Page 45 of Griffin

I stiffen, knowing he’s giving me ample opportunity to tell him the truth.

That I’m jealous.

He’s going on adatewith that woman, Christina, and I’m jealous.

But how can I tell him that?

I peel the label from my beer bottle, chewing on my lip. Griffin glances at me as he heads into the kitchen to get more beers, and I feel bad.

He’s apologized, and he doesn’t even know what for.

I lean back and rest my head on the chair, staring at the night sky.

This whole thing with Griffin is probably in my head. I’ve known him long enough to know he cares for me, and acting like a brat won’t change that.

I’m frustrated, sexually and generally. The guy I fucked didn’t think about my needs, and as much as I like being fucked hard, I need more.

Griffin reappears, holding out a beer.

I look up at him and smile, taking the beer. Our fingers brush, but he doesn’t acknowledge it; instead, he crashes into the seat beside mine.

“You did nothing wrong,” I say, swallowing the last of my first beer and placing it by my feet. “I can’t explain why I was a brat, so I’m sorry. I’m feeling moody.”

Griffin rolls his head over to gaze at me, a smirk on his lips.

“Is that all that’s wrong?”

I shift, lifting the fresh bottle to my lips.

What the fuck does that mean?

“Hmm?” I frown, my heart thumping as he laughs throatily.

“You’ve been off ever since you had that night out.”

I groan inwardly.

My sexual frustration is obvious, so what?

It’s shit.

“Maybe.”

Griffin says nothing but scoots his chair around, facing me. His shirt is undone, his chest peeking out from under it. He dominates the chair, his thick thighs, and broad build begging me to sit on him.

I almost let out a moan, and he arches his brows, intrigued.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Griffin says, leaning forward, so his elbows rest on his knees.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

“I know,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m okay, really.”

My phone hasn’t stopped lighting up since we’ve been outside, and Griffin finally addresses it.

“Someone wants to talk to you.”

I sigh, turning my phone over, so I don’t have to think about it.

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