A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

FINLEY

T here isn’t much waitressing one can do with a bum foot. The good news is my dad shares ownership of the restaurant with his friend, Rowdy, so he barely batted an eye when I told him about my little accident and promised he’d find a replacement for me for the foreseeable future until I felt better. Seriously, the man’s a saint. It also doesn’t hurt that I know a few of the other waitresses have been begging him for more hours, though, so really, they should be thanking me.

My nose scrunches as I grab Frankie’s food from the freezer with two fingers and hobble up the stairs to my bedroom. To be fair, I’m being dramatic. My foot’s fine, but I called in sick anyway. Who wouldn’t milk an injury if they had one? The frozen peas from last night helped a lot with the pain and swelling, which is kind of annoying, considering the culprit behind the idea. Still, I’m trying to be the bigger person and not be a bitch about it…to Griffin’s face, anyway.

Carefully, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the covered terrarium on my nightstand. With a deep breath, I pinch the edge of the towel and lift it up, tossing it on the ground on the opposite side of the room as a shiver races down my spine.

Puffing out my cheeks, I mutter, “Come on, Finley. You can do this. It’s only a frog. A measly. Slimey. Little frog.” I almost gag but swallow it back. “You got this. You can do it.”

Yes, I know I’m talking to myself, but at this point? I really don’t care. Clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I untwist the cap on the mealworms and peek inside, gagging as the stench hits my nose.

“Okay, I’m gonna puke.”

I twist the cap back on and take another slow, cleansing breath through my mouth until I realize if I breathe through my mouth, I’ll be letting the tiny mealworm particles touch my tastebuds, which, in a way, is like I’m eating the mealworms firsthand, and?—

I grab the lined trash can beside my bed and puke, my stomach heaving what little I’ve eaten into the plastic barrier until there’s nothing left inside of me.

Once I’m finished, I wipe my mouth with the inside of my shirt, make a mental note to shower as soon as I’m finished feeding the monster, and take a deep breath. Holding the oxygen in my lungs, I untwist the cap again, lift the lid off the cage, and dump a few dead mealworms into the terrarium before rushing into the bathroom across the hall like I’m being chased by the demon himself.

After scrubbing every inch of my skin with my hot pink loofah and body wash that smells like apples, I shampoo and condition my hair, then stand in the scalding hot water for another ten minutes, hoping it’ll sanitize my skin and pulverize every molecule of mealworm potentially clinging to my body. Fifteen minutes later, the water starts to cool, and I shut it off, wrap a towel around me, knot the terry cloth by my cleavage, and brush my teeth. Twice. Satisfied, I stare at my reflection and, after a brief pep talk, head back to my bedroom for some new clothes when my heels dig into the ground.

The lid.

The lid is off the terrarium. I forgot to put the lid back on the terrarium, and the slimy devil is…shit. Where is he? I rise onto my tiptoes, attempting to steal a better look at the glass cage, but either the stupid thing is blending in with the plants inside or…

My lungs seize.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to ten and breathe out, “It’s only your imagination. It’s only your imagination. It’s only your…” I peek one eye open and scream. The pounding of footsteps follows until my door is thrust open.

“What? What is it?” Griffin demands.

“Right there! It’s right there!” I blindly point at my bed while hopping on my one good leg, trying not to pee my freaking pants, er, towel.

“What the hell are you?—”

I grab his face and twist his head toward the devil on my comforter. “Right. There.”

The stupid thing croaks, and I wrap myself around Griffin, tucking my face into the crook of his neck as if he has the power to save me from the big-eyed demon itself. “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die!”

“You’re not gonna die,” Griffin murmurs. “But if you’re worried about Drew being jealous of us talking, he’s not gonna like you wrapped around me naked.”

The name cuts through my frazzled brain, and I blink. Twice. “I-I’m sorry, what?” I look down, finding my towel barely hanging on my frame. The front of the terry cloth is open and dangles by my calves, proving that I am very much wrapped around my brother’s best friend in my birthday suit.

Shit.

The demon croaks again, and I squeal, wrapping my bad leg around Griffin’s waist and attempting to crawl up his body like my life depends on it. And who knows? Thanks to the green monster three feet away from me, it just might.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it!” I chant.

“I’m not gonna?—”

It jumps off the bed and lands on the ground by my good foot. Screaming, I leap off the floor and wrap my body around Griffin like a frazzled monkey. My heart pounds so loud in my ears I swear he can hear it. And when I say he, I mean my nemesis. Franklin the Frog Thorne. Cursed be thy name. The towel is officially forgotten as Griffin’s hands find my waist, and he pulls me closer to keep both of us from falling on our asses.

