Page 117 of Love Felt Like This

“Hey, baby.” Rough, calloused hands wrap around my waist. And the bit of butterfly tingling in my chest for Beau turns into full-on eagle wings when Griffin slides in, taking a seat on the barstool behind me. “Got you some coffee.”

He places a small paper cup on the bar top, steam sizzling out of the lid.

“You did?” I ask.

“Oh, hey. It’s you…again,” Griffin says dully to Beau.

Beau stretches his lips in an insincere straight line. “And it’s you.”

“And me!” Poe stumbles between us, bumping into Beau and landing on me. I stagger back and fall onto Griffin’s lap.

Griffin grunts, catching my waist in his palms as I land on his thick thighs. My heart leaps into my throat. His muscles are harder than I expected, and his chest is larger when it’s directly behind me like this. His beard brushes over my cheek. His breath is in my ear.

Poe drunkenly apologizes to me, touching my forearms and then running a palm over my cheek with familiarity.

“It’s all right, man,” Griffin says, politely taking Poe’s hands and removing them from me. There’s care laced into it but also a slight threat. Definitive adjustments that can’t be questioned.

Over Poe’s shoulder, Beau’s eyes dart from me to Griffin.

Yeah, get jealous, ya tool.

Drunk Beverly is vengeful.

I take Griffin’s hands from my hips and wrap his arms fully around my body.

We’re together, Beau. So suck it.

Drunk Beverly is also really enjoying Griffin’s hard lap.

I adjust my position, trying to get more comfortable, as if we totally sat like this all the time. But then Griffin clears his throat. He straightens his posture. He grips his fingers tighter into mine, as if willing me to sit still. And I realize much too late why he’s doing all this.

Muscular thigh one and thigh two are accounted for, but then there’s a third baseball-bat-shaped thing and…

Oh God.

That is his…

Oh. My. God.

Why did I sit on him? Why couldn’t I have just stood back up? Why did I have to keep playing pretend?

Poe starts talking to Beau, who looks like he wants to be anywhere else. I can’t hear their conversation, and I don’t care. I’m frozen solid. Mortified.

“I’m sorry,” Griffin murmurs into my ear, heating my skin and sending shivers racing down my spine.

“It’s fine,” I say back stiffly. “Really.”

Griffin’s thumb anxiously drums against my palms. I clutch it, dragging both our hands tighter into my lap.

“You’re fine,” I repeat, squeezing his fingers, gripping tighter, holding until he finally squeezes back. “Think of something else.”

“Trying.”

“Ooh, how about Bernie Bird? Want me to do his voice?”

“Not right now, thanks.”

He seems strained, exhaling warm breath against my neck. Goose bumps erupt all over my arms and chest. He shifts in place, but his length feels like it’s staying the same, continuing to prod against my backside as I feel his jaw clench tighter.