I kept chewing.
“I’m not budging on this,” he said.
I swallowed. “Jesus, Griffin, don’t you ever have any fun? I mean, like a normal person?”
He flinched. He looked away from me.
Sensing I’d scored a point, I kept pushing. “I mean, have you ever even been to a party? How do you even know what they’re like?”
He picked his plate back up. He took a bite of scrambled eggs.
“Someday, you’re going to wake up,” I said. “And you’re going to be thirty years old. And someone’s going to ask you how you spend your twenties. And you’ll say—”
“Okay,” he said. “Fine.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “You can have the party here. But no drugs. And if I decide that it’s over, at any point, I’m kicking people out. You got that?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. You’ll see, Griffin. It’ll be really low key. I promise.”
He glowered at his plate. “I’m kind of out of bacon here.”
“I’ll get you more,” I said, leaping to my feet. “How many pieces do you want?”
“How many are left?” he asked.
I brought over the skillet. He took them all.
“I really appreciate this,” I said to him.
“Yeah, yeah.” He seemed very interested in his bacon.
I threw my arms around him. “Thanks.”
He stiffened. “Um, doll...” He turned his head. Our faces were inches from each other. “You’re welcome.” His voice was different. Deeper. Scratchier.
* * *
My art appreciation classmates encircled Griffin, hanging on every word he said. He kept trying to get away from them, but they followed him everywhere.
He managed to shake them long enough to pull me aside. “How am I supposed to watch the door with those girls in my way?”
I shrugged. “They think you’re interesting.”
He rolled his eyes. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You’re trying to distract me.”
“No!” I said. I turned away from him and raised my voice. “Let’s play some drinking games, everyone.”
There were only about five guests at the party. We could easily play something all together in a group.
“That will keep them occupied and off your back,” I said. “And I’ll be doing something with you, so you won’t be distracted.”
He gave me his suspicious look, but he let it slide.
Everyone gathered and squeezed onto my couch and chairs in the living room.
“So,” I said. “What do you guys want to play? I’ve got cards. We could play Asshole. Or King’s Cup. Or Never Have I Ever.”
One of my art class friends giggled. “Why don’t we let Griffin decide?”
We all turned to Griffin, who was perched on the couch, glaring at the door. “Look, uh, I don’t even know what those games are. Play whatever you want.”
“What?” said my art class friend. “How can you not know?”
“Haven’t you ever played a drinking game before?”
“Have you been living under a rock?”
Griffin’s jaw twitched. “Kind of, I guess. That a problem?”
The girls drew back at the sharpness of his tone.
Griffin saw their reaction. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Clara, you pick,” I said.
“Well,” she said, “we should definitely play Never Have I Ever. Griffin can start, and he can say that he never played Never Have I Ever.”
He turned to me, looking lost.
“It’s kind of like the truth part of truth or dare,” I explained. “Someone tells the group something they’ve never done, and anyone who has done it has to drink.”
He shrugged. “Okay. So, that’s my turn, then. What Clara said.”
Everyone else drank.
It went to the next person. She grinned. “Okay, um... never have I ever... had a threesome.”
I drank a swig of my beer. No one else did. I forgot that I was playing with the goody-goodies from school. Oops.
They all gasped.
“Leigh! You did not!” said Clara.
One of the guys from my math class grinned. “So was it like two girls and a guy or two guys and you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I said.
Griffin gave me a vaguely disgusted look.
I blushed suddenly. “Um, it’s someone else’s turn, right?”
Clara waved her hand. “Me.” She sat up straighter. “Never have I ever given a blow job.”
I drank. Most of the other girls did too. Good. I was glad I wasn’t in a group with that many prudes.
“What the hell, Clara?” I teased. “How do you keep a boyfriend?”
“Shut up,” she said, sticking out her lower lip in a mock pout.
“She is a freshman,” said one of the other girls.
“That’s no excuse,” I said. “What about high school?”
“Leave her alone,” said Griffin in a low voice. He was staring at his drink, not at the door. “I don’t know if I like this game.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “It’s all just fun.” I turned to Clara. “You know I was teasing, right?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “It’s okay, Griffin.” She beamed at him. “But thanks for taking up for me.”
His nostrils flared, like he was angry. He didn’t say anything.
“Who’s turn is it?” I said.
The guy from my math class spoke up. “Uh... never have I ever gone bungee jumping. Sorry, it’s lame.”
“It’s fine,” I said. No one drank, though. I looked around at the group. “I guess none of us have, huh?”
“My turn,” said one of the other girls from art class. “Never have I ever punched someone.”
I drank. So did Clara, the guy from my math class, and a few others. Griffin didn’t. I nudged him. “You’ve so done that. I’ve seen it.”
He turned his eyes on me. They were hollow and intense. “I don’t think I want to play.”
I felt an urge to back away from him. “Okay. You don’t have to.”
“It’s just for fun,” said one of my art class friends.
“Come on, Griffin,” said Clara, grinning at him.
