Page 46 of Tangled Kisses
“Will you please shut up?” I grip her arm, but there’s no stopping this horse once it’s left the stable.
She points a dramatic finger at Griffin. “And I think you’re the man for the job.”
Oh. My. God. This is worse than the shirtless cowboy situation. At least then, it was just the two of us. Now half of Tangled Vines is going to think I’m auditioning Griffin for the role of my personal sex god.
I need to leave the planet and never return.
Griffin arches a brow at me, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Is she drunk?”
“Yes.” I bury my face in my hands. “She’s absolutely drunk. Ignore everything that comes out of her mouth.”
“Hmm.” His voice dips, low and teasing, like he already knows the answer. “So you don’t need to be laid properly?”
I groan into my palms. Apparently, everyone wants to get in on the fun at my expense. “I’m good.”
Biggest lie of my life, but self-preservation wins.
The stool creaks as he shifts closer, but I refuse to look at him, opting instead to take a swig of my beer.
“No toe-curling, can’t-walk-straight-the-next-day, kind of sex?” he murmurs, voice dark velvet at my ear.
That does it. The beer goes down the wrong pipe, and I sputter, coughing hard enough to make Piper snort-laugh.
Griffin doesn’t let me escape. His mouth grazes the nape of my neck in a move that is fleeting yet utterly devastating.
“An absolutely perfect spot for kissing,” he whispers before pulling back.
I’m a puddle of melted woman on a barstool. There’s no recovering from this.
Across the room, someone calls his name, waving him toward the stage.
Griffin straightens, tossing one last look over his shoulder—eyes blazing with promise. “Stick around, Reese. I’ve got something special for you tonight.”
Of course Griffin’sa hell of a musician. His voice is low and gravelly, the kind that slides over your skin and stays there. And those hands—confident, precise, like the guitar was made for him. Add in the way he owns the room, and it isn’t fair. Not one damn bit.
The local women eat it up. They crowd the stage, swaying in tight clusters, gazes glued to him like he’s the second coming.
Does it bother me? Hell yes, but Griffin Topete doesn’t belong to me. He never will.
What I do have is my sister, beer, and some damn fine music.
We twirl in the middle of the dance floor, boots scuffing worn wood, giggling like we used to when we were kids. For the first time in longer than I care to admit, I feel free.
Every so often I sneak a glance at the stage—and every single time, Griffin’s blue eyes are locked on me. Not the girls pressed at his feet. Me.
No. Not possible. Just me imagining things.
Until I offer a timid wave, and he winks, tipping his hat.
Oh, hell. Not my imagination.
Then his voice rumbles through the mic, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I want everyone to give a warm welcome to Tangled Vines’ newest resident. She came here all the way from New York, andshe’s already turning people in this town on their heads.” His gaze zeroes in on me, a grin splitting his face. “Say hello, Reese.”
Piper claps her hands and hollers, and the whole damn bar stops and stares.
Heat floods my cheeks. I manage a tiny wave. “Hi, guys.”
