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Or fight.
That would be no good. Griff wouldn’t fight back either. With the size of his hands, he could have knocked Jay out without a blink. He felt too guilty to defend himself against Jay.
“What the fuck are you looking at?”
I jumped at the snarling bite of Griff’s growl. He dropped his hands to pull me inside, and I glimpsed a man across the hall peeking out through a crack in his door before Griff slammed his shut.
“Goddamn nosy son of a bitch. I bet he stole the fucking pizza.”
I shook my head. “Between you and Jay, it’s a toss-up who swears the most.”
“Like you don’t swear.” He locked the door and turned toward me. “You can fool yourself all you want, Scottie McHottie, but when you say all those made-up words, you’re not fooling anyone. We know exactly what you’re thinking.”
“Humph.” I placed my hands on my hips and lifted my chin at the mocking way he used my name. “If you can stand there and give me lip, then you must not be feeling too bad.” I swished my way past him and reached for the door handle. “I guess I’ll just mosey on home and—”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Griff caught me by the waist and lifted me off my feet. “You just got here.”
Suddenly airborne and lightheaded, I gasped and clutched his arms—those thick, ropey, muscular arms.
“Griff, put me down!”
“Soon.” He tossed me over his shoulder caveman style—Oh god, non-existent ovaries exploding—and marched inside his bedroom. My glasses slipped down my nose, and I pushed it back up. “Now you can go down.” He released me onto the bed.
Stunned, I stared up at him, my stomach feeling like a ping-pong table during a tournament. Griff grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. I curled my toes at the expanse of his naked chest covered in tattoos and chest hair. I clenched my fists to prevent my hands from taking on a life of their own and touching him without my approval.
He clutched the waistband of his sweats and shoved them down his hips. My mouth went dry, and apparently my tongue could do this magic trick where it turned into sandpaper. The bulge at the front of his boxers slapped my senses back into me.
“Griff, what are you doing?” I wheezed.
In. Need. Of. Inhaler.
His hands skimmed the waistband of those tight boxers that left little to the imagination. “You came to make me feel better. Didn’t you? This will do the trick.”
“Whoa! That’s not why I’m here.” I scrambled up the bed until my back was flush against the headboard.
Must. Not. Touch Him. Won’t. Be Able. To. Stop.
“No? Then why are you here?”
“I… I want to know what happened between you and Jay.”
“And I don’t want to talk about it.”
I grabbed a pillow at my back and threw it at him. The useless thing bounced off his rock-hard abs and tumbled to the floor. He quirked an eyebrow in a way that said he was not impressed.
“You and Jay are so similar. He never wants to talk about the things that truly bother him. I came here to get what I couldn’t from him out of you.”
“And I’m trying to give it to you, but you won’t let me.”
I licked my lips. Despite my brain blaring with captions that this was a terrible idea, I was already hard. I allowed my gaze to wander below his waist. Right under my eyes, the bulge grew bigger.
Mercy.
Is what I’ll be begging for if I take on that.
“I…” I swallowed and started again. “I didn’t know you were gay. Or are you bi?”
“Fuck if I know, Scottie. All I know is that ever since I laid eyes on you, I’ve been curious about what you taste like.”
