Yardley

Three Weeks Later

“My feet hurt.” I take my hands off Griff’s shoulders, watching the glimmer of the disco ball as it reflects in his hazel eyes. Wrinkling my nose and offering an apologetic wince, I say, “I think I’m ready to go home.”

He doesn’t try to hide the disappointment on his face. “Seriously? We’ve only been here an hour.”

It’s not the same without Nev. There’s no magic in the air, no sweet nostalgia-in-the-making. And seeing Griff all dressed up in a nice suit—his signature Sooners hat covering his head as per usual—and watching him open doors for me and treat me like a lady is just … weird. He hasn’t been his typical, smart-mouthed self tonight.

And he keeps looking at me in a way I’m afraid to interpret.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. I know he bought me this gorgeous white rose corsage and took me to one of the nicest restaurants in town, but this is where tonight ends for us. I just want to go home, change out of this dress, and call Nev to tell him goodnight. He said he was cool with me going to homecoming with Griff, but I don’t one hundred percent believe him. I think he just wanted me to be happy, and he wanted to prove that he trusted me. “Can we go?”

Griff releases an audible sigh, glancing around the crowded gymnasium. “Yeah.”

I follow him through the double doors, past the cafeteria, down the hall and out toward the parking lot. He walks ahead of me, and when we reach his mom’s red Pontiac G6, he doesn’t get the door.

The ride home is stilted and awkward, the tension ripe. No music. No conversation. Just the sound of air whooshing through the two-inch gap in his driver’s side window. When he pulls into my driveway ten minutes later, his hands grip the steering wheel until his knuckles whiten.

“Everything okay?” I ask a painfully obvious question.

He shakes his head, breathing hard. “Yeah. Just … yeah. Everything’s fine. Let me walk you up.”

“You don’t have to—”

Before I finish protesting, he’s exiting the car and jogging to the passenger side, getting my door. Extending his hand, he helps me out, and I gather my dress in my hands. Making our way up the front walk, we stop outside the front porch.

It’s dark. My parents must have forgotten to turn on the outside lights. The moon is the only light we have, but it’s enough to paint a picture of a solemn boy standing in front of a baffled girl.

This isn’t the same Griff who picked me up just a few hours ago.

“I had a nice time tonight,” I say, wanting to assure him all was not lost. “Thanks for taking me to homecoming.”

“Yardley,” he says, eyes moving between mine. He lifts his hand to his stocking cap before dropping it at his side. He wants to say something, but he can’t get it out for whatever reason … which just adds to the strangeness of tonight because normally Griff never shuts up.

“What?” I ask. “You’re being weird. Just—”

And then it happens.

His mouth on mine. His hands in my hair.

My lips press together, refusing his advances, and I try to protest but he’s kissing me so hard, refusing to let me go. Only when I smack him across the chest to get his attention does he finally relent.

“What are you doing?!” I take a step back, wishing I could punch him across his face for what he’s just done. I want to lecture him and remind him we’re just friends and that’s all we’re ever going to be, but before I get a chance to say another word, his mouth is on mine—again.

The slick graze of his tongue presses against my lips, trying to force its way between them, and his hands circle my waist, pulling my body against his.

I don’t know this Griffin.

Managing to peel myself off of him, I take another step back, closer to the front door this time.

My eyes water.

I’m trembling from head to toe.

“Why would you do that?” My voice quavers.

There’s a stunned look on Griff’s face, almost as if even he can’t believe what just happened either. I don’t think he planned it. I think he’d been wanting to kiss me all night and it just happened, like he couldn’t control himself.

But it’s no excuse.

And I’m still angry.

“You ruined a perfectly good night.” I yank the corsage off my wrist and hand it to him. “And a perfectly good friendship.”

He says nothing.

“Hope it was worth it.” I grab the doorknob and let myself inside.

Tonight, I’m going to wash this makeup off and try to get some rest. And tomorrow, I’m going to tell Nev everything.

* * *

“Griff’s here.” Bryony barges into my room the next morning as I’m drying my hair.

I click the dryer off and place it on my dresser, composing myself. “Tell him to get lost.”

Her brows furrow.

“I mean it,” I add, my tone matter-of-fact and void of emotion. Reaching for the dryer again, I hover my thumb above the ‘on’ button.

“He’s already in the kitchen talking to Mom,” she says. “It’d be really weird if I went down there and told him to leave.”

I roll my eyes. Today of all days, I don’t have the patience for his persistence. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll be down in a bit.”

“How long is a bit?” she asks, toe digging into my carpet.

Shrugging, I say, “However long it takes for me to finish getting ready?”

Bryony rolls her eyes. “That could take years.”

And then she’s gone.

Maybe I’m being immature, but I’m still livid about last night.

He had no right to kiss me.

No right.

The last couple of months, he’s become one of my closest friends and confidants and a permanent fixture around the Devereaux house. My parents love him to pieces. He’s like the son they never had, the brother I always wanted. He fits in around here with his stupid jokes and his constant insisting on helping Mom in the kitchen and Dad with the yardwork.

Bet they’d stop adoring him if they knew what he did last night.

I finish drying my hair and take my sweet time sweeping it into a messy bun before heading downstairs. The sound of Mom laughing coupled with the clinking of silverware tells me she’s already invited him to stay for breakfast.

“Yardley,” he says, expression fading when he sees me. Griff clears his throat and rises from the island bar stool he was occupying.

Crossing my arms and tilting my head, I keep my distance.

“Can we talk for a sec?” he asks.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” I ask. His gaze flicks toward my mom, who’s mindlessly flipping pancakes over a hot griddle.

He strides across the kitchen, looping his hand in the bend of my elbow and leading me to my father’s study in the front of the house. He has a lot of audacity—too much really—and last night solidified that.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eye contact unwavering.

“Good. You should be.” My arms tighten across my chest.

“I know you’re not supposed to give excuses when you apologize to someone, but I have to explain what I was thinking at the time. I figured I at least owe you that.”

“I’m listening.”

“You know how some people are allergic to cats or rag weed or pollen?” he asks in typical Griff fashion. “Well, I’m allergic to regrets.”

“Please. That’s not even an—”

His hand lifts. “Let me finish.”

“Fine.”

“Life is short,” he says. “And I don’t want to be that guy that never takes chances, the one that lets opportunities pass him by. I don’t want to be that guy that walked that pretty girl to her door and didn’t kiss her. I knew there was a chance you wouldn’t like it, but part of me thought that maybe … maybe you would? I’m sorry, Yardley, but I couldn’t spend the rest of my life not knowing.”

“But you didn’t just do it once. You did it twice,” I say, my tone halfway between a yell and a whisper. “The second time you tried to stick your tongue down my throat!”

“I know,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Guess I wasn’t thinking. I just saw you and I wanted to know what it was like to kiss you and I went for it, knowing the odds weren’t in my favor. I didn’t think about how it would make you feel, Yardley. And for that, I’m truly sorry. It was a dick move. I take full responsibility.”

I swallow the knot in my throat and glance at the rug beneath my feet. I still haven’t told Nev, and I have no clue how he’s going to react. My only hope is that he doesn’t come back here and murder Griffin.

“Thanks for apologizing,” I say.

“Can you forgive me?” Griff places his hands on my arms. “I just want things to go back to how they were before I messed this up. I want to make fun of your lame comebacks and I want you to make fun of my extremely impressive and well curated Star Wars figurine collection.”

I bite the smirk off my lips.

It’s hard to stay mad at him.

“Promise me something,” I say.

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll never try to kiss me again, so long as you live.” I lift my brows, waiting.

He hesitates. “I promise.”