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Kyla stops in front of me, a weepy expression falling over her face. I release Griff’s arm and I’m about to ask if she’s okay when she throws her arms around my neck, hugging me tight.
“Thanks for not making fun of me last night,” she whispers against my ear.
Emotion squeezes my throat and I hold her tight in my arms. “Never. Stuff happens. It’s okay.”
“Love you, babe.” She releases me and her lips tilt up just a fraction.
“You too.”
“I’ll catch you at home, sis.” Remy waves at me, then steps into the truck.
Griff walks me to the Mercedes and opens the passenger-side door. “Are we really going to the garage?” I ask.
The corners of his mouth tilt up. “We can. If you want.”
“No.” I curl my fingers in his shirt and pull him closer. “Let’s go to my house. Remy will be busy for a while.”
His nostrils flare and his eyes search my face for a few seconds. Then he frowns—it’s brief, but I catch it.
“What’s wrong? You don’t want to be alone with me?”
“It’s not that.” He lifts his chin. “Get in.”
I slide onto the buttery, quilted leather seat. Now that I’m not anxious about prom and my friends, I take time to admire the interior of the luxury SUV.
“This really is nice,” I say to Griff when he settles behind the wheel. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Muffin.” He leans over and pops a kiss on my cheek.
Once we’re on the main highway, he asks, “Did you get any sleep?”
“A little. Did you?”
Instead of answering, he yawns, then laughs. “Not enough, I guess.”
“I’d almost rather go for a drive.” I slide my hand over the complicated dashboard. “Before this turns into a pumpkin.”
He grins. “Want to drop your stuff off at the house first?”
I nod quickly. “And maybe grab something to eat. I’m starving.”
His smile falters. “Instead of buying the flowers, I should’ve brought you a breakfast sandwich or something.”
“No.” I rub my hand over his. “That was sweet.” After the way my friends were talking about Griff’s anatomy this morning, I’m not sure they deserved the roses, but I can’t tell him that.
“You weren’t mad, were you?” He glances over, worry creasing his brow. “I thought since they were pink and I’d?—”
“No! Not at all.” I cover my face with my hands. “This is so dumb,” I mumble.
“What’s wrong?”
Distress vibrates through his voice.
“Ugh. They were asking me…how, um, big you are. They have this theory that since you have big hands, your, you know, must be huuuge.” I don’t want to tell him Hayden’s the one who started in with the hand comparison.
He snort-laughs. “All righty, then.”
“I’m sorry.” I hate the whiny tone my voice takes on. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
