Page 19 of Wrecked Rose

Daph looks up and back at him, her eyes narrowed. Then she gets a funny little grin on her face. “I’ve got an idea. How about we do that thing you’ve been asking about instead? Is that a good enough compromise?”

“Damn, woman. That’s a deal.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re too easy.”

He gathers her close. I can barely hear him as he whispers in a gruff voice in her ear, “How about tonight?”

I’m watching all of this silently like a fast and furious Olympic-level table tennis match, as is Griff.

“So, who was in on these shenanigans? Does anyone know?” Aria pouts, clearly put out. “Leave it to me to go home early and miss out on some real good filth.”

Beau holds his hands up. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but supposedly it was a mix of juniors and seniors, guys and girls.” He shrugs, glancing toward his brother. “So, Jack was obviously there, and he mentioned a few by name—Greg Smythe, Stacia Kensington, Heather Jennings, and Daniel Lucey—maybe more. They had all but cleared out by the time Lyla and I dragged ourselves down to the kitchen.”

I side-eye Griff, whose jaw has gone a little rigid. He remains silent. I wonder what he’s thinking about. That girl Stacia—she’s one of the girls I saw him with on New Year’s Eve, but if they aren’t in a relationship… maybe he doesn’t care? Is it possible he’s acting weird becausethat’swhere he disappeared to after our whiskey binge? Holy shit, did Griff join in on an orgy after I kissed him?

I blow out a steady breath from between pursed lips. His sexual exploits are not my business. Shrugging, I finally manage, “Well, it sounds like everyone had fun that night. Consider the party a success.”

The warning bell for our first class rings, and we reluctantly separate and shuffle away to our respective classrooms.

In precalc, I slide into a seat across the aisle from the table Scarlett and Xander are sharing. I grit my teeth, thinking about the dream from this morning. Because, yeah. It was one of those that you don’t forget upon waking. Griff’s blue eyes looking into mine. Griff’s big, strong, football-catching, baseball-bat-wielding hands on my dick and balls. Gah.

I swallow hard and try to pay attention to what Ms. Murphy is saying, but I’m so fucking distracted by the idea of Griff sitting directly behind me, within reach, I could scream. And the scent of his shower gel is everywhere. It wafts from his skin with every movement he makes, and I could swear it was designed to torture me. I’m trying not to think about it because every time I get a whiff, I remember showering in his bathroom. I’d hardly wanted to take another shower after that because I hadn’t wanted to wash away the memory. I’d sniffed my skin like a weirdo for hours after I’d gone home that day.

My current favorite fantasy is simply that we’re in bed together, and he pulls me close to him in the middle of the night, letting me rest my head on his chest like I had in the Danbrooks’ theater room—only in this case, it would be because he’s my lover and not because I’m some drunk idiot looking for a pillow. I sigh a little bit thinking about the solid expanse of his chest and the warmth of his body. Yeah. It’s a good fucking fantasy, that’s for sure.

This is going to be a long damn day.

* * *

When the bell finally rings, ending the first hour and a half of torture, Scarlett waylays me outside the classroom. “You okay? You were awfully quiet in class. None of your usual joking around. And you didn’t even notice when Ms. Murphy said something about a hairy ball theorem that she learned in some crazy math course in college. I thought for sure you’d make a wisecrack there, but nothing. What gives?” She purses her lips at me, like she knows something is going on but isn’t quite able to put a finger on it.

“Cupcake, I’m just kinda out of it.” And then I hesitate for a fraction of a second, almost spilling my guts. Instead, a lie falls from my lips. “It’s a friend of mine. He’s having some trouble with the whole coming out thing. I got a message from him earlier.” I did, so at least that part isn’t a lie. It’s not what’s got me acting like a big doof, though.

“Oh.” She frowns. “On that app you were telling us about?”

I nod. “Yeah. OUTspoken. It’s got me a little distracted. I’ll be fine.” I pull her in for a quick hug. “Gotta get to newspaper. I’ll see you at lunch.” Walking away, I cringe. I lied to my friend.Why?Now I feel like an asshole.

All the way to class, I beat myself up about it.

Chapter 13

Griff

Upon arrival at my next class, I make my way to the computer I usually use. “Newspaper” is technically a journalism class. We operate like a real staff, putting together different types of articles—opinion, news, and entertainment pieces—into an online newspaper that comes out once a month at Rosehaven Academy. We take turns with the different jobs of researching and writing articles, preparing layout, and photography.

I’m about to pull up my notes for an article I’m working on when I glance three computers down and notice Max watching me. At least, I think he is. I blink and his eyes now are glued to his screen, his concentration fully on whatever Mr. Branson has assigned him this week. This is my shot. No one else we know is in this class, so if I can get him alone for a few minutes, maybe I can get this all straightened out.

Wiping my sweaty palms on my pants, I glance over to make sure Mr. Branson is preoccupied helping another student before I slide out of my chair and creep on silent feet over to Max. I lightly tap his broad shoulder, resting one of my hands on the back of his chair, the other on his desk.

I lean down closer just as he turns his head and our faces wind up about three inches apart. My heart skitters around in my chest. I’m not exactly sure how to do this. My throat feels incredibly dry. Why am I so damn nervous? “Can I talk to you for a sec?” I murmur. As I wait for his answer, I’m mesmerized by the shape of his perfect lips and the golden and green flecks in his hazel eyes. Yeah. That’s totally not helping the current situation.

Blinking, he eases back, studying my face, probably trying to figure out what this is all about. “Um, sure.”

I snap out of my daze and stand up, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “Over there,” I grit out.

He follows me to a corner of the classroom where there’s a table full of current newspapers. Mr. Branson encourages us to read through them if we have any free time in class. Most of us have no desire to thumb through and read actual newspapers, and that’s why I’m heading in that direction with Max. No one will be over there.

I stop in front of the table, making a show of opening a copy of theWashington Post. Planting both of my hands on the table, I lean forward, bending a bit at the waist.

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