Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 530(@300wpm)
I shouldn’t be this worked up for my best friend’s little sister.
My plan’s solid and I need to stick to it. Slowly, I’ve been trying to show Remy I’m serious. Cleaning up my act. Holding down a decent job. Saving some money. Turning down every ring bunny who wants to jump on my dick. Subtly proving to him I’ll treat his baby sister right and can take care of her the way she deserves.
She’s eighteen in a few months. Graduating from high school. Headed to college in the fall. That’s when I plan to claim my girl. By then, either Remy will accept us as a couple, or he won’t.
I don’t want to lose my best friend, but I refuse to lose Molly.
CHAPTER TWO
My whole body trembles while I wait for Griff to return.
We kissed.
He kissed me. Kissed me like he actually wants me the way I want him. Maybe I’m more to him than the annoying kid sister he feels obligated to look after because my brother is his best friend. Is that really possible?
“Ready to go?” he asks, striding into the locker room, fully dressed.
“Uh, sure.”
He frowns at me. “How’d you find your way here tonight?”
“A friend dropped me off.”
He growls out an unhappy sound that twists my belly. “You came in alone, though. You need to be more careful.” His hand wraps around mine, and he tugs me toward the locker room door.
We’re not even going to discuss what just happened? Or do it again?
“Wait, Griff. What was that?” I gesture toward the locker—the place where I want to build a shrine to our first kiss.
He lifts his eyebrows. “What was what?”
My heart sinks. He’s planning to pretend the biggest moment in my life never happened.
But I’m not letting him get away with it. “Our kiss? If your memory’s this bad at twenty-two, maybe it’s time you start taking some vitamins.”
He blinks. Slowly, the corners of his mouth turn up. Then he uses his bigger body to push me backward. My butt bumps into the tiled wall and I press my back to it. Griff slaps his palms to the wall on either side of my face, leaning down over me and staring into my eyes. “My memory is fine, Molly. I couldn’t forget that kiss. Even if I wanted to.”
“Then why are you pretending it didn’t happen?”
“I’m not.” His eyes close briefly. “But you just said the reason why we can’t do it again…or anything else.”
My body perks up at the anything else. Does he want to do more with me? I want to do a whole lot more with him.
“Wait.” I frown. “What did I say?” So I don’t say it again.
“I’m twenty-two and you’re seventeen.”
“So?”
“Molly,” he says in that let’s-be-reasonable tone that makes me want to stomp my feet, which I definitely won’t do, because it would kind of prove his point.
“What does it matter?” Besides, he’s wrong. “I’m going to be eighteen soon.”
“It might not be a big deal when we’re older. But now, it’s a…problem.” He tilts his head. “You want me to get in trouble?”
The thought of Griff being arrested or something because of me is enough to sober me up. He’s been in trouble before. The months he spent in juvie a few years ago were some of the worst of my life. I sent him letters almost every day and eagerly waited for his responses—short letters that never said much about what he was going through but that I still have saved in my box of treasures. I’d die before I caused problems for him. “No. Never. I’m sorry.”
He runs the back of his hand over my cheek. “Don’t be sorry.” His forehead drops against mine, our noses lightly touching, and he stares into my eyes. “Don’t ever be sorry. I’m not.”
He’s so close. I want to kiss him. Want him to take me in his arms again. I want to promise him I’ll never tell anyone. What do a few more months matter anyway? It’s not like I’ll magically turn into a different person the moment I turn eighteen.
For a second, I think he’s going to say fuck it and sweep me off my feet.
“Come on. It’s late. Let’s get you home before Remy loses his shit.”
I groan, but take his hand. He’s right. My brother’s a tightly wound ball of protectiveness and rage. Three years ago, he stopped by and found our father taking his frustrations out on me with a belt. Remy packed up my stuff and moved me into his house that night, right after he laid our father out with a violent barrage of punches and the threat of more if he ever came near me again. Every day I live in fear Social Services will show up on our doorstep and try to force me to go back to my father’s house. Although, the closer my eighteenth birthday gets, the more my worry eases.