Page 96 of Repairing the Wreckage

“You always look nice,” I say instead. Thank fuck some of my brain cells are starting to function again. “No matter what you’re wearing.”

Pink spreads over her cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I wish I’d been there to help you move in.”

Her body freezes and the soft expression on her face goes stone cold. “Well, you weren’t.”

Damn, why couldn’t I keep up the normal small talk?

“Molly, I fucked up.” My voice drops as emotion chokes off my words. “I’m so sorry. You have to know that.”

Her shoulders drop and a tear rolls down her cheek. “Okay.”

None of this is okay.

“Tell me what I can do.” Somehow we moved from easy small talk to me practically begging her to forgive me, and I don’t even care.

“There’s nothing to do, Griff.” She shrugs like she’s helpless to come up with a single thing. “It’s done.”

Done?

In no way will we ever be done.

“Are you really going to the carnival with Torch?” I ask. “That haunted carnival I said I’d take you to when I got back?”

She nods quickly and swipes the back of her hand over her cheek. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I can’t do this with her. Talk to her about dating someone else, like it’s fucking normal and not ripping out my heart.

My inner asshole’s so close to telling her Remy’s the one who asked Torch to “date” her. But I can’t do it. Sure, it’ll make her mad at Torch and she’ll probably never want to see him again. Win for me. But more pain for Molly. It’ll make her mad at Remy too, which he fucking deserves. But I don’t want to cause problems between them either.

Maybe the truth will come out eventually, but it can’t be from me, out of jealousy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Griff

Heavy thudding above my head pulls me upstairs a few hours later. Remy’s still at the bar. It has to be Molly. What the fuck’s she wearing, cement shoes?

I quietly creep into the dining room, leaving all the lights off. If she comes in here, she’ll bump right into me but for now, she’s facing the front door and too busy furiously tapping on her phone to notice me.

Molly…Fuuuck me. I don’t know what she’s supposed to be but she’s wearing a short, black velvet dress with a high collar of ivory lace. Frills and ribbons decorate the long sleeves. The short, flared skirt has layers of black lacy ruffles peeking out from underneath it. Black fishnets cover her legs and black platform Doc Martens boots give her a few extra inches of height. That’s what made all that racket.

Between the outfit, the black ribbon in her hair, and her dark purple lipstick, she looks like some sort of grown-up, goth Alice in Wonderland.

Sexy beyond all reason.

I’m instantly rock hard.

It’s been way too long without her.

Blood rushes through my veins and my chest rises and falls in an erratic rhythm. The urge to pull her closer, kiss her until she’s dazed, flip up her skirt, and bend her over the dining room table beats through my blood.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What if Torch has the same thoughts when he sees her? How could anyone not? Jesus Christ, what if he touches her sexy legs? Every awful possibility flips through my head like a nightmare I can’t escape.

I curl my hands into fists at my sides.

There’s a strong possibility that I’ll kill Torch tonight.

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