Page 76 of Cherry Picking
“Well, we don’t have a spare mattress, so one of you will have to take the couch or sleep on the floor.”
“We’re grown adults. We’ll figure something out.”
I swear every time he looks at me, Griff’s eyes turn a little more molten, but I know damn well he can’t be thinking of fucking around when he should be rightfully pissed at me.
Not that the gray hoodie and dark red track pants don’t remind me of lazing around at home and slowly stripping the layers off one another.
Maybe there’s a little pent up tension from the last two weeks.
“Woah, hey! You’re Foster.” Parker skids to a stop just inside the sliding glass door, eyes going wide.
Griffin steps around the table and holds out his hand. “Parker, right? I’ve seen you at a few games.”
“Only because Dad makes me.” Parker grins and shakes his hand with a little too much enthusiasm, and Griff raises his brow at the paint all over Parker’s arm.
“Parker Easton,” Mom calls out with an exaggerated sigh. “Please go clean up, and be nice to our guest.”
Parker rolls his eyes but skirts around Griff to run off to the bathroom. Griffin chuckles and turns back to me, a humorous twinkle in his gaze.
“I like that one.”
I roll my eyes, but my own smile breaks through. “You would.”
Dinner itself is weird, but not bad. We obviously don’t talk about the elephant in the room, but my heart expands and soars a bit at how easily Griffin fits. At the table. With my parents. Teasing Parker. It’s like he always belonged right here with me.
I offer to clean up the dishes while Mom goes to get work done in the bedroom and Dad finishes cleaning up Parker’s mess outside. Meanwhile, Griffin and my brother are laughing and chatting in the living room easier than any conversation Parker and I have ever had.
A part of me thinks I should feel jealous, that Griff is a better big brother than I am, but it only fills my chest with joy. Two of the people I love most in the world getting along?
I’m enjoying basking in the happiness while it lasts when Parker’s voice booms from the living room, “Oh! Now, Riley can give you back your jersey in person.”
My cheeks ignite, and my ears burn, and I can feel Griffin’s stare even though I refuse to meet it.
His low chuckle echoes between the living room and kitchen. “I brought his, too.”
I whip my head around and catch Griff’s nod toward the bag sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
It isn’t his travel bag.
It’s mine.
The one I left for him.
This is going to hurt.
CHAPTER 18
GRIFFIN
Shy Riley doesn’t comeout to play often anymore, but the nervousness radiates from his hunched shoulders and downcast eyes as he shows me to his room.
There’s a dresser, an air mattress, a nightstand, and a shelf of neatly organized books, but that’s it. A couple of Riley’s personal items are scattered about, but otherwise it’s barren of any personality.
I drop the duffle bag by the door and take in the man with his hands shoved in his pockets and his freckled cheeks the same shade of red as his hair.
“It’s getting long,” I say, taking one careful step forward at a time until I can reach out and run my fingers through the strands of hair dangling around his eyes. It creeps down his neck and over his ears—longer than he’s ever kept it.
“Hasn’t been a priority, I guess.” He smiles with the smallest upturn of his lips.
