“Eleanor, it’s fine,” I say with a chuckle. “We could sit on the kitchen floor for all I care. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
She offers a small smile, and I grab a shirt out of my dresser and head to the bathroom to change. When I come back out, Eleanor is sprawled out on my bed, thumbing through the book she found on my nightstand.
I stand at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do now. I don’t have any chairs in my room, and I don’t know how she would feel about me climbing into bed with her–even if it’s not, you know,climbing into bed with her.
She sets the book back on the bedside table, and turns to look at me, eyebrows raised. Without a word, she pats thespot next to her on the bed, giving me the green light to join her.
With a grin, I settle in next to her, the bed shifting under my weight when I reach across her to grab the remote to put a movie on. I pull up Netflix and ask what she wants to watch.
“I don’t care, Griffin,” she replies with a contented sigh. “Just pick something.”
The problem is, once she lays her head on my shoulder, I suddenly forget how to read–all I can focus on is the flowery scent of her shampoo, the way her arm brushes against mine with every rise and fall of her chest, and the warmth coming not just from her body next to mine, but radiating from the core of my being.
My airway constricts as a heavy realization hits me–for the first time in months, this house feels like a home again.
Chapter 23
Ellie
November, Age 18
Ishouldn’t have come up to his room. Or sat on his bed. Or laid my head on his shoulder. It’s so much, so fast, and now I’m in too deep to back out.
And it feelsgood.The control freak in me is hyperventilating into a paper bag, but the part of me I don’t ever listen to–the impulsive part–is screaming for more.
Boy, do I want more.
I don’t think anything has ever felt more intimate than this simple act of watching a movie, Griffin’s broad shoulder holding the weight of my head, and the weight of everything I spilled tonight.
My hands are neatly folded in my lap, a desperate attempt to keep from clawing and grasping for every bit of him I can get. The logical part of my brain is begging me to have some shred of self preservation–hello, this boy ripped your heart to shreds less than two years ago? Have you forgotten?
I haven’t forgotten, and that’s what has me so at war with myself. Watching five minutes of some dumb disaster movie with Griffin feels easier and more natural than anything in the entire span of my relationship with Bennett. I didn’t realize how hollow that relationship was until I let myself remember how full of life Griffin makes me feel.
That scares the ever-loving shit out of me.
Griffin shifts, scooting a bit lower so that my full weight is now leaning on him, and angling his shoulders so that I’m tucked into him instead of maintaining the distance (“distance”) I tried to put between us.
I know this is a disastrous idea, but I don’t stop him. In fact, I decide to dig the hole even deeper by shifting my body so I’m practically laying on him, bringing my hand up to his chest and smoothing his shirt out again.
He tenses under my touch, and for a moment I worry I’ve crossed some invisible line. But then his arm snakes up around my shoulders, his thumb swiping a gentle rhythm on my collarbone.
His breaths turn shallow, almost panicky. Or maybe those are mine. I can’t tell over the roaring of my blood in my ears. There couldn’t be a more minuscule amount of skin contact, but my whole body feels on fire.
I spent months hoping he would reach for my hand, living for the moments he would tuck my hair behind myear or wrap me in a hug with the other boys. Now I’m here, being touched by Griffin Hart, and every voice inside my head is screaming that I should run.
I stopped paying attention to the movie a long time ago, so I turn my face up to his, alarmed at how close he is. He leans back to look into my eyes, and my heart rate goes up in a way that would alarm any cardio doctor. His grin reaches all the way to the warm depths of his irises, glittering like he’s looking at the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen.
No one has ever looked at me like this.
My eyes drop to his lips, just for a second, then back up to his eyes. There’s nothing playful or warm about the way he’s looking at me now–it’s all heat, anticipation,want.His gaze fixates on my mouth, and he doesn’t look back up at me.
He leans forward slowly, hesitantly, giving me the space to back away if I want to.
I don’t want to.
All at once the weight of everything we’ve been through hits me. This moment feels like it’s been planned since the dawn of time–and maybe it has, despite all the pain and anger and heartbreak. From the very first time I heard“Howdy there,”I think somethingdeep inside me has known Griffin is inevitable. I don’t know if I ever had a choice here.
I don’t think I’d choose different even if I did.
