Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
When I get into bed I think of the look on Tripp’s face. Something is bothering him and I’m determined to figure it out.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand and I pick it up.
Anya: Just checking in.
He’s ready to serve his sentence with Warden Cole starting tomorrow.
Anya: LOL good! Don’t go easy on him.
I told you I’ve got this, don’t worry.
Anya: It’s hard not to worry when we picked up my little brother from the police station.
I know, but you aren’t alone. We’ll do this together.
Anya: Thank you, Griffin.
Always.
Anya: I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Fuck. I close my eyes, relieved and turned on. My body hardens at the thought.
Me either. Come over for dinner Monday night. Let’s talk.
Anya: Okay.
She agreed. I’m not pressing my luck. I put my phone down and smile.
I guess I’m going to pursue the forbidden.
Chapter 13
Anya
When you love somebody and you see them hurting, it pains you deeply, igniting a fierce desire to do whatever it takes to ease their suffering and bring them peace.
Something’s going on with Tripp. Something I don’t fully understand, but I want to help make it better. I could very easily walk downstairs and talk to my mother. Ask her what she thinks it could be, but I don’t want to betray his trust. For I fear that would only make things worse. I could ask one of the many brothers I have, but again, if Tripp hasn’t confided in any of them, I know I shouldn’t either.
The only person he trusted to turn to was Griffin.
That speaks volumes.
Griffin is more a part of this family than I ever really thought.
As I sit in my room, going over the specifics for the party on Friday night, I can't help but think about Griffin asking me to dinner. What does he need to talk to me about? My mind races through possibilities, but I'm guessing it has to do with how we’re going to help Tripp. I haven't seen Griffin or Tripp since the other day when we picked Tripp up from the police station. The memory of that tense evening still lingers in my mind.
I push my notebook away and rummage through my closet, searching for the perfect outfit. What should I wear? I try on dress after dress, discarding each one after scrutinizing my reflection. The butterflies in my stomach intensify with each discarded outfit.
Finally, I spot a dress I haven't worn in a while. It's a deep emerald green, a color that always makes my eyes pop. The fabric is soft and flows elegantly, hugging my curves in all the right places. I slip it on and step in front of the mirror. The dress features a sweetheart neckline and delicate lace sleeves, adding a touch of sophistication. The skirt flares out just enough to give it a playful swing, but not so much that it feels too formal.
I pair the dress with a simple silver necklace and matching earrings, completing the look with a pair of strappy black heels. As I take one last look in the mirror, I feel a surge of confidence. This dress is perfect. It's elegant yet understated, striking the right balance for a dinner that promises to be significant.
With my outfit decided, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever conversation lies ahead with Griffin.
I pull up to his house right at seven, and turn off the ignition. His house is warm and friendly, and it gives me a sense of pride with how well Griffin has done for himself. I’ve never met his parents, but from what he said, they don’t sound like nice people.
I exit the car, walk up his front porch, and ring the bell. Nerves flutter low in my belly as I wait for him to answer the door.
“Hey,” he says, appearing in the doorway like a knight in shining armor. “The door was open, you could have just walked in.” He steps aside so I can enter his home.
I push a strand of my hair behind my ear as I step over the threshold. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
Griffin’s eyes pierce straight through to my soul as he stares at me. “I don’t think you could ever be rude.”
“You’re such a nice guy,” I say as he shuts the door. I follow him into the kitchen as he picks up a knife.
“I’m not that nice.” He lays his knife over a clove of garlic and pounds his fist down on it. “I can be mean.”
I laugh lightly as I watch him mince the garlic. “You could never be mean.”
He stops what he’s doing and studies me. “Not to you.”
I blush, and then scan the items on the counter. “What are you making?”
His smile is so wide it splits his face into two. “That’s a surprise.”