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3
CLAIRE
It’s Friday night,and I’m currently staring at my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. I haven’t spoken with Griff at all this week aside from a few texts with my doctor’s name and specific diagnosis. He texted that he’d meet me at the diner tonight, which is perfect, it gives me time to shower and get ready.
This week was grueling. We’re in the final weeks of learning our numbers for the Midsummer’s Night Modern Ballet. It only runs for ten shows over seven days, but I’ll be in the evening performance each day. I keep forgetting choreography that we learned the week before. No one has said anything, but I noticed the dancer who has my role in the three afternoon performances was watching me a little too closely.
I grab a pair of ripped black jeans and a cream off-the-shoulder, cropped sweater. I know he has a thing for my neck and shoulders. He paid them so much attention during our night together. It’s kind of pathetic how I cataloged every touch, every kiss, every word uttered from that night. I relive it at least twice a week with my vibrator, which is a poor substitute for Griff.
I decide to just leave my hair down, letting it air dry. I never wear much makeup unless I’m on stage, so I just swipe on a little lip-gloss, blush, and mascara. I order an Uber because I told Marco to take the night off; he’s got a new baby at home. I slip my feet into some ballet flats because the thought of heels after being en pointe all day makes me stabby.
I walk out into the hall right as Connor opens the door of his penthouse, trash bag in hand. He looks me up and down and then frowns slightly.
“Where’s the rest of your shirt?” he asks.
“Fuck off,” I roll my eyes at him, “Lilith wears crop tops all the time.” I walk down the hall to the elevator, and, of course, he follows me.
“She’s eight months pregnant with twins, everything is a crop top right now. Where are you going?”
“Meeting Friday for dinner.” Luckily, punching the elevator button gives me something to do while I lie for the first time ever to my older brother.
“Why didn’t you just go out together right after rehearsal?” he asks as I step onto the elevator.
“Because we smelled awful, and her toes were bloody as fuck.” He’s like a fucking detective when he wants to be. We stare each other down as the elevator doors close between us. I blow out a relieved breath as soon as the elevator starts its descent.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m dropped off a block away from the diner. The evening is nice, the golden light of sunset bouncing off the high-rise buildings lining the street. There is still a bit of a chill in the air, but there’s no bite to it.
I pull open the door to the diner and see Griff sitting in the same booth we had last time. He’s wearing a navy shirt with the first few buttons open, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows with precise folds. Everything about him screams control, from the way he buttons his cufflinks to the way I’ve seen him destroy his enemies. I let my eyes roam over the ink covering both of his arms. The juxtaposition of his tattoos and conservative business attire does it for me. It’s so hot to watch him strip away that outer shell to reveal the man he really is, untamed and passionate.
He stands when I get to the booth and wraps me in a hug as a greeting. I savored his hug goodbye last week, and I could stay right here in his arms for the rest of the night. The hug is over too soon as he pulls away.
“How are you?” he asks with a neutral facial expression.
I appreciate that he doesn’t ask how I am feeling. I don’t want to see the pity in people’s eyes after they find out. I don’t want the constant attention and questions and accommodations. I just want to keep living as normally as possible. Somehow, when I look across the table at Griff, I just know that he gets it.
I think about how honest I want to be. I am a master of hiding my feelings behind the frigid mask I wear every day. I get angry, I get even, but I never show sadness or shed a tear in front of anyone. A neutral and vague answer is on the tip of my tongue when he speaks.
“I can see you calculating an answer.” He leans forward. “I will accept nothing but your whole truth.” His hazel eyes hold mine with intensity, and his voice is quiet but commanding. “You don’t carry this alone. I’ll shoulder the weight with you.”
A strange, prickling feeling hits the back of my eyes, and I blink several times to will it away. I don’t trust my voice to be steady, so I give him a quick half smile and nod my head. Luckily the same server from last week comes over and sets two milkshakes down in front of us, followed by two burgers and a giant basket of fries.
“You ordered for me?” I raise an eyebrow at his audacity.
“I did,” he smirks at me. “One meal of greasy food a week isn’t going to hurt you.”
“Your demands keep growing. First, you wanted the entire story from me. Next, you wanted weekly dinners. Now greasy food?” I tilt my head to the side coyly. “What is your next demand going to be?”
This flirtation is straight up a way to distract him from trying to delve too deep into my problems. I am so touched by his concern and the fact that he wants to be there for me, but I don’t know how to let anyone in. Usually, I’d just tell Con, and we’d figure it out together, but I’m not ready for him to know. I’m not ready for the onslaught of overprotective big brother energy.
“How. Are. You?” Griff asks again with a bit more darkness lacing his voice, each word a sentence. His jaw makes the slightest tic, and I know I’m skating on thin ice. I wouldn’t care with anyone else, but for some reason, I feel compelled to tell him everything.
“Good.” I lie through my teeth, tamping down on my urge to open up to him.
“Liar.” I look at him as he studies me. I know he’s probably cataloging all my movements, all my mannerisms. He’ll lock away his observations in his mental vault and use them to figure me out. “Give me one truth about this past week.”
I sigh in defeat and decide to give him the least personal answer. “I’m having trouble remembering choreography already. I’ll forget a step here or there.” I dip a fry into my milkshake. “It’s not noticeably bad yet. At least I don’t think so. It’s just more frustrating for me than anything else.”
He nods while he chews a bite of his burger. “I might have something that could help. What are you doing the rest of the night?”
