by Kendall Ryan
I find his phone in the bedsheets. The screen is cracked to shit . . . that’s new. I enter the pass code I’ve seen him enter before, navigating through his email to try to find any clue as to what happened. Instead, I find a subject line from his airline that I wasn’t expecting to see.
CANCELATION CONFIRMATION: FLIGHT 5505 LAX TO JFK
Wait. Cancelled? What the hell is going on?
“Griffin, what’s this?” I ask, holding the phone in front of his face.
He squints at it and shakes his head. “Gone, baby. Totally gone.”
“Except you’re not gone, you’re here. So, what are you talking about?”
He motions for me to sit next to him, and I do, leaving a healthy distance between us. He jerks his head to invite me closer, but I simply raise an eyebrow in response, and he shrugs. Instead, he leans in close to me, his face within a foot from mine, and I can smell the sharp scent of whiskey on his breath.
“The better question, Layne, is why are you here? You don’t give a damn if I leave and move to the other side of the country. You don’t give a damn about me. About us. So why are you here?”
His words send a pang straight to my gut, but it quickly fades when I see the look on his face. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. And pleading. He wants an answer as badly as I do.
“Of course I care.” I bring my hand to his cheek, stroking the soft stubble along his jaw.
His sad eyes meet mine. “Then why’d you let me go?”
Shrugging, I sigh. “It seemed like a great opportunity for you. I didn’t want to hold you back from chasing your dreams. I want the best for you Griff, I always have.”
He chuckles, dipping his head forward and leaning his strong, heavy body into my side. “We made a mess of this one, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back into him. “I guess we did.”
He lifts his head to look at me, his face now only inches away. His eyes are less glazed as they meet mine, his brows knit together with a softness I haven’t seen from him before. I press my forehead to his, our mouths hovering for a moment before meeting. It’s the tenderest kiss I’ve ever received.
When we part, he takes a deep breath, and I prepare for some grand pronouncement, some final statement about what’s going on between us.
“I’ve got some bad news for you,” he says.
My heart sinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Bracing myself, I nod for him to go on.
“As much as I want to make sweet, sweet love to you right here and now, there’s a bad case of whiskey dick holding me back.”
I burst out laughing, shaking my head. Of course he’s going to take this moment to crack a joke. “I’m flattered, but that’s not what I came here for.”
“Oh, really? You weren’t hoping for a little more of this?” he asks, arching a brow and making his best drunk attempt at a sexy face—which only makes me laugh harder.
“All right, Casanova, take it easy.”
“Don’t think I don’t see you showin’ up here all sexy. I know that’s for me.” Griffin takes a slow, lingering look over my body, and I follow his gaze over my comfiest leggings and favorite pullover sweatshirt.
I cock my head at him and raise my eyebrows. “If this is all it takes to turn you on, I’ll have to start lowering the bar for myself from now on.”
“You turn me on. Like clockwork. Like sexy, sexy clockwork.”
A blush creeps over my chest and cheeks as our lips meet again, his heavy hands fumbling over my body. As much as I want for the night to progress further, it’s clear that he’s right about the whiskey dick. Plus, it’s been a long time since we’ve spent a night together that would only be rated PG-13.
“I think it’s time for bed,” I say, resting a hand on his chest.
“But there are still things we need to talk about.” The look on his face seems earnest, but he’s still as out of it as ever.
I appreciate the sentiment, but something tells me Griffin might regret having that conversation in the state that he’s in. “We can talk in the morning. I think you should sober up first before we have this kind of talk.”
He sighs, mumbling something that I think is agreement.
Lying back on the bed, we crawl under the covers, our bodies curling into each other like two perfectly aligned puzzle pieces. He presses his lips to my forehead before going completely still, his breathing evening out almost instantly.
For a second, anxious thoughts about what tomorrow might bring start swirling around in my head. But Dr. Benson’s voice rings through my mind, telling me to enjoy the moment, to embrace the time that Griffin and I have together, and to not over think things.
Him still being here must mean something, right?
I shake my head and push away the anxious thoughts, nuzzling closer into his broad chest, and do my best to focus on the feel of his arms around me, instead of my fear that in just a few hours, this could all be taken away from me.
The sun wakes me in the morning, sneaking through the blinds and cascading over my cheek with a warm glow. I roll over, happy to find Griffin’s mess of brown hair lying on the pillow next to mine, his blue-green eyes fluttering open and finding mine.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says, his voice gravelly from sleep. He pulls me into him, both of us still a little drowsy, and I rest my cheek on his chest, watching it rise and fall.
“How’d you sleep?” I whisper, a little worried about my morning breath.
“Like a drunk asshole.” He chuckles, running a hand over his face. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. Sorry you had to see me like that.”
I smile and shake my head. “You would have done the same for me.”
A smirk floats over his lips. “Oh, I have done the same for you.”
“Shut up.” I swat his arm with the back of my hand, but we both laugh because what he said was true. He has seen me countless times in all of my hot mess glory.
Things feel good between us—natural, even—but the weight of our upcoming conversation still hangs heavy between us. My gut is churning, making me think the anticipation is starting to eat through my stomach lining.
