Page 112 of Fighting the Forbidden

He shrugs. “Okay. If you trust this producer?—”

“I don’t even know her. And I don’t trust anyone outside our circle.” I blow out a breath. “But there’s a lot of money at stake.”

“You’ve never wanted to go professional.”

“Maybe I would if I had professional training.”

He stares at me. “I thought you wanted to buy the garage from Jerry one day?”

“Yeah, and how am I gonna do that working hourly? He pays me well, but it’s not enough.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I thought you’d work out some sort of arrangement with him when he’s ready to retire.”

I sigh. “Maybe. It’s just every time I get money saved up from the fights, my mother hits me up for a ‘loan’ or to pay her rent or whatever.”

“Jesus, Griff.” Disappointment and defeat grind through his voice. “If it’s that bad, why are you spending all that money on Molly’s car?”

“Because it makes her happy.” Why am I explaining this to him? Shouldn’t he want Molly to be with someone who’ll do anything to make her happy? “What’s the point of doing any of this if I can’t put a smile on my girl’s face and give her something she needs? She supposed to sprout wings and fly to college in the fall?” I hold out my arms and flap them up and down to punctuate how dense he’s being.

His jaw works from side to side. I can’t tell which thing I said put that irritation on his face, so I ignore it.

“I told you I was planning to get her a car for school,” he says.

“We’re having fun doing the restoration together.”

His hands shoot across the table, connecting hard with my chest. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” I shove him back. “It’s fun working on a project with her. That’s all I meant.” So far all we’ve had a chance to do together is order the parts we need for the interior, but I love how seriously she takes every decision.

“Jesus, you’ve got it bad,” he grumbles.

“No shit. I’ve told you that like a hundred times.” I cock my head and choose my words carefully. “I know this is a difficult concept for you to understand, but I actually like Molly. As a person.” I raise one hand in the air and tap my fingers together like I’m working a sock puppet—maybe a puppet show would be the best way to get my point across. “I like talking to her and doing things with her.”

His harsh expression fades. “She’s not driving you nuts with all her questions?”

“No.” I snort. “She asks smart questions.” Hell, even if she didn’t it wouldn’t matter—I love listening to her voice.

His big brother tantrum finally seems to pass. A genuine smile spreads across his face. “I’m not surprised.”

Relief that I’ve finally told Remy about the show settles over me, but it’s short-lived. “I haven’t told her about the show and how long I’ll be gone for filming. So, can you please not say anything to her?”

Big brother protector returns. Remy’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck you waiting for?”

“Jesus, Remy.” I stab my fingers through my hair and turn away. “We just got together?—”

“But you were sneaking around behind my back,” he adds in a let’s-be-honest dry tone.

“We weren’t sneaking.” I grit my teeth and swallow the rest of my argument. He’s fucking with me.

“Did you tell your mother you’re going to be away?” he asks.

Talk about conversational whiplash. “No. What the fuck for?”

“They’re probably not going to let you have access to your phone. If she needs to reach you and can’t…” He doesn’t finish the thought. Doesn’t need to.

“I’ll call her.” That’ll be an annoying conversation. One my mother’s bound to forget five minutes after it ends, too.

“Tell her to contact me if she needs something.”

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