Page 62 of How to Date a Younger Man
“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.
