The gruff laugh that rumbles Griffin’s chest feels like a win, and after today, I could really use one. “Other than himself, you mean,” he corrects.
I nod, laughing my own agreement about my arrogant bastard of a brother whom we both love dearly. We fall into comfortable silence for the rest of the ride back to my apartment, and when the driver pulls over to the curb, Griffin gets out and holds his hand out to help me from the car. It feels like a trick, so I intentionally ignore it and get out on my own, without tripping and everything. I should get an award.
“Thanks for going with me today.” Mom would be proud of my manners. I might not be Griffin’s biggest fan, nor he mine, but I do recognize that it was nice of him to escort me to the sketchy stores. I would’ve gone, with or without him—I wasn’t lying about that—but it was definitely quicker and safer with him at my side.
“You’re welcome.”
I expect him to casually wave before hopping back in the car to go home, but instead he walks toward the door of my building. I freeze, staring at his back. His very wide, muscled back. “What are you doing?”
Annoyingly never missing a step, he glances over his shoulder. “Walking you to your door.”
“Why?” I ask, more confused about that than almost anything else today. Griffin should be eager to get rid of me, especially after a day of dealing with my roller coaster of emotions, the highs of my hopes and the lows of my letdowns over and over again, especially when they’re mixed with my rambling and tangents, a.k.a.side quests, as I like to consider them.
“Just get inside,” he says with a heavy sigh.
Fine, I guess we’re doing this. For no good reason. Because it’s definitely not a date, where the guy walks you to your front door. And we’re not friends who take care of each other. He probably just wants to make sure I don’t trip walking up the stairs or something. Dom would kill him if I got hurt mere seconds after he released me into the wild. That’s got to be it.
At my door, he pauses, and I search his face, trying to figure out what is going on inside that thick skull of his. Something, obviously, but his expression is inscrutable.
If this were a date, I might think he was trying to decide whether to try for a kiss since he’s standing nearly toe to toe with me and his brown eyes are locked on mine. But if eyes are the windows to the soul, Griffin’s are so shuttered that I couldn’t tell you if his soul is even in there.
And he definitely has less than zero interest in kissing me. Not that I want that either!
Maybe there’s something on my face? Or pepper in my teeth? Surely not! The food truck lunch we had was hours ago, and he would’ve told me before now, right? I laugh internally at my own naivete because, no, Griffin wouldn’t have. He would’ve let me walk around with pepper, broccoli, and whole grains of rice in my teeth, smiling at everyone I passed, and never saying a word, laughing at me the entire time.
I lick my lips unconsciously, letting my tongue quickly slick over my teeth, but find no stray bits of lunch. I swear he tracks the movement, and I frown, preparing for one of his textbook-standard, jabbing insults.
“I’m sorry.”
He says it so quietly that I might’ve imagined it, then quickly whirls on his heel, striding down the hall.
Sorry for what? That we didn’t find the ring? It was a long shot. I’d hoped, really hoped, we would, but deep down, I knew it wasn’t likely. Still, I don’t call out that it’s okay as he rounds the corner. Instead, I watch his butt as he disappears.
I don’t like him. And that was weird. But a nice ass is a nice ass, and Griffin has thatgyat-damnposterior. That I’m totallynotinto since I like ... um, short, skinny, nerdy guys who talk a lot and are in touch with their emotions. Yep, that’stotallymy type and I’m not overcompensating at all.
Inside, Talia is sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn at her side and a glass of wine in her hand. “Hey! Where’ve you been?” Given her Snoopy pajamas and freshly washed curls, she’s been holding down the couch for a bit, and hasn’t been outside today at all.
“It’s a long story, which I’ll share in one second, but first—”
I head over to the window and peek out, looking at the street in front of my building. I’m not sure what little voice in my head told me to do it, but I’m glad I do, because when Griffin appears, he looks ... mad? I’m not sure that’s exactly it, but his eyes are narrowed, his jaw is set, and his shoulders are down and back like he’s trying to appear intimidating. It’s the game face I’ve seen hundreds of times. He scans up and down the street in both directions for several seconds.
“What’re we looking at?” Talia says from right beside me. “Oh! Griffin,” she says casually. And then I feel her eyes land on me heavily and she screeches, “OhmyGod!Griffin! Girl, you need to start talking.”
As though she’s got an ear pressed to the wall and was just waiting for us to make a peep, Mrs. Rosenthal bangs three times.
I ignore them both in favor of continuing to look out the window.
“It’s not like that.” But something about the way he’s searching the street has my Spidey senses tingling. Like he’s looking for something, or someone. It hits me with aduh. “He’s looking for Dom, probably scared my brother would murder him in broad daylight, no questions asked, if he saw us out together.”
Talia gasps. Not about the murder, because she’s seen Dom in action firsthand, but about Griffin and I being out together.
“No, not like that,” I rush to explain. “I need a glass of wine too. And Thin Mints.”
“On it,” she replies, high-kneeing it to the freezer. “Are we celebrating? Or commiserating?”
“Both.”
“I feel like I’ve missed an entire season of my favorite show, and I was only gone for three days,” Talia whines, throwing her head back against the couch and staring at the ceiling after I’ve told her everything from Carolynn’s call to striking out on recovering the stolen ring.
