Page 30 of How Not to Date a Griffin

His gaze dropped to the sad-looking salad resting on the chair, and suddenly he jolted, checking his phone for the time. “Shit. I’m supposed to meet a friend for lunch. I guess… I guess I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Nolan smiled, though it was polite and insincere, and Reid’s chest twisted tightly once again. “I’ll be here all week.”

The promise did not have the same exciting buzz to it that it had when similar words had been whispered in the safety of Nolan’s hotel bed.

“Alright,” Reid responded, reaching behind himself to tug the door open. “See ya.”

“Enjoy lunch,” Nolan said, cordial as ever.

“You too.”

Reid wanted to scream as he left the doorway and made his way down the hall. The further he went from the room, the tighter his chest got. He rushed into the main area, spotting his impatient-looking friend John, and hurried to his side.

John scoffed when he finally spied Reid. “About time you—“

“Hope you have time for a long lunch,” Reid interrupted. “My treat,” he added as he pulled John along by his shirt and not by the camera bag strap across his chest.

“What the hell is this about? You told me to meet you here.”

“Something’s come up, and I need to tell you about it. Can’t do it here.”

John’s brows twitched in interest, and suddenly his feet were a lot more cooperative as they sped down the sidewalk.

Reid pushed into the first diner they came to, and marched his way to the back of the restaurant after waving at a waitress behind the bar.

“What’s this about?” John asked as they settled into a booth.

Reid rested his elbows on the scratched metal table and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

The waitress appeared before Reid could organize his thoughts, and he dropped his hands while John ordered their usuals. Reid stared at the tabletop. Once she was gone, John rolled his hand in a go on motion, and Reid sucked in a sharp breath.

“I slept with Whittier’s son.”

John froze, eyes intent on Reid. “You… did what? Wait,” he said suddenly, and reached in his bag to pull out a recorder. Reid slapped his hand down on top of John’s, trapping the device against the table.

“No, John, you can’t write about this. I just needed to talk to someone.”

John threw up his arms, the device forgotten between them. Reid eyed it, making sure the light wasn’t blinking for record. “Don’t you have a therapist for that? What the fuck am I doing here, then?”

“Because you’re my friend?” Reid guessed.

John ignored him. “You wanted me here to report on this little… rebellion you’ve got going on. Are the Whittiers not part of that?”

Reid crossed his arms, leaned back, and tried to wipe the stubborn pout off his face. “You know they are. But not this part.”

John huffed. “Alright. You fucked the—“

“No, we slept together. Literally. It was…” Special. Kind of pure, in a way. He did not tell John these things, cheeks flushing hot.

John’s cheeks went pink, too, and he stuttered before making to stand from the booth. “Alright, I don’t have time for this school boy crush bullshit—“

“John, sit the fuck down,” Reid demanded, exasperated with his best friend. “Quit being an ass for ten minutes and let me get the fucking story out.”

John sat. “Fine. Clock started when we walked in.”

Reid huffed. “I hate you.”

In response, John checked his phone. “You have about five minutes left.”