His heat seeped into my palm as he had me get up and led me through the living room out to the big fenced-in patio. He shut the glass sliding door behind us, giving us privacy.
“My dad and I have been on the outs since senior year of high school,” Griffin began.
He stared out over the yard, not looking at me.
His jaw was tight, his muscles bunched in his arms. I moved closer to him, pressing our sides together.
He relaxed a little. “He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, and I wanted to play baseball.”
I knew all of this, but I let him continue. I rubbed my thumb along his knuckles, staying quiet, giving him the chance to get this off his chest.
“Today, he called me, expecting me to just turn my back on my team, on my career, to come to some charity event he’s hosting. You know, for his stupid image because he never does it for the actual greater good. I refused. We fought.” He swallowed thickly.
“Oh, Griffin,” I whispered, leaning against his side. His pain was like a pulsing throb inside my own chest, yet at the same time I was so envious of his position. How I would kill to have my dad begging to be part of my life.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he shut his eyes, drawing in a ragged breath. “I just…I needed you. You make things…easier.”
Millie was right. He always said the right thing.
Throwing logic to the wind, I cupped his cheek and turned his head to face me. Leaning up on my toes, I pressed my lips softly to his. Our second kiss. My second kiss. “I’m always here if you need me,” I told him quietly.
He dragged me closer and kissed me deeper, his fingers lacing through my hair. I moaned, opening my mouth beneath his. When his tongue touched mine, fireworks sparked along my veins. My brain emptied of everything but this man and the way he made me feel.
Fuck logic.
Fuck everyone.
This felt right.
For the first time in years, I didn’t carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.
I was free.
Griffin shouldered the weight of all my burdens.
He slowly pulled back from me. My cheeks flamed red, and I ducked my head against his chest. He cradled me close, his fingers sinking into my hair, our ragged breaths mingling, my grip on his shirt death-like.
Griffin looked down at me, ducking his head so our eyes would meet. “You hungry?”
I shrugged.
“What’d you order?”
He chuckled, seeming a bit lighter now. I didn’t know if it was the talk or the kiss, but I was giddy it was because of me regardless.
“Your favorite. Chinese.” I quickly pulled away, and he barked out a laugh, standing as well. “Okay, kitten. Come on.”
It felt like everything was right. Usually I allow extra cheat meals, but with all the stress that I’d gone through these last couple weeks, I was in no mood for a healthy meal. It had been years since I’d had Chinese. It didn’t fit my macros, but thankfully, that didn’t matter tonight.
The next morning, I went to one of Millie’s classes and instantly regretted it when I was suddenly the center of attention.
“Did you always think you’d end up together?” one of the older ladies asked.
“We aren’t.”
“You two looked so cozy on the beach, and the way he held your butt…oh my god!” a teenager said, looking all dreamlike at her reflection in the mirror of the small room where Millie was attempting to lead the class.
“We aren’t together,” I insisted, even though the words sounded like a lie to my own ears.
“Is he a good kisser? I read in a magazine that he was highly ranked among the Atlanta Braves as best kisser, but, apparently, Jaxon Dexter was better. I mean, duh, have you seen him?”
“What does he smell like?”
“Do you love him?”
“All right, ladies. Silence. No more talking,” Millie instructed, and I was grateful because this morning I’d woken up even more confused than yesterday.
I kept thinking back to high school, and the pain I had carried around because of Griffin. Then I’d tell myself to stop being stupid. That was years ago. People change.
I enjoyed spending time with him last night. I liked talking to him. I loved kissing him.
I just knew if I let myself fall for him, truly fall for him—which, despite my hesitation, was already happening—he would ruin me. The thought of letting that happen a second time was earth-shattering.