––––––––

Griffin

––––––––

“What the fuck, Griffin?” Dylan rounds the corner into his kitchen wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. “I didn’t give you the key to my apartment so you could waltz in here whenever you damn well please.”

“Let me guess.” I reach for a glass tumbler from the cupboard above the sink before I pour myself two fingers of the best scotch I could find at the liquor store down the street. “Light brown hair, blue eyes, the body of a dancer.”

“Fuck you.” Dylan rakes both hands through his black hair. “I was mid-thrust when you started yelling that you were here. You scared the shit out of both of us.”

“What’s this one’s name?”

I let that hang in the air between us. It’s a dick move. We have an unspoken rule. I don’t bring up the bullshit from Dylan’s past and he leaves mine buried. Tonight, my callousness is fueled by the two drinks I had earlier. 

“Go to hell,” he spits back.

“You don’t know her name, do you?” I slide the bottle across the marble counter toward him. “You don’t know because you don’t give a shit.”

He picks up the bottle and downs a swallow. “What do you want, Griffin? Why are you here?”

I scrub my hand over the back of my neck. I don’t have an answer to that question. I left Piper’s studio with the intent of going to the office to go over my notes before court tomorrow morning. The Lindel case is on the docket and I have every intention of squeezing every cent I can out of Lana’s client.

I didn’t make it to my office. I stopped by Easton Pub after spotting Sebastian inside with his new partner, a rookie detective. After introductions, I bought them both a beer while I nursed two glasses of scotch. By the time I left, they were heading out too. Sebastian offered to share a cab with me, but I told him I had work to do.

I ended up here after trying to call Dylan about a case file while I was waiting for the subway. He didn’t pick up and even though it was near midnight, I made my way to his apartment for no other reason than to drag him into the pit of misery I’m drowning in.

“It’s that fucking art class, isn’t it?” He takes another drink from the bottle. “Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to enroll in that? You had to know it was self-torture.”

How many years have to pass before the debilitating pain of loss finally leaves every cell of your body? I know for certain it’s not one, or five. What’s the magic number? Ten? Twenty? Fifty?

“Piper’s class has nothing to do with the past.” I grip the edge of the counter tightly with my left hand. “Don’t bring it up, Dylan. Don’t.”

“Don’t?” he echoes back in a low voice. “You’re the one who walked in here and ruined my night. You don’t get to dictate what we talk about.”

“I ruined your fuck,” I correct him with a sly smile. “So you didn’t get to shoot your load in a woman who looks like Eden tonight. Boo-fucking-hoo.”

He’s on me in an instant. His fists bunched around the lapels of my suit jacket. “Shut your mouth. Don’t say her name to me.”

“Who’s Eden?”

The sound of a breathy feminine voice turns both our heads in the direction of the hallway. I know what she’ll look like before I see her. Tousled sun-kissed locks of light brown hair, big blue eyes and lean legs. The only thing she’s wearing is a dress shirt. It’s blue, pinstriped and a match to the one Dylan was wearing when I left him at the office earlier to go to Piper’s class.

“No one,” Dylan lies through his teeth. “Go back to bed, beautiful.”

“Who are you?” Her gaze skims my face. “Are you staying?”

Fucking a woman that Dylan’s had his dick in isn’t going to happen. We’ve never touched the same pussy and that’s not about to change.

“He’s no one too.” Dylan loosens his grip on my jacket. “He was just leaving.”

I should send her out the door and confront my best friend about his reckless need to relive his past with every woman he fucks. I’m not a therapist though and my demons can rival his any day of the week.

“I’m out.” I pat Dylan on the cheek as his one-night stand retreats to his bedroom. “Get back to it, buddy.”

“Fuck you,” he whispers. “Sober up, Griffin. You’re due in court at nine a.m. and I’m not covering for you this time.”

He won’t need to. I have a French press at home and a pound of my favorite beans. I’ll spend the next few hours with hot coffee in hand while I drink my way back to reality.

“Tell what’s-her-name I’m sorry for the interruption.”

He looks up at the ceiling before he takes a step back. “Go home and get some sleep and for fuck’s sake, quit that art class.”

I should, but I won’t. I can’t get Piper Ellis out of my mind and no amount of scotch, coffee, or sleep will change that.

***

“We should celebrate.” Lana stands next to me as we watch both our clients exit the courtroom. “That went much smoother than I anticipated.”

Her high-pitched voice only adds another layer of intensity to the rhythmic pounding that’s been going on inside my head since I woke up this morning. I haven’t been this hung-over in years.

“We can start with a late breakfast and see where that leads.” Her hand lands on my shoulder. “That scruff of beard on your face makes you look extra wild, Griffin. I’d love to feel that on the inside of my thighs.”

The whiskers covering my jaw are a testament to my inability to lift a razor this morning. I barely managed to shower and dress before heading over here.

I take pride in the fact that I visit the gym before the crack of dawn four mornings a week. I carve out time for a healthy breakfast and I shave every day, but today the scotch still had its claws in me when I woke up. I’m not even sure my boxer briefs made it on under my black suit pants.

“I can’t fuck you,” I answer without looking at her. She resembles a sexy librarian today with her hair pulled back into a stylish bun, black eyeglasses perched on her nose and a tight navy blue suit hugging her curves.

Lana could be the remedy for what ails me. A celebratory fuck with her might chase Piper out of my mind, but it would be temporary. I fell asleep last night with my cock in my palm after blowing my load all over my stomach while I was thinking about my art teacher.

I’m fucked.

“Why not?” Lana moves to step in front of me so I have no choice but to face her. “The case is over. There’s no conflict of interest anymore. We can go straight to my place, get into bed and we’ll both be back in our respective offices by two o’clock.”

“I drank too much last night.”

She smiles and reaches to adjust my tie. “I thought you looked a little green around the edges. I know the perfect cure for that.”

“Don’t say it’s your pussy, Lana. It can’t heal me.”

“I beg to differ, but I was going to say the fried egg tacos at this place I go to in midtown.”

I swallow hard. “That sounds fucking disgusting. I’m nauseous. The last thing I need is food right now.”

She grabs hold of my forearm. “Trust me, Griffin. This is my go-to when I hit a bottle of red wine too hard. An hour from now you’ll be thanking me.”

I don’t argue with her. We still have a few details to finalize on the Lindel case. This will give me a chance to close the file on that and make it clear to Lana that we’re never fucking each other again.