Page 92 of A Little Secret
“Yeah,” Reeves answers. “Dreggs wants me to give him your number. Dylan says it’s against the girl code, butOphelia says it would be good for you.” He crosses his arms. “What do you think I should do?”
I tilt my head toward Lia. “It would be good for me, huh?”
“Dude, we were literally talking about this at the game, so you already— Oh. Uh. Hey!”
A throat clears behind me, and I peek over my shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”
“Hey, Fin.” Dreggs offers me a Red Solo cup. “Thirsty?”
Taking the cup from his grasp, I peek inside, taking in the amber liquid, then look up at him. “Is this beer?”
Dreggs nods. “Yeah. Figured you could use a drink.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t drink,” I remind him. “But Reeves does.”
“Oo, thanks.” He grabs the cup from me and swallows it back.
I turn to Dreggs again. “Epilepsy ruins all the fun, am I right?”
Squeezing the back of his neck, Dreggs mumbles, “Shit. I forgot about the whole, uh, epilepsy thing.”
“Just wait ‘til you see me drop to the ground and start convulsing,” I quip with a wink. “Then it’ll be etched into your brain for eternity.”
His eyes bug out, making Ophelia laugh as she pulls me into her. “And here I thought Dylan was the awkward one.” She squeezes me tight. “Ignore her, Dreggs. She’s joking.”
I’m not, but I get why my best friend’s trying to soften my crazy. What she doesn’t understand is that I need Dreggs to see it. I need him to become uninterested and soon because if he keeps talking to me after everything that went down in the locker room, Griffin is going to see, and if Griffin sees, whatever ruse we’re still clinging to will explode into a bazillion pieces.
“Definitely not joking,” I announce. “Hell, ask Griff. Hesaw it firsthand over winter break. It was a real hoot, let me tell ya.”
“Shit.” Dreggs tugs at the collar of his T-shirt, appearing almost as uncomfortable as a man who was just asked to turn and cough.
Wee lamb.
If he thinks talking about epilepsy is messy, he should try dating someone with it.
“How, uh,”—he clears his throat—“how are you doing after…it?”
“You mean my seizure?” I pat his chest. “I’m fine. But I should probably go find me a non-alcoholic drink. Nice chatting, though.”
As I start to slip past him, he grabs my wrist, preventing my escape. Not aggressively, mind you, but, uh, confidently? Yeah. I’ll go with confidently. Like I’d be a fool to turn him down. And maybe I am a fool because this guy? He doesn’t do it for me. At all.
“Playing hard to get, Fin?” Dreggs challenges.
I smirk back at him. He is cute. And if I wasn’t already most definitely interested in someone else, I could see myself testing the waters just for shits and giggles…and maybe to educate him on chronic diseases. But he’s too late. And he isn’t Griffin.
My attention drifts to the kitchen, where Griffin disappeared. He stares at me, his jaw tight and his biceps bulging as he folds his arms. All of the humor from our little flirting session a few minutes ago is completely void from his expression. He doesn’t look pissed. He looks…uninterested yet still…observant.
I’m not surprised. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. Now that we’ve been hooking up, I can see past the laid back facade. The one he uses to protect himself. Like, if he can convince others he doesn’t care, then maybe he won’t,either. He does the same thing with hockey. Pretend a loss isn’t a big deal, and maybe he won’t beat himself up about it.
He still does, but…I don’t know. He tries, at least. Not to care. But for some reason, the idea of him not caring in this moment isn’t comforting. In fact, it’s kind of terrifying. The idea of Griffin looking at someone else like this instead of me. He’s been so patient with me. More patient than I deserve. And I know we both agreed to lie low. To give Everett time to wrap his head around us dating, but…I don’t know if I care anymore.
“Fin?” Dreggs prods.
“Surprisingly, I’m not playing at all,” I murmur, looking back at him. “Nice chatting with you, Dreggs. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I twist out his grasp and slip through the crowd, holding Griffin’s unreadable gaze.
He’s still watching me. The realization spurs me on. It’s like he’s a homing beacon. Like the world is nothing but a blurry canvas around us, and all that matters, all I can focus on, is getting to him as quickly as possible. He looks so…unflustered. So laid back and in his element surrounded by people. Strangers mostly. Or maybe they’ve been friends for years. You’d never know the difference. He’s kind to everyone. Patient with everyone.
Patient withme. So damn patient with me.