Page 109 of Fighting the Forbidden

Remy hits a button on the wall that lifts the big garage door. It rattles and inches upward.

Griff touches my shoulder, and I turn around. “Go ahead. I need to put some stuff away and lock up here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He touches his thumb to my chin and tips my head, then leans down. I eagerly meet him halfway, slamming my mouth against his.

“Thank you for the best birthday ever,” I whisper in between kisses. “I love you so much. I can’t wait to work on the car with you.”

A slow smile slips over his face, chasing away the irritation from Remy’s intrusion. He presses his forehead to mine. “Me too.”

My gaze slides to the front of the car. “Thank you for my other present.” My voice drops so only he can hear me.

“That was for me too, baby.” He grins.

“Well, I really wanted to give you a gift.” I angle my body to accidentally brush my hand against him but he captures me by the wrist.

He lifts my arm and, staring into my eyes, brushes his lips against my knuckles. The soft, gentle kiss feels like a promise that we’ll do a whole lot more in the future.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Griff

A few days after Molly’s birthday, I get a call from Diane.

“Where are we on the show, Griff? You in or out?” she says instead of a normal hello or how are you.

“I think so.” I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m in, but I don’t want Diane to think I’m too eager. No reason to give her the idea that she has any kind of leverage over me.

“Lukewarm enthusiasm.” She laughs. “I’ll take it.”

She emails me a list of instructions and I spend the next few days running around, trying to collect the information they want and sending it to Diane’s assistant.

The last item on Diane’s list stops me cold.

We suggest contestants speak to an attorney and have a will drawn up before competing on Supreme Underground Fighter.

Supreme’s the name of the show today. So far, I’ve seen several variations. I can’t decide if this is the dumbest one yet.

But a will? For what? My collection of vintage graphic T-shirts? Despite all the stuff I enjoy doing that could get me killed, I don’t think about dying on a regular basis.

I do have some money saved, though. I own my car and Harley outright. Who gets that stuff if something happens to me? My mother, probably. Fuck that. She’d take the money and shoot it into her veins. I’d want whatever I have to go to Remy and Molly.

A will.

Damn, what a gut-punch reminder that this could be dangerous.

After the night of Molly’s birthday, I’d rather punch Remy than seek out his advice, but I’d better tell him I’m planning on leaving for two months.

I shoot him a text and he tells me to stop by the bar. It’s a slow night. So slow, he must’ve sent Lynette home early. His Bronco’s the only other vehicle in the parking lot. When I walk in, he’s sitting behind the bar, reading a magazine.

The swish of the front door opening and closing draws Remy’s attention to me. He grins and tosses the magazine on the counter.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks.

“Busy.”

My clipped tone doesn’t give him pause. “Not too busy to pick Molly up after school every day.”

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