Page 6
In the other room, the bathroom door opens. I hear bare feet on hardwood and then the sound of drawers opening.
A few minutes later, as I’m adding milk to the coffee, Griffin appears in the kitchen, dressed and combed and looking professionally edible. His hair is still slightly damp, and he smells like the soap I used in his shower the last time I was here. I had forgotten how much I like it.
I hold up the mistletoe.
He stops, then he laughs. “Foster Crue. You sure know how to derail a guy’s plans.”
“Come here.”
He crosses the kitchen and kisses me. Softer than last night. His hand comes up to rest on my bare chest. My free hand settles on his hip, over his shirt. He tastes like toothpaste, his kiss telling me how much he would rather not go to work today. Maybe I’m imagining things. Probably.
When we part, I hand him the travel mug. “Coffee. Milk, no sugar.”
“Thank you.” He looks at me for a beat too long. Then he clocks the state of his kitchen and his mouth opens slightly.
“You packed my bag.”
“Packed is a loose term. I grabbed papers and shoved them inside your bag.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re going to be late. Go.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He grabs the bag and slings it over his shoulder, then pauses at the doorway.
“Are you going to be here when I get home?”
I lean against the counter. Cross my arms. Try to look casual. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you want me to be.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I want you to be.”
“Then I’ll be here.”
“What are you going to do all day?”
I put my hand on my chin and scratch the day-old scruff. “Ruffle through your things. Read your journals. Find out what kind of kinks you’re hiding.”
“I don’t have journals.”
“But you have kinky stuff. Noted.” I wiggle my brows.
“Why can’t you do what normal people do and watch daytime TV?”
“Why would I do that when I could find out if you’ve added to your sex-toy collection since I was last here?”
“Maybe I have.” He crosses the kitchen one more time, kisses me again, and then he’s out the door before I can say anything else.
Without Finn here, the apartment is very quiet.
I know where the cereal is. Top left cupboard, behind the mugs.
I pour a bowl, grab a mug, fill it with coffee, and then sit at the table. My phone rings from inside my bag on the floor where I left it last night. I lean back and reach for it.
My stomach drops when I see Nikko’s name on the screen. It’s not even five in the morning in LA, and Nikko wouldn’t call at that hour unless something is wrong.
