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“No!” I shot up in bed and flung back the covers. “Whatever you do, do not get on that bike, Griffin!” I hopped around, spinning in circles.
What do I need? What do I need? My keys! My glasses.
I snapped on the bedside lamp and scooped up my glasses, keys, and wallet from the night table.
“When you call me Griffin, it sounds like you’re going to punish me.” He giggled. Griff actually giggled. Oh no, this wasn’t good. He must be drunker than I’d thought. “But I should punish you for lying to me, Scottie. You lied to me about everything.”
“I know and I’m sorry.” I pushed my feet into my slippers and rushed from the bedroom. “Will you please tell me where you are? I’m on my way.”
“I’m not sure,” he said.
“Can you share your location with me?”
“I don’t think I know how to do that.”
I groaned. “Griff, listen to me. This…is very, very bad. You can’t just get drunk when you feel like it. You’re on parole.”
“But it hurt. What he said.”
My heart softened. The vulnerability in his voice made it impossible to pass him off as someone else’s problem. As if I could do that anyway. He was…Jay’s father. As much as my friend wished otherwise.
“Look around you and tell me where you are.”
“Wait a minute. I see someone.”
I entered the garage and got into my car. In the background, Griff was asking someone where he was. With the car warming up, I waited for him to get back to me.
“Okay, I got it.”
“Great. Tell me.”
Griff slurred the address, and it took him three tries to get it out. I plugged the address into my GPS and backed out of the garage. “Got it. I’m on my way.”
“Hurry.”
The bar was farther than I would have liked. Why had he ridden this far? If he needed a drink, he could have stopped at one of more than a dozen bars he must’ve passed before he got to Joe’s. Finally, I pulled into the parking lot. He was sitting on the ground next to his bike, his head in his hands.
Sighing, I got out of the car. He looked tortured. As I approached him, he raised his head. I gasped and ran over to him, the soft soles of my slippers not thick enough to stop the gravel from poking my feet.
“What happened?” I held Griff’s face in my hands and studied the bruises on his cheekbone and over his eye. “Were you in a fight?”
“Why are you shouting? My head hurts.”
“I’m not shouting. You’re drunk.” I released his face and placed my hands on my hips. I didn’t know if I should hug him or pinch him. I gently touched his shoulder. “Why were you drinking? Did you get into a fight? You didn’t pull your knife on someone, did you, Griff? I told you—”
Griff rose to his feet, grabbed me by the hip to steady himself when he swayed, and covered my mouth with his other hand. “Shh. You talk a lot. Do you know that?” He frowned, his eyes dull and hazy from the alcohol I smelled on his breath. In an instant, his features evened out, and he smiled. Griff’s smile took my breath away. “It’s adorable.”
I widened my eyes, and my cheeks burned.
“I’ve never seen a man blush so often. Why are you so fucking adorable, Scottie?”
Oh, golly! My stomach flipped. Why was he staring so intently at me? Like an artist examining a priceless work for the first time.
“You’re drunk.” I swallowed hard. That’s right. He’s drunk. Best not to get carried away by his sweet words. “Come on. We need to get you in my car.”
“Scottie, I want to kiss you again.”
I inhaled a deep, shuddering breath and took a step back. “Let’s get you home, Griff. Is your motorcycle safe for the night?”