“Did I say anything weird during my bender?”
I snuggled closer, glancing up at him. “You might have mentioned whiskey dick.”
“Oh fuck, I did, didn’t I?” He shakes his head, covering his eyes with one hand. “I need to stop drinking.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Pretty embarrassing for you, not going to lie.” I smirk, poking him in the ribs.
He squirms, then pokes me back, and soon we’re in a full-on tickle fight, rolling across the bed in fits of laughter, trying to dodge each other’s reach. Eventually, we land with him on his back, pinned beneath me as I straddle his hips. We pause, our chests heaving as we catch our breath, and he brings his hand to my face.
“This is a nice change,” he says softly. “I’m glad you stayed over.”
“I’m glad you stayed too.”
He pauses, a serious look passing over his face. Then he looks away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re resolute. Hopeful, even. God, he’s so handsome.
“I stayed for you. You know that, right?” His voice is soft, and something inside me clenches. “I canceled my flight, and gave up New York, because of you.”
“Griff . . .”
He shakes his head, quieting me. “I want a real shot with you, to see if what we have—this crazy, wonderful, mind-blowing thing—is as real as it feels to me because Layne, you’re it for me. I don’t want anyone but you. Today, tomorrow and forever if you’ll have me.”
Even as the words are leaving his mouth, I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. After everything that’s happened between us, after Dr. Benson’s encouragement that I should give Griffin a chance, after Wren insisting that he’s in love with me, after spending countless hours sneaking around and hiding from our friends, in this moment, my mind goes blank.
For the first t
ime in a long time—maybe ever, if I’m being honest—I have no idea what to say.
22
* * *
GRIFFIN
My words hang in the air between us like a frozen speech bubble in one of those superhero comic books I read as a kid. Except there’s nothing particularly epic about this moment. Just a grown man pinned beneath the woman he loves, in his bed, waiting for her to say something.
Anything.
Layne’s mouth opens and closes without a word.
“You don’t have to say anything.” I whisper, reaching with one hand to smooth the hair back from her face as my heart begins to sink. I mean, I would love for her to say something, particularly that she doesn’t think I’m delusional, and that she also wants to be with me. That would be nice.
“N-no,” she sputters. “Wait.”
I love the look on her face when she’s thinking about what she wants to say. As a lawyer, she’s extremely careful with her words, and that care most certainly bleeds over into her personal life. I’m only half-nervous that whatever words she ultimately chooses could potentially destroy me or could change my life forever.
“I’m trying to say this in a way that won’t offend you.”
Fuck.
“Just say it,” I murmur, my throat tight with the anticipation of an impossible-to-swallow pill.
“Okay,” she says, her lips turning down in that resolute way they often do.
God, I love her lips.
“Being with you these past few months has been . . . honestly, incredible. I’ve felt like I’m in my twenties again, but also older than I’ve ever been before. Does that make sense?” she asks, and I nod. “I guess what I mean to say is . . . being with you is fun, and exciting, and comforting, and shockingly normal despite all the years we were just friends. There’s a kind of balance between us that I never thought possible. You wouldn’t believe how many hours I spent in therapy unpacking all of this shit.”
My eyes meet hers. “You talk about me in therapy?”
I nod. “Let me finish.”
I close my mouth obediently.
“Since you came to my office and gave me that unreal massage, and then I found out you were Kristen’s brother . . . I had trained my brain to see you as a kid. An irresponsible, infuriating little flirt who was too concerned with casual sex and would never be ready to settle into something serious. I repeatedly reminded myself of our ten year age difference every chance I got. But then you went and proved me wrong, you made me question everything I believed and the more time I spend with you, I see you for the man you actually are.”
My heart clenches.
“You don’t really fit into my preconceived idea of a lover. You’re not like any of the other men I’ve spent countless years trying to unwrap and pin down and dissect . . . You’re Griffin. Simple, wonderful, makes-me-laugh Griffin. What we have is easy, but it’s not boring. It might just be perfect.”
She meets my eyes for the first time since she started this speech. I’m completely in awe of how jaw-droppingly beautiful she is.
“So, what you’re saying is . . .” As amazing as her words are, and as much as I’m going to cherish them for the rest of my life, I’m going to explode if she doesn’t get to the point.
“I love you,” she says.
My whole body lights up. “You what?”
“You heard me,” Layne says with a quiet glare. “I’m not saying it again.”
I’d think she was truly fucking pissed at me by the look on her face . . . except for the slight blush to her cheeks.
“I’m not sure I did,” I say, leaning up so our faces are close. I stroke her cheek with my fingertips. Is this real? “One more time?”
Layne looks at me through hooded eyes, licking her lips. “I love—”
I crush my lips to hers in a searing kiss. She braces her hands on my shoulders as I pull her down to the bed with me, a soft sigh escaping her as our bodies meet.
Every touch tingles with electricity, as if each individual atom in my body has come alive for the very first time. Our kisses turn from hungry and desperate to slow and sizzling, our limbs entwined in a dance we both know so well. Suddenly, she pulls away.