He got up. “You guys play without me. Seriously.” He stalked over to the other side of the room, to his spot next to the fridge in the kitchen.
We were all quiet.
Clara twisted in her chair to face him. “Hey, we can play something else if you want.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Just ignore me, really.”
Clara turned back, hunching her shoulders. “Was it me?” she whispered. “Did I say something?”
I shook my head. “Don’t mind him. He can’t really get drunk anyway. He’s sort of on duty all the time. You know, since he’s my bodyguard and all.”
Another girl from my art class got up and went over to him. “Well, I didn’t want to play either. I agree with you.”
He didn’t look at her.
She reached out her hand. “Do you mind if I rub your head? Every time I see a guy with a shaved head, I just want to touch it.”
He grabbed her wrist. “I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind.” His voice was devoid of emotion, almost robotic.
“Sorry,” she said, looking a little frightened.
He let go of her. He turned away from her, his expression blank.
Jesus. He was ruining my party. “Um, it’s got to be somebody else’s turn. Who’s next?”
“I think it’s you,” said the girl next Griffin. “Since I dropped out.” She cast one last glance at him and then came back over to us.
“Me,” I said. “Right.” Damn it. I was remembering why I didn’t like this game. “Um... let me think.”
“Come on,” said Clara. “There’s got to be something you haven’t done, Leigh.”
Not really, no. I tried to smile. “Never have I ever been to China.”
No
one drank.
* * *
Around two in the morning, I closed the door behind the last of my guests. It was an early night for me, honestly, since I usually didn’t stop partying until dawn, but I was sort of glad they were leaving, because I was worried about Griffin.
He’d spent the rest of the party lounging against the wall, staring blankly at the door. It was as if he’d dropped right out of his body, leaving a statue behind. The guests thought it was weird too. They kept asking me questions in whispers, wondering if he was okay. I didn’t have any answers for them. I didn’t know what to say.
Now that they were finally gone, I went to him. “Okay, Griffin, you can move now. Everyone left.”
He didn’t acknowledge me.
“Griffin,” I said. “What the hell?”
Still staring straight ahead, he said, “If I was really your bodyguard, I’d be invisible, right? I’d follow you around, but nobody would talk to me. No one would know who I was, or why I was there. Right?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a bodyguard before.”
“Well, that’s all I’m doing,” he said. “I’m watching. I’m not going to try to interfere anymore.”
I furrowed my brow. “I don’t get it. Did I do something wrong? Because I thought things went exactly like I told you they would. I thought the party was appropriately low key.”
Nothing.
“Damn it, talk to me. Don’t stand there staring into space. It’s creepy.”
He shut his eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, doll. It was me.”
“Come sit on the couch and talk to me,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Please,” I said.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
I wrapped both of my hands around one of his biceps. It was bigger around than I could grip with just one. I tugged on him. It was like tugging on a mountain. He didn’t budge. “Come on.”
He sighed and straightened. He let me lead him to the couch. He sat down. I sat down next to him. He sat with his feet on the floor, staring at his knees. I turned sideways, sitting Indian-style, looking at him in profile. His features were chiseled.
“I’m not... good at stuff like that,” he said finally.
“What stuff?”
“Talking to people.”
“You were fine,” I said. “Everyone thought you were fine.”
He half-laughed. “Don’t lie to me, okay. I was out of place. I know it and so do you.” He looked at me. “I can’t play truth games. I can’t tell the truth about myself.”
I supposed that was true, given the fact he was an ex-assassin for a secret branch of an international arms corporation. “Well, you could tell the truth about the stuff that wasn’t dangerous for people to know, I guess. And lie about other stuff.”
“Which works well when you’re saying that I need to drink because I do that all the time.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s not your fault.” He studied his fingernails. “I didn’t realize it was going to be all about sex, either.”
“Does that, um, make you uncomfortable?”
“No.” But maybe his response had been a little too sharp and too quick.
“Look, that threesome thing was just once. And it was awful. I left in the middle of it. I hated it.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything about that,” he said. He was blushing again.
“Okay,” I said. “I mean, it’s not like...”
He lifted his gaze to meet mine.
Whatever words I had been about to say died on my lips. God. He was gorgeous.
I leaned closer, searching his eyes with my own.
He didn’t stop me.
I closed my eyes. I pressed my lips against his.
His lips were warm and full. They were soft. This close to him, I could smell him. He had a kind of woodsy, male smell—nothing artificial like aftershaves or colognes. He smelled raw and wild. I put my hand on his cheek, ran my fingers over the faint stubble on his jaw.
He responded to me, moving his lips against mine. His arm came around me, his hand on my back. His touch was impossibly gentle, so light I could barely feel it through my shirt, a tantalizing hint of pressure moving over my shoulders down to my waist. Tingles traveled all through my body.
I opened my mouth to him, let my tongue dart out to find his.
And he pulled away. He had a look of terror in his eyes.
