Page 73 of Fighting the Forbidden

Griff squeezes my toe, pulling my attention back to the moment. He lifts the popcorn bowl and raises an eyebrow.

“Thanks.” I take the popcorn and grab a handful, carefully tossing a few pieces in my mouth.

Aware of Griff’s body so close to mine and my brother’s presence, I barely concentrate on the movie—well, when Chris Hemsworth isn’t on the screen, anyway.

The light from my brother’s phone interrupts me occasionally as he checks or sends a text. I glance at Griff, who shakes his head. With Remy’s attention diverted, I steal another furtive glance at Griff and move closer. He pulls my feet into his lap, gently rubbing his thumb over my toes.

As the credits roll, Griff’s phone buzzes. He frowns and checks the screen, then scowls at Remy.

The doorbell rings, the sharp, unexpected bell shattering our quiet movie night.

No. No. No. My heart pounds.

Remy mutes the television. “You said you still have some homework, right, Molly?”

My stomach clenches. The movie just ended and he’s kicking me out of my own living room? Did he invite someone over?

“Yeah, I guess.” I don’t bother hiding the annoyance in my tone. I toss the afghan off my legs and sit up.

Remy’s bright blue eyes gleam as he bounds out of the living room, heading for the front door.

I turn to Griff, who just looks…troubled.

“What’s going on?” I ask, even though understanding is rapidly closing in on me with painful clarity.

Griff shakes his head and glances away. “Who the fuck knows what your brother’s up to.”

But I don’t believe him.

Giggling and shrill voices echo in the foyer. Blood pounds through my ears, mercifully drowning out the sounds for a moment. All of Remy’s furtive texting now makes sense.

A few seconds later, three girls I recognize from The Castle strut into the living room. My brother trails behind them, his eyes glued to their asses.

Ring bunnies. That’s who Remy invited into our home tonight. Girls who love hanging around the fights and screwing the winners. Actually, I don’t think they’re all that particular. Any muscled, sweaty guy who throws a few punches will do fine. They’re like groupies who follow their favorite rock bands on tour. My brother always has a gaggle of them following him around at parties and invites some to our house on occasion, although not usually when I’m here. I sometimes have the pleasure of running into them the next morning as they’re rummaging through our refrigerator or sneaking out the front door.

“Hi, Griff!” One of the girls lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

What’s this girl’s name? She looks familiar. The one with the small boobs, long, wheat-colored ringlets, and hips so narrow she looks like a pencil. She’s circled Griff’s orbit before. Have they…dated? Or whatever you want to call it. Did he invite her? Or did he ask my brother to invite her over?

Why would he do this to me?

Pencil-hips throws me a friendly wave. “Hey, Molly!”

Great, now I feel even worse for not remembering her name and wishing she’d burst into flames just for talking to Griff.

“Hi,” I murmur and force what I hope seems like a polite smile.

My brother grins. “Griff, you remember Layla.” He adds a knowing chin lift.

“Yeah,” Griff answers slowly. “What’s up?”

Great, so she really is some girl Griff’s banged before? And now she’s in my house.

I stand and side-step away from the couch. Any minute now, I’m going to be reunited with my popcorn, chicken, and dumplings.

The other two girls—Bunny #2 and Bunny #3—ignore me. They’re too busy groping my brother. Gross.

“I’m gonna head upstairs.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. Not that anyone’s even listening to me. Finally, I work up the courage to make eye contact with Griff.

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