Page 132 of Love Felt Like This

“Beverly.”

“Seriously. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your bedroom.”

“Too late; I already did.”

He exhales.

“We’ll fight about it later,” I joke.

Exhausted, he walks her back to my room.

Griffin is in my bedroom. It’s not like I still have posters of the Jonas Brothers or open diary entries about Aaron Tveit. Thank God. But it’s Griffin, bulky and taking up space and smelling like the bonfire from last night. How many women dream of that? This can’t be my life.

I notice his open music notebook on the side table. I should walk away, but I don’t. Looking quickly to see if anyone’s watching, I secretly read the beautiful lyrics about a girl with feathered hair and his longing to make her laugh. I smile to myself. They’re about Ava, I know, but I’m sure many fans will hope it’s about them. He’s a master at his craft.

I jump when Griffin appears next to me, resting his palms on the back of the recliner. His cheeks are still flushed. I move away from his notebook. I shouldn’t have looked, and now he’s probably embarrassed. But when he groans, clearing his throat of something much more than just tiredness, my eyes widen.

He runs a palm through his hair. A small bead of sweat runs down his forehead. His neck is layered in goose bumps.

“Oh no,” I breathe.

He shakes his head, already reading my mind.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“No, you’re not. You’ve got what she has too.”

“It’s too soon.”

“You probably caught it at the same time.”

“And why don’t you have it?” he asks.

I smile. “Because I’m not cuddling with anyone.”

He huffs out a pseudolaugh that mixes into a cough.

Nana leans back in her seat on the couch. “Are you sick, Griffin?”

“No,” he calls over, running another palm across his beard.

“Yes,” I say louder.

He levels a look at me.

“You should get some sleep,” Nana says.

“I’m fine,” Griffin grunts.

“You don’t look fine,” I say.

“I’m not leaving Ava.”

Nana shakes her head. “We’ll take care of Ava.”

“No.”