“Phoebe, are you injured anywhere else?”
“No. No, I don’t think so.” Her voice is tiny, and I hate that someone put that fear and pain in her.
“I’m going to take you to the hospital and go back. I’ll meet the cops there and explain what happened.”
“I’m fine. Look, the bleeding has already stopped. We don’t need to go to the hospital.”
She flips down the cosmetic mirror, checks her reflection, and then turns to show me. The wound is about two inches long and not very deep. It isn’t serious enough to warrant stitches, but it still makes me wince. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t agreed to let her come inside with me. Hell, if I hadn’t brought her to check it out in the first place. I was thoughtless, and now she’s hurt because of me.
“You aren’t fine. You should get checked out by a doctor, just in case. You could have a concussion.”
“I said no, Griffin. Let’s just report the shooting—without mentioning the breaking and entering—and go home.”
Stubborn woman. But I don’t want to argue about it in a parking lot when the person who shot her could be close. “At least let me have a friend come over to take a look at you.”
“Only if you promise you won’t take me to the hospital.”
“Fine, but I’d like it noted that I’m completely against this idea.”
“Noted.”
I text a friend who used to be a medic in the Marines and pull out of the parking lot. By the time we are exiting the highway, he’s texted back, letting me know he can meet me at my apartment.
Phoebe is quiet, my nerves are fucking shot, and all I want is a nice, cold beer and about a thousand hours of sleep. But I don’t think I’ll be getting either in the foreseeable future.
Trey Winter is at my door when we pull up. He raises a brow when he sees the gash in Phoebe’s head.
“Do I even want to know?”
“Man, you really don’t.” He follows behind us as I open the door to my apartment. She heads to the couch, but he stops beside me. “She hit her head pretty good. It isn’t too deep, but I want you to take a look just in case. She refused to go to the hospital.”
“This is the last favor I’m ever doing for you, shii-it. Only you would call me to look at someone with a concussion, no questions asked.”
“Then I owe you one this time.”
“Damn right. You got some lights in here?” I turn on every light in the living room and try not to hover while he examines the injury. As he probes lightly around the cut with his fingers, Phoebe flinches. “Sorry, beautiful. McNalley said you probably have a bit of a concussion.”
“W-what?” Phoebe says faintly, and I frown. Had she lost more blood than I thought?
“I’m Trey. I was a medic with McNalley here in the Marines. He wanted me to take a look at you. That all right?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Color comes back to her cheeks, and I breathe a little sigh of relief. I don’t want to distract Trey as he works, so I keep my distance.
“I’m not going to ask what happened. I assume that, if you’re in trouble, Hollywood here is going to take care of it. You just let me know if you’re injured anywhere else.”
“Just the one place, I think.” Then she pauses. “Hollywood?” she asks Trey. “What does that mean?”
“He hasn’t told you?”
“No, I haven’t, and I’d prefer if you didn’t either,” I interrupt.
But Trey doesn’t listen. “It’s his call sign. When we were both working for Cole Security, we got call signs. Mine was Doc, and his was Hollywood.”
At this, Phoebe smiles. I almost don’t care that Trey’s running his mouth. Almost.
“Ask him about his name,” I suggest because as much as Trey knows it irritates me, the conversation is making her smile.
Her eyebrows press together. “It isn’t because you’re a medic?”
Trey chuckles and then smirks at Griffin. “No,” Trey admits as he uses butterfly bandages to bring the edges of her wound together. “My daughter used to call me when we were on missions. She was around three at the time, and her favorite thing in the world was Doc McStuffins, you know, the kid's show. The guys learned about it and started calling me Doc McStuffins. Doc for short.”
“That is too cute,” Phoebe says. She winces a little as he puts on the last bandage. “Well, I appreciate you coming out here on such short notice. I’m sorry if it was an inconvenience.”
“It’s never an inconvenience to talk to a beautiful woman.”
Laughing, she pulls him in for a hug. “I mean it, thank you.”
“For you, anytime. Keep this fucknugget in line, will you? He isn’t supposed to be getting his pretty face shot at anymore.”
“I’ll do my best. I wish we met under better circumstances.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“I will.” She gets to her feet, and I watch for unsteadiness, but she doesn’t wobble as she turns to me. “May I use your restroom to clean up?”
I nod to the hallway. “Second door on the right.”
When she’s gone, Trey gives a low whistle. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ll say. We’ll have to catch up over a beer sometime.”
“You got it. I’m going to need one. Thanks again, man. I appreciate it.”
“You owe me one!” he says as he lets himself out.
For the first time since I heard the gunshot go off, I let my tense muscles relax. Tonight has been close. Too close. Needing something to do to keep from obsessing, I text out an order for pizza. She’s going to need to eat something to counteract the shock anyway.
The bathroom door opens and closes, and I turn to find her walking toward me. She lifts her head and sees me watching her. Her smile is wobbly and exhausted. “I’m about to text an Uber, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have to get home and get some sleep. We both have a long day at work tomorrow.” She comes to a stop and looks up at me expectantly. “You okay?”
