Page 76 of On The Rocks

The drive to his place was quick and quiet. My mind was spinning with our fight—conversation—whatever you wanted to call it. He was the only man who made me want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.

He parked along the side of the Starling and turned off the engine. He rubbed his palms down his thighs, then suddenly, he frowned as the dash lights left us in the dark. “Why aren’t my lights on?”

“Timer not on?”

“Always is. It’s dark as pitch over here.” He flicked on his headlights. “Give me a second.” He got out and went around the front of the truck to his porch.

I hopped out, slamming my door.

“Do you ever listen?”

“I don’t like people telling me what to do.”

“I’m shocked.” He sighed and stopped at the steps. Glass glittered in the diffused light. “What the hell? Watch your step.”

“Is that your lamp glass?”

“Yeah.” He opened the door and ushered me up the stairs and inside. “I’ll be right back.” He flipped on the lights, then he disappeared back to his truck.

I shrugged out of my jacket, hanging it on the pegs on the wall beside the door. Knowing I wasn’t going home, I bent down and untied the triple knots in my work shoes and kicked them off on the mat.

Griffin came back in and closed the door, locking it. “Not sure who would have done that. The Starling is in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on the orchard. It was fine before I left.”

“You making enemies, Griffin? First my tires—where is my Jeep, by the way?”

“Tommy is bringing it around tomorrow morning.”

“Bringing it where?” I put my hands on my hips.

He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “Here.”

Annoyance burned under my skin. “One way to get me back here, huh?”

He shrugged. “I’d have brought it to your place if you were too spicy. Or left it at the taproom.” He took off his jacket and hung it beside mine.

I tried not to let that add to my annoyance. Very fucking homey.

It wasn’t me.

I didn’t leave shit at men’s places. Or hotel rooms. Or apartments—wherever it was that we ended up doing the bang and run. Then I noticed my boots from the night before on the mat.

Hell.

I’d forgotten them. That definitely wasn’t me either.

Fucking hell.

I paced into his living room and went right to the record player. I dragged my nail across the dozens of records on one shelf, then stopped at an old Bruce Springsteen album and slid it out, then onto the player and set it to play.

A bluesy saxophone filled the room and eased the tension out of me. I turned to find Griffin in the kitchen. He came back down the stairs with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and two spoons. “Truce?”

“For Caramel Chocolate Cheesecake? Yeah, I can do that.”

He laughed and dropped onto the couch before prying off the top and tossing it on the coffee table. He handed me a spoon. “Your tires then those big ass lanterns are fucking weird.”

I dug into the rock-hard ice cream and chipped out a sliver of ice cream with a chunk of chocolate and instead of eating it, I held it up to him. It did the trick. His worried frown eased, and he accepted the mini bribe.

I took another chunk for myself. “Maybe it was from the storm. It really got wild there for a while.”

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