Page 32 of Wrecked Rose

I don’t wait for anyone else’s response. I spin around and walk away from the stunned group, already hearing the whispers, the speculation starting. And the hilarious part is, they don’t even know half of what’s going on with me.

I whip around the corner and down the long hallway, brushing past all sorts of craziness as I go. A raucous strip poker game is happening right at the Danbrooks’ dining room table, a few guys are doing shots lined up along the buffet against the wall, girls are dancing on the coffee tables no one had bothered to push out of the way, and someone is pounding on the bathroom door, which is being met by shouts of “Go away!”

From there, I hit the basement stairs and fly down them, my legs a blur, on a mission. I check out the theater room first, just to be sure he’s not in there, and immediately wish I hadn’t. There are several couples sprawled across the couch making out, paying no attention to the movie playing on the big screen. I look carefully enough to ascertain that none of the males in the room are Griff but no closer or I’ll have to bleach my eyeballs. With an irritated sigh, I back out and turn to the game room. There’s laughter coming from inside, and I can hear two distinct voices—one pitched high and one low. I don’t have any idea what I’m about to find on the other side, but that doesn’t stop me. I throw the door open, immediately confronted with Griff’s body curled around a blonde’s back, helping her line up her shot. They startle as the door bangs open.

I grit out, “I need to speak to you.”

Griff assesses me in about two seconds flat, righting himself. I can now see it’s Aubrey he’s giving a lesson to—and who the hell knows where that was leading. It’s a good thing I hadn’t shown up twenty minutes later or they’d have probably been fucking on the pool table. I’m not thinking about it. When she stands, he leans in, whispering something to her, and she pats his chest with a grin before scooting out of the room.

His gaze follows her until she’s gone. Once she is, he shuts the door and turns to face me. I’m well aware that I’m fuming mad and am guessing he can tell.

“You want to tell me what the fuck this is all about, Max?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest, giving me what would be a fantastic view of some arm porn, only I’m too worked up to take in much more than the bulge of muscles and veins running the length.

Tearing my eyes away, I find him patiently waiting for me to focus. I stare into his eyes and take a step toward him. My chest rises and falls heavily as I scramble for control. “Do you know who did that to Sam today?”

He rears back for a second. “Huh? Who?”

“The kid that got the shit beaten out of him behind the building today.”

“What the fuck, man? What does this have to—”

I seethe, “What does this have to do with you? Is that what you’re asking?” I close the distance between us and shove his shoulder.

He recovers easily, mostly because he’s muscular and solid. Catching my wrist before my arm even has a chance to drop, he stares hard at me. “Yeah. I want to know why you’re coming at me like this.”

“Because whoever did that to him—by the way, I cleaned up his injuries, and I doubt you’ve ever seen someone’s face so messed up—they’re onyourfucking baseball team.” My breath heaves from me, frustration oozing from every pore.

For a second time, his head jerks back. “Seriously.”

“I’m not fucking around. That’s what he told me. He thinks it was three baseball players. You’ve got a bunch of asshole homophobes on your team. He recognized the one guy by his voice but won’t say who it was.”

Griff’s eyes blink rapidly. “You don’t—” His voice goes hoarse. “You aren’t wondering if I was one of them. Are you?” His brows pinch together, as if it pains him that I’d think that of him. His grip on my wrist tightens.

In the back of my mind, I know—I’m fucking positive—he’d never be involved in something like that. But I push. Because I can. Because I’m so fucking pissed at the people responsible, I want to lash out. And Griff is directly in my path. I struggle to pull my arm away.

He doesn’t release me. “Fucking answer me, Max.”

“Let me go.”

His demand is forceful. “No. Not until you answer me.”

I don’t know what possesses me but instead of pulling my arm free, I push forward, causing him to stumble back, his body colliding with the wall. We stand there, both breathing hard, our bodies so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. He’s still got me by the wrist but the look of shock on his face tells me I could probably pull my arm free now. But I don’t. The longer we stand here, the more his surprised expression is replaced by something else entirely. His eyes darken as he stares at me.

He drops my wrist, grips my neck with both hands, and slams his mouth to mine. He stills for a moment like he’s surprised himself, but then, in a blink, he’s kissing me. Like he means it. And it’s hot and hard.

I spill all the emotion I’m feeling into what we’re doing—anger, passion, lust, worry, fear. All of it. And to my amazement, he’s giving it all back, plus some. His crazy frustration. His ultimate confusion. His raging need. His base desires. Everything comes pouring out of him and into me as we grapple together for dominance. When I nip, he gasps, and I slip my tongue past his lips. He groans, as if I’m everything he’s been waiting for.

Energy surges through me. This is the guy I’ve been dying for—and his mouth is on mine, and it’s not just me trying to tease or coax him this time. He’s into it. He kissed me first. And I’m burning up for more of him.

And,fuck.Griff is a world-class kisser. His tongue meets mine in savage swipes, slowly tilting my world askew. My heart races as our upper bodies bump together. I tentatively slide my hands down the hard planes of his chest and groan. Loudly.

It’s a mistake. I know it the second the sound rumbles from my chest and out of my mouth, as Griff stiffens and wrenches his lips from mine. He plants both hands on my chest and shoves me so hard I stumble backward and land on my ass on the floor. Breath heaving, I look up at him to see confusion raging through him like a fury. His jaw locks tight, his eyes wild. He stares at me, half like he can’t believe what he’s just done and half like he’s dying to do it again.

I point at him and quietly admit, “That’s how I know, Griff.”

His eyes flare. I’m sure he’d forgotten he’d asked me a question—but he had. That’s how I know it wasn’t him. I don’t know what Griff’s game is, but he’s not who everyone thinks he is. And even though he was brutal pushing me away like he did, I still say he wouldn’t have hurt Sam simply for looking at him. No way. Not even to save face in front of his friends.

The door pops open. Daphne halts in the doorway, eyes darting back and forth between the two of us. “Um. What the hell is going on here?”

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