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“I’m at the county jail.”
“Jesus, that’s like an hour away.” I run a hand through my hair, glancing in the mirror at last night’s makeup still lining my under eyes. “Didn’t any of your teammates bail you out?”
“I didn’t call them.” I can hear him swallow from the other end. “I called you.”
I’m about to ask him why, but it’s pretty clear. He’s already labeled a bad seed and on thin ice with the organization. They may judge him, bail him out or kick the crap out of him in some way shape or form, but I know this punch was thrown on my behalf.
“I’ll be right there.”
I hang up the phone, grab the cash from Griffin I’ve yet to deposit—thank God—and head to jump in my car. “Call Edwin Symonds.” I command and wait for the Commissioner to answer. He’s groggy. It is Sunday morning after all. He owes me a favor. I was a bridesmaid for his daughter, whose story I use because of her envious, attention seeking (former) best friend. He agrees, and I take the exit onto the highway.
Ninety-minutes later, I’m pulling up in front of the county Jail. I pay the bond, which is chump change to Griffin, but a lot of money to me, and wait for him to be released. I don’t know what to do with my hands. If you had told me forty-eight hours ago I’d be bailing out the famous bad boy linebacker out of jail I’d have laughed in your face. But sitting here under the wonky fluorescent lights, I can’t deny that it’s truly happening.
The heavy lock releases and a guard opens the door. A weary, messy haired giant walks out to greet me. I rush over to Griffin, who’s looking worse for the wear, but still undeniably handsome. He’s still in his tuxedo shirt from last night, but now it’s crumpled and wrinkly. At home, his jacket hangs on my bedpost. I reach out and grab his arm.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, shuffling the plastic baggie of his belongings to his other hand. “But I wasn’t going to let that piece of shit talk to you like that.” His fists ball at his sides and I realize this is not the time or place for him to relive his anger.
“Let’s get you some breakfast.” I smile at the officer, who remains stone-faced, and follow Griffin out the front doors. A few local reporters wait for us outside. Someone must’ve tipped them off.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” I spit at them. I realize that of course, they don’t. There isn’t a lot of action around these parts. The fact that the football team was in town was already a big deal, and now this? “Fuck off.” I mutter, and we both climb into my car. As soon as the doors are closed, I speed away, anxious to be rid of these vultures.
“Thanks. I’ll pay you back for the bail.” I don’t object. A tense silence thickens the air between us. “Goddammit.” He punches the dash so hard I’m afraid the airbag will inflate.
“Hey, hey, hey!” I scold. “My car didn’t do shit to you.” Griffin’s face turns beet red. Right now, he looks more like a tortured boy in a grown man’s body, and I wonder what’s really behind all this behavior. “Just take a deep breath. Wanna drive through for a coffee?”
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes out the window. “Just take me to the Inn. I have to get my stuff. I already missed my flight.”
“You can’t go to the Inn right now.” I turn onto the highway. The lull of the wheels against the road instantly calms me. “I’m sure there are still people out front ready for a piece of the story.”
His head snaps in my direction. “Where the hell am I supposed to go?” I take the next exit and pull into the Wal-Mart parking lot. “What are you doing?”
“What size are you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re coming to my house. You can rebook a flight from there. I don’t have any men’s clothes.” I shrug, reaching for the door handle.
“Wait.” He grabs my arm. When I turn to face him, I’m again awestruck by his gorgeous blue eyes, square jaw, and slightly crooked nose.
“Wal-mart is going to have to do right now, Griffin. You can’t be picky.”
“I don’t give a shit about wearing Wal-mart clothes.” He reaches into the baggie and takes out his wallet. “But I’ll be damned if you’re going to pay for them.”
ChapterSix
Carlie
After an houron the phone with the airline, Griffin finally got a flight out. Tomorrow morning, this means he’ll be staying with me tonight. I’m not nervous…not at all.
I try to keep my mind on making breakfast as Griffin showers down the hall, but all I can think about is him, naked and wet, mere feet from me. The dryer sounds, and I grab the toast and put them on a plate before rushing to retrieve Griffin’s clothes. I insisted he wash them before he wears them.
I pull them out of the dryer and haphazardly fold them before tiptoeing toward the bathroom door. With my heart in my throat I gently knock. “Griffin.”
“Yeah.” He calls back. Oh God, he’s so wet and naked. I picture the suds working their way down the grooves of his muscles.
“I’ll set your clothes outside the door.”