“No, the fuck, I’m not okay. I saw you nearly get shot.” The words come out more harshly than I intend.
She frowns. “I know. I was there. But I’m okay, I promise. Trey even said so. It wasn’t your fault.”
No, I may not have pulled the trigger, but this was absolutely my fault. “I’d feel better if you stayed the night here. I don’t think you’re safe by yourself anymore.”
Phoebe rolls her eyes. “Not this again. I’m fine. There’s no reason to think that my apartment isn’t safe with the forty-seven cameras, six deadbolts, three chain locks, and security guards you and the Coles didn’t think I would notice. It’ll be okay.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“You can’t know anything for sure,” she retorts.
She’s wrong. I can know a lot of things for sure.
Like I know I’ll regret it if I don’t take a chance and kiss her.
I close the distance between us, cup her face with both my hands and press my lips against hers, shocking us both.
Chapter Thirteen
Phoebe
Griffin’s lips move over mine, but not in a calculated way. They brush and tease as if he’s been thinking about doing exactly this for weeks, and now that it’s happening, he’s going to enjoy every second of it. I forget the throbbing pain from my wound. Forget that I’m supposed to be protesting because kissing Griffin is decidedly unprofessional. And forget that I’m not supposed to be kissing him back.
My hands grip his back for stability as he maneuvers us backward. We nearly slam into the wall behind me, but he catches us at the last second and gently pins me against its unforgiving surface. With the wall behind me and his rock-hard body in front of me, there’s nowhere for me to go. I’m well and truly trapped.
I can’t stop my hands from sliding up his back and over his shoulders. They coast back around t
o the front of his body, where there’s a breath of air between us. Even with the material covering his stomach, I can feel the ridges of his abs rippling beneath my fingers.
When I moan into his mouth, he deepens the kiss, his tongue delving inside to tangle with mine. The sensation is so breathtakingly erotic that I press my thighs together to quell the ache between them. His taste intoxicates me, and I nip at his mouth to satiate the sudden craving for more. I want so much more.
At my restless shifting against him, he takes each hand and presses them firmly against his chest to tell me I should keep them there. I’m trembling with the anticipation of what he’ll do next. His hands are free to caress their way down my arms, along the side of my ribs, and then they stop at my waist. My breath catches in my throat, and he kisses me sweetly as though in reassurance. He directs me across the room in one quick movement, and we tumble onto a long, fluffy couch with him over me.
One of his hands releases the zipper on my skirt, and the other slides down to caress my thigh. I’ve officially stopped breathing, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He gives me breath with each of his drugging kisses, and I don’t think I’d mind surviving this way as long as he doesn’t stop.
My fists knot the material of his shirt as the tips of his fingers trace the edge of my panties, teasing me. If I could speak, I’d be begging him to stop teasing and go for it. What inhibitions? There are none anymore as far as he is concerned.
When he feels he’s teased me enough, his hand moves into my panties, and I can really feel him, skin against skin where my body weeps for him. One long, thick finger traces my bare lower lips, pushing deeper until it’s coated with the evidence of my need for him. I spread my legs, wanting him inside me, but he moves away, and I moan in frustration.
“I’ve got you,” he says against my lips.
I’ve given up trying to speak. The only sounds coming from my mouth are whimpers and sighs. He seems to know what I’m asking without words.
His expert fingers find my clit with ease, and I melt for him at the first stroke. It should feel wrong, and I’ve made plenty of excuses for why doing exactly this would be a terrible idea. But, as his fingers move over me, I find there are no excuses good enough for something that feels so good.
I’ve never been the type to throw caution to the wind. It has always been my watchword, but I find myself reaching to pull Griffin’s shirt over his head. He stops long enough to let me and then resumes his assault until I really am begging.
I’m mindless with need. I feel close to the edge of something wonderful as well as terrifying.
“Yes, that’s it,” he says. “Come on, come on.” His voice is in my ear, his body pressing against mine. It’s as if he’s become my whole universe.
“I need you inside me,” I say, finally finding the words. “Please.”
He shudders above me, around me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I’ve never been more sure of anything.
He sits up, and I take in the view of him shirtless. He’s been shirtless on set for scenes, but I’ve always tried to maintain a professional point of view on those occasions. There’s no being professional here.
“Let’s go to my be—”
A knock at the door has us both stiffening.
“Who’s that?”
I turn back to Griffin, who’s scowling. “Pizza,” he says and gets to his feet, grabbing his shirt and putting it back on. “I ordered it when you were getting cleaned up.”
He pulls away to answer the door, where the delivery guy is still knocking. I sit up and readjust my skirt and panties, my cheeks starting to burn. Oh my God, what was I thinking?
Griffin speaks to the delivery guy, but I can’t hear him over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Without his hands on me or his body pressing against mine, I remember all the reasons why this is a bad idea, no matter how good it felt.