“So . . .” She gasps, catching her breath. “How do you feel?”
I give her a look that says really?
“I need to hear it,” she murmurs, her gaze downcast in a moment of insecurity.
We can’t have any of that.
I lay our bodies down, side by side, cradling her head in my hands. Her big green eyes shine with a purity that cuts right through me. This is going to feel so good to say out loud.
“How do I feel? That’s easy. I love you. I’ve always loved you. From the moment I met you and touched your skin, I wanted to be with you. I’ve never met anyone like you, and I want to spend the rest of my life at your side, loving you, creating a life and family with you. You, Layne it’s always been you.”
With every word I say, more tears pool in her eyes. As they begin to spill, I wipe them away with my thumbs, and she smiles at me.
“Okay, where were we?” she whispers against my lips.
The kiss we share next is softer and sweeter. It feels different than every other kiss we’ve shared before because this kiss is our first as an us. I’m hers and she’s mine and I never want it to end.
“What are you grinning about?” Layne asks, her chin tucked into her big plaid scarf. She looks at me now with a familiarity that makes my heart grip.
How does it feel like we’ve been a couple for ten years, not ten minutes?
“I’m just imagining what Krissy is going to think,” I say with a smile.
Layne and my sister had a standing brunch date that I’ll be crashing. It’s not the first time, and considering this new development in our story, it certainly won’t be the last. I just had to hope to every god there was that when Kristen flipped out, it was in a good way.
Even if she’s upset, there’s absolutely nothing that can bring me down from this high right now. I’ve finally got my dream girl and my sister will have to learn to live with that fact. “How are we going to start?” Layne says, chewing on her lip, nervously. . Of course she’s nervous. Kristen is her best friend and now she’s on her way to admit that she’s been secretly fucking her brother behind her back.
Yeah, that doesn’t sound great.
I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I think we just start by coming clean. Open it up with the fact that we’re together.”
“And then what?” she says with a heaving sigh. “We tell her about all the sex we’ve been having behind her back for months?”
“Let’s not focus on the details of our sex life,” I say with a cringe. Okay, even if I’m on top of the world at the moment, this is still going to be awkward.
Within minutes, we’re at the front door of the diner where Layne and Kristen usually meet. The bell on the door jangles as we enter, and we’re immediately greeted by a hostess who leads us to the back patio, where we find a smiling Kristen.
“You’re here!” Kristen exclaims, enveloping Layne in a hearty hug. Then she reaches over with one arm still crushing Layne to grab my shoulder.
“Baby brother, what are you doing here?” she asks, squeezing my arm through my jacket.
Kristen is clearly exhausted, overcompensating with energetic greetings. People say that wedding planning is all-consuming . . . but now I see it. The bags under her eyes, paired with the messy bun piled on top of her head—she’s a wreck. Furthermore, she’s completely missed the glaringly obvious indication that something is different between Layne and me and that we are standing in front of her holding hands.
“I missed my sister. It’s good to see you haven’t drowned in tulle and flower arrangements yet.”
“Ugh,” Kristen says with a wrinkled nose. “If you think that there will be tulle of any kind at my wedding, then you’re uninvited.”
We join her at the tiny table, pulling a chair from a
nother table for me to sit on. After our orders are placed, Kristen turns toward me.
“So, let me guess. You two got drunk without me last night and crashed at . . .” Her finger trails from me to Layne. “Layne’s place?”
“Griffin’s place, actually. And yes . . . and no,” Layne says, folding her hands on the table diplomatically.
Wow, we’re really jumping in, aren’t we?
“Whatever, I don’t want to hear about it. I get it, I’m not cool anymore,” Kristen says, her hands raised in surrender. “I get engaged, and all my friends assume I can’t hang anymore.”
“That’s not it,” I say, taking Layne’s imploring look as my cue to jump in. “I got pretty smashed last night, and Layne came over to take care of me. Did you ever get my voice mail?”
“Fuck, I’m sorry for not calling you back. You know what Max’s family is like.”
“It’s totally okay. It’s just a long story.” With a nod from Layne, I dive in and tell my sister about the job opportunity in New York.
Kristen clutches her heart with one hand, her eyes wide. “Oh God, please tell me you’re not moving across the country,” she whispers.
The look of horror on her face makes me laugh. I love my sister. I really do.
“I’m not, I promise. I turned it down for personal reasons.”
I don’t know whether I’m the one who should say it, or if Layne should. I turn to her, trying to decide my next move. Just as my eyes land on her, Kristen’s follow, and soon we’re both staring at Layne, who turns a bright pink in no time. Whoops.
Our food arrives, giving Layne a moment to gulp down some ice water and regain a little composure. If I weren’t concerned about Layne’s emotional state, this would be so fucking funny.
“Hold on,” Kristen says through a mouthful of french toast, then stops herself. “No, wait. I don’t want to guess. I want to hear it from you two.” She sets down her fork and looks at us with her eyebrows raised. The table is deafeningly silent. “Anytime now. My food is getting cold.”
