“Damn …”
I drop the towel onto the carpet and he tackles me onto to his bed. A gentleman to the bitter end, he goes down on me one more time and then we curl up together under his duvet.
Several hours later, I wake, not realizing I’d fallen asleep. In Griffin’s arms, for once I feel a sense of harmony—the one my name often seems to be mocking. We’re different, but somehow we fit, and it feels good. It feels … right.
Griffin snores softly beside me. I use all my stealth to slip out of his grasp to get up and use the bathroom, and on the way back I make a stop in his closet, where I turn on the dimmable light just enough to see what’s inside. Hanging front and center and smelling like fabric softener is the Folk Yeah! shirt I gave him.Smiling, I take it out and hold it against me. Smiling even bigger, I pull it over my head and push my arms through the sleeves. It barely covers my ass, but I keep it on and climb back into bed.
Still tired, I fall back asleep fast and don’t reawaken until the curtained window hints at morning and Griffin stirs. He grabs my waist, then pauses.
She’s not supposed to have anything on, he’s probably thinking in his drowsy mind.
Tracking the shirt fabric with his fingertips all the way down to the hem, he gets under it and caresses my bare hip. His breath hitches—I assume because it’s clear I’m not wearing underwear. Plus, he might not know which shirt this is, but he has to know it’s one of his.
Now he’s on top of me, pushing the shirt hem up to my navel and sliding down his boxer briefs until his manhood is free. I guide him into me.
“Mmm …” I groan at how hard he is between my thighs.
In a cocoon of blankets we move together. Partway through I reach down between us because I want to touch where he penetrates me, and that puts me right over the edge—which then puts him over the edge.
In an effort to be practical, we decide to shower separately this time.
When I get dressed (I put on another one of Griffin’s shirts and some drawstring pants that I adjust to fit me) and go to the kitchen, Griffin is arranging food from restaurant containers onto a couple of serving platters. Fruit and eggs and bacon and pastries.
“I’m not much of a cook,” he admits, “but Brunchies delivers.”
I take a slice of bacon and a scone—to start—and kiss him on the cheek. “This is perfect.”
After we eat, we go back to the studio to finish listening to the demos. They’re all good, but I tell Griffin to submit the banjoversion because I think it’s a good bridge between his country sound and his folk sound, and it’s still simple enough to appeal to my fans too.
“I don’t think Charles is going to go for it,” he says.
“Submit it anyway. Let him reject it. But at least you can say you tried. Don’t reject yourself before you even give him the chance to.”
Griffin half-smiles at that. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Oh yeah? Why? Is it because of what I did to you in the shower?”
“Obviously,” he says. “But in all seriousness … I wouldn’t want to do this without you. You’re really talented and you have a good mind for business too. And, I don’t know, you just make me feel … seen. Thank you for that.” He takes my hand and draws me over to him and guides me to sit on his lap—this time in a more chaste manner.
“I’m glad I’m here too,” I tell him.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, he says, “By the way, does all this mean you’re my girlfriend for real now?”
I laugh because he says it like a high school boy. But I suppose it’s a valid question. “Do you want me to be?”
“I do.”
So direct. I like that.
“You mean last night—and this morning—wasn’t a one-time thing?” I ask. “Or you’re not hoping for a no-strings-attached type deal where I let you fuck me but you get annoyed when I have actual feelings and want to spend time with you?”
“Like I said, those guys can choke on broken glass. Or better yet, play catch with a live grenade.”
I picture Luke and Kelton and Andy throwing a grenade around like a baseball.
Griffin really knows how to play up my wildest fantasies.
We make out for a minute, and afterward I tell him, “I would love to be your girlfriend for real.”
