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He squints, studying my face. “You sure you didn’t take a hit to the head tonight?”
“No.” I wave my hand at him. “Come here so I can fix your cut.”
He steps closer to the small sink in the corner where I set out cotton pads and antiseptic liquid. Gently, I dab the cotton over his wound. A small hiss escapes him.
“Sorry,” I whisper, hating that I’m hurting him even a little.
“It’s okay.” His low voice flows over my skin leaving goose bumps in its wake. I smooth some antibiotic ointment over the cut and seal it with a small Band-Aid. “All better. I think the bruise you’re going to end up with will be worse than the cut.”
“Won’t be the first.” He squints at me, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Or the last, I’m sure.”
I can’t laugh. Not when I hate that he loves risking bodily harm in these stupid underground fights all the time. My brother, too. And if it’s not fighting, it’s riding motorcycles or racing cars. It’s like the two of them are bonded by a common death wish. Fear vibrates at a low, constant hum in the back of my mind that one of these days one of them will get seriously hurt.
Maybe sensing the change in my mood, Griff curls his hand around mine and playfully swings it side to side. “Thank you, Nurse Molly.”
His gaze travels down my body. Mine takes the opportunity to do the same to him again.
I suck in a quick breath. “Oh.” It’s even harder to tear my gaze away this time, but I do.
“I’ll, uh, let you get dressed,” I mumble. It’s a big room. Maybe there’s a locker I can shut myself inside of to hide from all these weird tingly feelings.
“Wait.” He reaches out, wrapping his hand around my arm. “Sit here.” Leaning sideways, he swipes his clothes off the bench. “I’ll be right back.”
As I lower myself to the bench, my arm brushes against his stomach. His warm, flat, hard stomach. My hand whispers over the knot in his towel. So close. I could easily flick it open. My finger twitches against the terry cloth.
Why’d I do that?
My face flames even hotter.
Griff grabs my rogue hand and our eyes meet.
“S-sorry,” I mumble, too embarrassed to hold his gaze.
“What are you doing, Muffin?” His low voice prickles over my skin.
Oh, I love when he calls me that.
“I didn’t mean to,” I lie. “It was an accident.”
He groans.
“What?” My eyes snap to his.
“Nothing.”
His mouth says nothing, but his eyes tell a different story, staring at me with an intensity that sets my entire body humming. His clothes fall to the floor in a whispered rustle. He curves his arm around my waist and presses his hand into the small of my back, pushing me forward against his hard body.
Holy…wow…oh my. What’s happening?
My heart races. He stares into my eyes for a few seconds, like he’s fascinated or surprised. He dips in closer, his fresh, soapy scent surrounding me. I stare at his mouth, his lips that look soft and kissable up close. Wait, why is he so close? He leans in and dusts a gentle kiss across my lips. Sparks dance and race over my skin.
Knees weak, heart pounding, I rest my palms against his chest and melt into him. He groans and brushes his knuckles under my chin, tipping my head back. His second kiss is slower and sweeter. My arms slip around his neck and his grip on my waist loosens, sliding down to pin me against his body, our connection so firm and complete.
I’m kissing Griffin “Stonewall” Royal. My brother’s best friend. The love of my life. The only boy I’ve ever wanted to kiss.
No, this is more than kissing. We’re exploring each other’s mouths. Slowly, lazily, our tongues meet and slide against each other’s. It’s sweet, a little sloppy, gentle but passionate. His hand dives into my hair, cradling my head, deepening our kiss. The wonder fades, replaced by a jolt of electricity shocking my nerve endings.
Could I flick his towel off and find out what’s poking against my hip? Would he show me how he likes to be touched? Would I really strip off all my clothes for Griff here in the locker room?
