Page 18 of A Little Secret
The granite is cold against my bare feet, so I shift from one foot to the other as I continue rummaging through the cabinet when a low voice asks, “What are you doing?”
Nearly jumping out of my skin, I turn around, clutching my chest. “Griffin!”
“What’d I do now?”
“You’re not supposed to sneak up on girls like that!”
He lifts a shoulder, which only makes the bastard look even more effortlessly sexy in his T-shirt and jeans. “What? The murder documentaries going to your head?”
I scowl down at him.
“All right, I’ll fold.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, looking every bit the boy next door I’ve always pegged him for. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“Sure you are.” I turn back to the junk cabinet and move a bag of cinnamon bears to the side, ignoring the pit in my stomach. It’s hunger pains, is all. Not my never-ending guilt for writing off one of my best friends all because my boyfriend told me to.
“What are you looking for?” Griffin prods.
“Popcorn.”
“It’s all gone.”
The stupid organ in my chest cracks at the prospect, and I face Griffin again but am unable to look him in the eye. Not really. “What?”
“Isn’t it your week to do the shopping?” he counters.
My shoulders slump. To be fair, he isn’t wrong. But I’ve also been a little preoccupied, thank you very much.
“Fantastic,” I grumble under my breath.
It takes everything inside of me to not stomp my foot like an offended toddler as I jump to the ground in defeat. On impact, my ankle rolls, and I yelp in pain, bouncing on my good leg as I try not to bawl my eyes out. “Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.”
Rushing forward, Griffin catches me before my ass hits the ground and pulls me into him. “Whoa, there, you good?”
“I rolled my ankle,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Shit.” He grabs my bicep carefully, helps me hobble to the table, and pulls out a chair. “Here, let me look.”
“Griffin, I’m fine?—”
“You’re not fine?—”
“Yes, I am. It’s just a stupid injury.”
He tears his attention from my foot and shakes his head. “Will you stop pushing me away for two goddamn seconds?”
My bottom lip trembles, so I suck it between my teeth and look down at my bare foot. Well, shit. He doesn’t have to be such a jerk about it. I can feel Griffin’s cold stare on the side of my face, but I ignore it, too emotionally charged to do anything at all except fight back tears. The problem is, I can’t decide if it’s because of my stupid foot, or my even more stupid decision to push away the man in front of me. Slowly, Griffin kneels at my feet, gently lifts my leg, and examines my ankle for any swelling. His touch is gentle. Soft. But I can still feel the calluses on his fingertips as they drag along the inside of my heel. It tickles. Not enough for me to pull away, but my foot twitches in his grasp as I steal a peek at him. And it’s strange. How I haven’t really looked at him since the bar. Like, if I did, I’d be breaking my promise to Drew or something. And now, with Griffin distracted with my bum leg, I can finally steal a peek—even if it’s only for me—without dealing with the fallout.
His soft brown hair is a little darker than normal. The gold highlights from summer have faded, but he’s as beautiful as ever. Griffin’s always been pretty. Okay, handsome is probably a better word. He’d kill me if I ever describedhim as pretty. Even so, his eyes are a bright blue color, bordering on aquamarine. I’ve always been fascinated by them. Mine are gray. Don’t get me wrong. They’re pretty, too, I guess, but I’ve always been jealous of Griffin’s eyes, not to mention his long dark lashes. Seriously, why does every guy have incredible lashes? It isn’t fair.
I haven’t really seen his eyes since our fight at SeaBird.
It’s silly but true.
It’s also easier than I would’ve thought. Looking at someone without actuallylookingat someone. I’ve been too afraid of seeing the hurt in his eyes. And the last thing I want—the last thing I need—is the added guilt of hurting someone I care about while trying to keep my world from unraveling around me.
“It looks okay,” he mutters. “Let me grab an ice pack.”
He stands and heads to the freezer, searching through the shelves when I remember Frankie’s food is somewhere inside.