“I’m... I didn’t mean...” I tried to say.
He stood up. “This is a bad idea, doll.”
I stood up too. “I don’t know that it is. I mean, thus far, it felt like a good idea to me. A really good idea.” I reached for him again.
He moved out of my reach. “No.”
“Why not?”
He looked at the floor.
“It’s because I was too forward, right? You think I’m some kind of slut, and you’d never be with anyone who acted like that, would you?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not judging you.”
“You’re not attracted to me?”
He looked at me. “Doll... you are very attractive.”
“So are you,” I said. “You might be the most beautiful man—”
“Stop,” he said. “It’s not appropriate. I can’t do my job properly if I... if we...” He swallowed. “Besides, what about your dad? I don’t think he’d like this. Me taking advantage of his daughter.”
“Taking advantage?” I said. “I kissed you.”
He held up a hand. “Just drop it, okay?”
I started to say something else, but I realized that tears were forming in my eyes and that a lump was growing in my throat. I went to my room. I wasn’t going to let him see me crying over him.
* * *
Stupid. I was an idiot. What kind of weakling cries when a guy rejects her? Some kind of dumb young thing with no experience, maybe. But I’d been around the block a few times. I should be able to handle some guy saying he didn’t want me. I should be able to take it.
Although, maybe, if I was honest with myself, the truth was that I was never really good at hearing that.
I’d perfected my two-night rule specifically so I never had to feel rejected. I did the rejecting.
And there was Griffin, rejecting me before he’d even had the chance to sleep with me. He didn’t even want the chance to sleep with me.
Maybe it was for the best. I mean, what did I think was going to happen? I’d hook up with Griffin and we’d settle into some kind of domestic bliss together? That was impossible. I couldn’t settle down, and even if I could, Griffin was way too weird.
I wiped tears from my eyes and hurried into the bathroom, where I splashed my face with hot water. My eyes were a little bloodshot, but hopefully he wouldn’t be able to tell I’d been crying.
I headed out the front door, shrugging into my jacket.
Griffin was across the room in a second, blocking my path. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“On a drive,” I said. “I need to clear my head.”
“No way,” he said.
“I need some space.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“You’re the one I need space from.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry about that. But you can’t be on your own. You know that.”
“I don’t want to be around you,” I said.
“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s my job to—”
“Fuck your job,” I said. “That’s all you care about. Keeping me safe. Ruining my life is more like it. I can’t stand you. You’re a freak.”
I wasn’t sure why I said it. He’d been vulnerable with me. Not a lot, but enough to see where his weak spots were. I knew that if I said it, I’d hurt him. And I wanted to hurt him. Because if he was hurt, I’d get a head start on getting away from him.
He blinked.
I pushed past him.
He didn’t stop me.
* * *
Griffin didn’t call me for at least ten minutes, but once he started, he wouldn’t stop. I had to shut off my cell phone. (I had a brand new number since the incident in Cumberland. It was a pain, since none of my friends had my phone anymore, but Griffin said it was better to be cautious.)
I’d intended to just go on a quick drive around. But I ended up out on Route 50, and I started driving west. And then, when I came to the intersection with 92 North, I took that. And then I was just obviously on my way to Morgantown, so I decided to go the rest of the way.
Morgantown, West Virginia was a really big town compared to Thomas, West Virginia. It was where West Virginia University was. WVU’s claim to fame was that it was a big party school. I guessed people actually went to class there and learned things, but the atmosphere in Morgantown was anything but, um, collegiate.
Morgantown, like everything in West Virginia, was built on a hill. I drove through the streets, going further and further uphill as I did. On each side of the street, the houses clung to the ground, and looked like they might tumble into each other like dominoes if the right person pushed.
I had to go up pretty high before I got where I was going.
I parked my car on the side of the street and walked up to the door. The lights were on inside. But then the lights were always on. Middle of the night was a great time to show up at this house. Afternoon? Not so much.
The door opened. A guy stood there. “Yeah.”
“Hey, Shane,” I said.
He seemed to be having trouble focusing on me. “Do I know you?”
“Yeah, it’s Leigh,” I said.
He shrugged. “Whatever. You here to see Benton?”
“Yep.”
He let me in.
Inside the house, it smelled like dog shit. Benton had about five dogs, all purebred beagles. But he neglected them something awful. He didn’t clean up after them. He yelled at them. He only fed them junk, and he did that irregularly. I felt really bad for them, but I didn’t dare say anything to Benton about it.
You don’t piss off your drug dealer if you can help it.
“Who is it?” came Benton’s voice.
I followed Shane into the living room. There was a big screen TV on one wall. Stacked beneath it were at least five different game consoles, every kind you can think of, all brand new.
Benton was lounging on a leather bean bag chair, holding a Playstation controller in his hand. He was shirtless, revealing his skinny arms and torso. He wore a backwards baseball cap. Several dogs lounged around his feet.
Slow Burn: A Bad Boy Romance (Assassins Book 1) Page 5