He returns with two pizza boxes in hand, the scent of melting cheese and garlic wafting around him. He clears his throat. “Do you want to eat out here or in the kitchen?”
“Here’s fine. I know we just ate earlier, but I’m already starving.” Plus, it’ll give me time to process what just happened.
We sit in silence as he puts slices on paper plates. I chew mechanically, and the greasy food helps settle my roiling stomach and clears out some of the cobwebs in my head. Griffin works through three pieces of pizza before I finish one. Then he disappears for a while. By the time he returns, I’ve finished my plate, and all I feel is tired.
“Are we going to talk about . . .”
His eyes meet mine. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. You were probably in shock. It’s been an emotional day. Going further now would be a mistake. After we eat, you can crash in my room, and I’ll take the couch out here.”
I nod because I don’t know what else to stay. I can still feel him against me, and part of me wants him back there, but I also know what he’s saying is true. The last thing I’d want is to be his mistake.
Chapter Fourteen
Griffin
“Did you hear me?”
I look at Seth, who frowns at me. “What?”
“I asked if you needed a ride in tomorrow.”
“Thanks, but no. I’m okay.”
Seth sets his phone aside, which is a miracle in and of itself. He’s never far away from that thing, constantly checking my social media accounts and answering emails. I suppose it’s a good thing because I couldn’t care less. My own phone only has a few basic apps, and half the time, I don’t know where the damn thing is. I don’t think I’ve logged into a social media account in years.
“You sure?” Seth asks with a concerned expression. “You’ve been off lately. Do we need to schedule a visit to Pleasant Oaks?”
“Why in the hell are you bringing that up for?”
Pleasant Oaks is a rehabilitation facility I checked myself into after my first film wrapped. There were . . . extenuating circumstances, and I ended up there for thirty days as a show of good faith to the studio I was hoping to keep a relationship with. There was an understanding that it would never happen again.
And it hasn’t.
I may still drink, but I haven’t let it get to that point in a while.
Seth lifts his hands defensively. “I’m just trying to help. You seem distracted. Off.”
“I’m fine. Don’t bring that shit up again,” I warn.
“You’d let me know if something was happening, wouldn’t you? It’s not that girl, is it? The one I told you was bad news.”
“If you needed to know, I’d tell you, but I have to go.” I don’t even deign to respond to his comment about Phoebe. Who I’m with is none of his business. “You can go home for the day if you’re done with everything else.”
Seth’s expression doesn’t betray his thoughts, but I get a judgmental vibe from him anyway. “All right.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say and make my way across the studio to Phoebe’s office.
I’ve given her enough space, as far as I’m concerned. We’re both adults. It happens. That doesn’t mean anything has to change between us. We were both amped up on adrenaline and crashing, looking for a release.
Or maybe I’m fucking lying to myself because I kind of miss her and want to rationalize everything away.
I’ve gotten used to being around her. Maybe I even like it.
Sue me.
I knock on her door.
“Come in!” Her voice hits me like a shot of good whiskey after a long day.
Pushing it open, I see her bent over her computer desk, her strawberry blond hair up in a loose knot secured with a pencil on the top of her head. Her fingers move rapidly over the keyboard.
Phoebe finishes typing and looks up, her mouth going a little slack for a second at the sight of me in her doorway. Then she’s straightening, and I have to wonder if I imagined it. “Hey!” she says, a bit too bright. “How can I help you?”
I take a s
tep in and close the door behind me. I like how small her office is. I like being closed up in such a small space with her, surrounded by her fruity, tangy scent.
“Nothing, I mean, nothing work-related. I wanted to check on you.”
She smiles, this time a little more normally. “You sure you didn’t want me to set you up with another interview? Now that we’re in the thick of production, I have more content to go on. I thought it would be interesting if we did a piece with you and Mr. Oswald.”
“You think he’ll go for it?” I ask as I sit in my usual seat. “He didn’t exactly seem super stoked the first time it happened.”
“I think he will once he realizes there’s no point in making a movie if no one knows what it’s about or even that it’s going to be released. He likes you. I think if you’re into it, it’ll make him more interested.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“If I get him on board, you’ll do it?”
I want to say no because I hate the public aspect of this job. Despise it, actually. It isn’t why I got into the business in the first place, but I’m starting to realize it’s a necessary part. Probably because of conversations like this with Phoebe.
“Fine, whatever,” I say.
It’s almost worth it to see her smile. “Excellent. I’ll set things up. I’m guessing this isn’t why you stopped by, though.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Well, spit it out. You have me worried it’s bad news.”
“I thought we should talk.”
She bites her lip. I have a sudden flashback to the flavor of those lips. I clench my fists on my thighs to keep from pulling her over the desk for another taste. “Talk? About what?” Her breathy voice strokes over my skin like a caress.
“Us.”
“W-what about us?”
“More specifically, the second date you owe me.”
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