Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Griff yur #1 no matter what.
Melissa 518-555-0106
“Uh, I think you have a fan.” I turn the cup to show him the message.
He frowns and sits forward. “What the fuck?” Wide, concerned eyes meet mine. “I didn’t know…I didn’t see that. I never would have…Hang on.” He grabs the cup and stands so fast his chair scrapes over the tile.
“Griff, it’s fine. It’s funny.” I force a fake laugh.
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re famous now.” I almost gag on the words. I want him to be successful, I really do. But geez, we can’t even share a muffin and coffee in peace?
He grumbles something I don’t quite catch, then hustles away. “Be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.
I twist to watch him approach the counter. He holds out the cup to the manager. Polite anger simmers in Griff’s low, rumbling voice but I can’t quite make out what he’s saying.
Shaking my head, I turn and pluck a piece of muffin off the plate and pop it in my mouth. I better enjoy it now. I won’t be able to show my face here again this semester.
A few minutes later, Griff’s hand comes into view and sets a fresh, larger cup in front of me.
I wrap my fingers around it and pull it closer, letting the warmth soak into my chilly fingers.
He drops into his chair again.
I pop the lid off to let the drink cool. “You realize she probably spit in it, now.”
“No she didn’t. I watched the manager make it for me.”
I flick my gaze to him. I’m about to make my joke about not being able to come in here again but all the easiness in his posture and joy in his expression has disappeared. His body’s strung tight and he’s absently rubbing his knuckles like he needs to release some energy on a heavyweight bag.
Oddly, his unease about the situation erases my anxiety. “Griff, it’s fine.” I push one of the plates toward him. “Eat your scone.”
He stops rubbing his knuckles and picks up a piece of the scone. His hand hovers over the plate and little crumbs sprinkle down. “No, it’s not fine, Molly. I didn’t see the number, or I would’ve given the cup back before you even got here.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is.” He drops the scone. “I don’t want you thinking…after everything…”
“Like I said, you’re a celebrity now. Be grateful she didn’t hand you her underwear.”
His eyes widen in horror. How has none of this occurred to him? His handsome face and gorgeous shirtless body have been plastered on television and online for months and months. Women have dedicated pages and pages of commentary about every aspect of Griff’s physique, personality, and what kind of oil they’d like to massage into his skin.
“I don’t want to be a celebrity.” He glances at the counter again, an angry frown creasing his brow. “Shit, I’m not supposed to be seen out in public or have pictures of me posted online or anything.”
But he still came to a college campus to see me? “They make them lock up their phones in the back while they’re behind the counter.” I’ve heard the employees complain about the policy several times now.
He nods quickly but his gaze won’t stop jumping around the cafe.
“Come on.” I pop the last of the scone in my mouth and wrap the remaining half-a-muffin in a napkin. “Let’s go.”
Hurt or confusion turns his mouth down, like he’s worried I’m telling him to get lost. “Where?”
I nod to the bags sitting on the floor next to his chair. “I don’t want to carry that stuff to class with me. Come on, I’ll show you my room.”
“Okay.” He jumps up so fast, the table rocks sideways and he steadies it with his hand.
I grab the muffin and my coffee, then sling my backpack over my shoulder. A second later, the weight’s lifted off my back. “I’ll carry it,” he offers.
“Thanks.”
“Lead the way.”
I press the lid on my coffee tight and turn toward the exit. The girl behind the counter shoots a glare at me but I ignore her. Griff hurries to open the door for me and stays close all the way up the stairs. Like he’s worried I’ll change my mind. Or sprint away from him.
Outside, he adjusts his ball cap lower and hikes my backpack higher on his shoulder.
“Your face looks better,” I say, resisting the urge to touch his cheek. “Is your shoulder okay?”
He pops the opposite shoulder forward then back quickly. “This is the one I fucked up in the last match.”
“Griff,” I sigh, hating that he’s been hurt at all. “Let me take my coat. You don’t need to carry all that for me.”
“Don’t you have to get to class soon?” he asks.
Split a muffin with Griff, and I forget everything else. I yank my phone out and check the time. “I still have a few minutes. Come on.”