A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

FINLEY

I still haven’t looked at the pregnancy test results. Stupid? Yes. Cowardly? Also, yes. Justified? Not in the least, but hey. You win some, and you lose some. The test is tucked in my underwear drawer. After my shift at Rowdy’s, a restaurant where I waitress, I came home, changed into sweats, and started a murder documentary because, honestly? There’s nothing like a good, old-fashioned serial killer documentary and some popcorn to soothe a girl’s soul. I’ll also take Ben & Jerry’s in a pinch, but right now? I want some salty, buttery popcorn more than my left boob, which is weirdly sore, now that I think about it.

Reaching onto my tiptoes, I blindly dig in the cabinet for some kernels of the gods but come up empty. Of course, I do. With a huff, I climb onto the counter and stand up on it so I can actually see the top shelf.

Reeses’ peanut butter cups.

Nope.

Sweet Tarts.

No, thank you .

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 described him 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 actually looking at 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.

“Don’t spill the insect guts!” I yell.

“What?”

“Frankie’s”—I gulp—“food is in there.”

“Okay?”

“Don’t spill it,” I repeat. “If you do, I’ll have to buy everyone a new fridge.”

He chuckles but doesn’t give me shit as he pulls some frozen peas out and wraps the bag in a dishtowel. Handing it to me, he squeezes the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do now that we’re here and we’re actually kind of, sort of talking.

Fun fact, Griffin. I don’t know what to do, either.

“Thanks,” I finally say.

“You’re welcome.” Scratching the scruff along his jaw, he adds, “Have you fed him yet?”

“The devil? ”

“The frog,” he clarifies dryly.

“Same thing,” I point out. “And not yet. It’s on tomorrow’s to-do list.”

He nods. “You’re nice for helping out.”

“They didn’t exactly give me a choice,” I grumble.

“True,” he concedes. “So…”

I peek up at him. “Yes?”

“Am I allowed to carry you to the couch so you can be comfortable, or will Drew bitch about that, too?”

My lips press into a thin line. He’s acting like an ass. A justified ass, but an ass nonetheless.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I murmur.

“You’re really this stubborn?”

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

Stepping back, he waves his arm in front of him. “Be my guest.”’

“Seriously?”

“You said you don’t need my help, right?” he counters.

My eyes thin as I fight the urge to take the bait. He wants to see me crawl my way to the family room? He should know me better than this by now. Let’s be honest. Looking like a fool is one thing. Looking like a fool in front of witnesses is an entirely different situation.

Shifting in my seat, I give him a cheeky grin. “I’ll, uh, I’ll just sit here for a little while. Thanks, though.”

“And miss the part where they say what the killer did to the body?” He hooks his thumb toward the family room where the murder documentary is still most definitely playing on the screen.

Damn.

He knows me too well.

“You could always pause it for me,” I point out.

“Sorry.” Tucking his hands into his front pockets, he lifts his shoulders and looks boyishly adorable. “I only pause shows for friends.”

Friends.

I’m seriously starting to hate that word.

My gaze narrows. “Were you always an ass or…?”

His mouth lifts. “You gonna miss your favorite part, or are you gonna let me help you?”

“I already asked for your help, and you said you only pause shows for?—”

I squeal as he hooks his arm beneath my knees, then wraps his opposite one around my back, cradling me to his chest. He smells good. He looks good, too.

Grudgingly, I loop my hands around his neck and stare at the tiny dimple etched into his cheek. This is awkward. So awkward. “So.”

Don’t look him in the eye. Don’t look him in the eye.

“So?” he mimics.

“How are you and…Brittany?”

It’s a stupid question. I know they aren’t exclusive. I know he hasn’t really been exclusive with anyone in…ever.

Huh. Interesting. I’ll have to unpack that little tidbit later.

Regardless, Brittany was his date for homecoming. That’s it. His date to a dance. Yet, I threw her name out like a jealous lover or something.

Where the hell did that come from?

“She’s fine,” Griff answers. “Dating some guy from her gym. How are you and Drew?” A flash of the stupid pregnancy test hidden in my room flickers through my mind as a rumble of amusement seeps from his chest. “What am I thinking? It’s not like it matters, right? You’ll still do anything he tells you to because you’re too stubborn to admit he’s a dick. ”

“Speaking of dicks,” I counter, giving him a pointed look.

Aaaand, so much for not looking him in the eye.

My breath stalls as I stare at him. He really is handsome. A true dashing, debonair man, even when he’s being a bit of a butthead. I should be nicer, but I can’t help it. If I let my walls down, we’ll slip right back into friendship territory, and considering my current circumstances, it isn’t really an option right now. Not anymore.

Despite the harshness of his words, Griffin sets me on the couch carefully, making sure not to jostle my sore ankle as he wraps his long fingers around it and lifts my leg into the air. After setting a pillow on the coffee table, he places my injured foot gently on top of it. My chest pangs at the sweet gesture, but I ignore it. Instead, I ask, “Why’d you stay home from the vacation?”

“Why do you think?” Standing to his full height, he rolls his broad shoulders, glances at the television, and shakes his head. “Still can’t understand why you watch this stuff.” Then, he saunters out of the room.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings, and he returns to answer it, though I’m too engrossed in the show to care who’s on the other side, or at least that’s what I tell myself. Truth is, if it was anyone else’s familiar gait, I’d probably strike up a conversation and ask why they haven’t joined me on the couch, but I know better than to invite Griff if I don’t want to deal with the can of worms I know will follow.

Nope. No, thank you.

Why are you so easy to miss, Griff?

I grab the remote and turn the volume up when the scents of butter and salt waft from the front door. Within seconds, a tub of movie theater popcorn is placed in my lap. I look over my shoulder in time to see Griffin pop a kernel into his mouth as he disappears back to his room.

Gone. Like a mirage.

A pang of regret and longing hit me as I watch him walk away. He bought me popcorn. Really yummy movie theater popcorn. Not even what I was craving. Nope. The guy went above and beyond, even when he’s mad at me. I shouldn’t be surprised, and in a way, I guess I’m not. Griffin’s nothing if not thoughtful. He’s a doer. A fixer. A quiet worker with a heart of gold and zero desire for recognition. It’s why he’s captain. Why his teammates rely on him. Why his friends rely on him. Why his family relies on him. A good ol’ boy next door who will do anything to help, even sacrificing his ego to order a late-night snack for a girl who insists she wants nothing to do with him.

I wonder if it kills Griff. To see me go along with Drew’s ridiculous ultimatum, knowing there isn’t anything he can do to change my mind. I wonder if he wants to fix this, too. Our relationship. The one I screwed up.

Before Drew’s ultimatum, I would’ve invited him to stay. Hell, I would’ve begged him to. Now? Well, I guess a small part of me knows I deserve the silence. The cold shoulder. The disappointment.

If only he knew.