Page 134 of Tangled Kisses
Heat rushes through me so fast I almost collapse. I’m sure he’s not serious, just looking to get a rise out of me.
But when I meet his gaze, I realize he is—and my whole body aches to tell Lauren to forget the stupid fundraiser and drag Griffin to the bed right now.
I comethisclose to telling him, too, but realize he’ll never make it to Portland if I do.
“Hot damn, Griffin.” The words scrape out on a shaky breath as I fan myself.
A cocky grin stretches over his face. He loves getting to me. “Say the word and I’ll marry you tomorrow.”
“What?”
“We’ll drive into town, get the paperwork. Or hell, I’ll fly us to Vegas. You and me, white dress and everything.”
I laugh, blinking back tears. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m yours.”
Damn right he is.
I rise on tiptoe, grab the collar of his flannel, and kiss him long and slow. “Get out of here,” I murmur against his lips, “before I don’t let you leave.”
Piper’s voice floats from the porch. “Hello? Can I hang out with my sister before the fundraiser, or are you two going to make me a damn auntie before the day is out?”
Griffin chuckles, brushing one last kiss to my mouth. “I’ll see you tonight.”
He climbs into the truck, window rolled down, arm resting casually as he shoots me one last look, like I’m the whole damn sky.
And I try to hold on to that feeling—his words, his kiss, the way he sees me—because in the end, that’s all that matters.
I watch his truck disappear down the long gravel drive before stepping back onto the porch. Piper’s lounging on the swing, one leg tucked beneath her, sipping from a mug like she owns the morning.
I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. You’re having a glass of wine with me.”
She watches the sunlight sifting through the trees. “Before you get knocked up?”
I snort. “He’s joking.”
“I’m sure he’s not.”
I bump her with my hip. “We’ll see. But right now, I’m all about some wine and cheese. Full tapas spread.”
In the kitchen, I slice some cheddar and that specialty fig-topped cheese I picked up at the market last week. A little brie. Crackers. A bottle of red.
It’s overkill for two women in flannel pajama pants, but I don’t care.
I pour us both a glass and lean on the counter, twirling the tip of the knife on the cutting board. “Am I crazy to believe him?”
Piper doesn’t hesitate. “I’ve known Griffin for over a year. That man is devoted to you. Like, turn-his-truck-around-if-you-called kind of devoted.”
I duck my chin, cheeks heating. “You really think so?”
She gestures toward my phone. “Want me to call him and test the theory?”
Deep down, I know she’s right, and damn, it’s such a tempting idea.
“It’s not him I don’t trust. It’s Lauren. This whole thing—her suddenly needing a ride when she has a driver? It just feels off.”
Piper shrugs. “Do we really trust most women?”