“Finley—”

“It’s gonna get me!” I cry. Tears stream down my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut, losing my ever-loving mind.

“Wait. Are you…?” Griffin tries to pull me away from him, but I only cling tighter. “Finley, are you crying?”

“It’s gonna get me, it’s gonna get me, it’s gonna get me!”

“It’s not gonna get you.”

“You don’t know that!” I yell. “It knows where I sleep, Griff! It knows!”

“Finley, breathe.” Keeping one hand wrapped around my waist, he leans back on his heels to center our combined weight and touches the side of my face, urging me to look at him. “Finley…”

It’s a request. A very patient request.

I shake my head. “Is it still there?”

He hesitates. “I can’t put him back in his cage?— ”

“Terrarium,” I correct him.

“I can’t put him back in his terrarium while holding you.”

“Yeah, but if you put me down, he’ll get me!”

“He won’t?—”

“He will,” I argue, breaking out into a cold sweat as the reality of the situation crashes into me.

A low laugh escapes Griffin as he tries to convince me to look at him again, the pressure of his hand gentle but firm as he silently encourages me to lift my head.

Slowly, I do.

When he sees my face, his eyes practically pop out of his stupidly handsome head. “Holy shit, Fin. You’re seriously crying?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I pout.

The corner of his mouth lifts as his thumb brushes away the tears streaming down my face. “Don’t get me wrong. I knew you had a thing against frogs, but this ?”

He laughs, and I smack his chest. “I said, don’t make fun of me!” His grip loosens, and I squeeze him even tighter. “And don’t put me down!”

“I’m not gonna put you down in here, okay?” He steps into the hallway, and I force my muscles to relax, slowly sliding down his body. When my toes hit the cold ground, he adds, “You good?”

I nod, and his hand on my waist disappears as he takes a small step away from me. Cool air hits my body, and my nipples pebble, reminding me I’m still very much naked. And, apparently, Griffin is realizing the same thing. His eyes trail down my body as if they have a mind of their own, causing the frog fog— ha! —to finally clear from my brain.

I’m naked. In front of my brother’s best friend. I’m naked in front of Griffin. The Griffin. Heat licks every inch his gaze touches, and I press my thighs together until I remember this guy most definitely should not be seeing me naked.

Folding my arms and twisting my hips to keep my lady bits from view, I clear my throat and say, “So…about that towel.”

He tears his attention from my cleavage and disappears into my bedroom only to return with my discarded towel. “Here.”

“What about the frog?”

His brows furrow. “What about the frog?”

I wag my hand at the towel. “What if he contaminated it?”

“Bloody hell, Finley.” Dropping the towel, he grabs the edge of his shirt, yanks it over his head, and offers it to me. “Here.”

My eyes trail down his bare torso, making my mouth water as I take in every rippling inch of warm, golden skin. “Speaking of bloody hell.” I grab his shirt and pull it over my head, grateful it’s long enough to cover my ass. “Damn, Griff. You’re looking sharp.”

He scoffs. “That isn’t something you’re supposed to say to someone who isn’t your boyfriend.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having an objective opinion,” I point out. “I would say the same thing to Mav or Reeves.”

“Yeah, but Mav and Reeves aren’t on your boyfriend’s shit list, are they?” Griffin counters.

He makes a good point, but because I’m stubborn, I refuse to give in. “It’s like acknowledging that Sydney Sweeny is gorgeous and Jenna Ortega has kissable lips.”

“You think Jenna Ortega has kissable lips?”

“You think Jenna Ortega doesn’t have kissable lips?” I counter. “And you’re missing the point. All I’m saying is, objectively speaking, you’re looking good, Griff. Keep up the good work.” I pat his chest before realizing I’m patting his very naked chest.

Oops.

Clearing my throat, I lift my hand, adding, “And speaking of good work, there’s a demon in my room who needs trapping.” I snap my fingers. “Chop, chop, Griffin.”

Grumbling under his breath, he steps into the bedroom, and I slam the door behind him, blocking the slimy monster’s escape plan.

“I’ll pray for you!” I call through the door. Then I wait. And wait. And wait.

Pressing my ear to the solid wood, I listen for screaming or croaking or cursing, but there isn’t a sound. Not. One. It doesn’t make me feel any better. Leaning closer, I close my eyes, like if I somehow shut off my eyesight, my other senses will steal its strength, and I’ll be able to hear what’s going on inside the room.

When the door swings open, I fall face-first into a very hard, very warm chest.

Whoops.

A pair of strong hands envelop my biceps, wrenching me away from Griffin’s chest as I crane my neck up at him. “Oops.”

“You good?”

I nod, and he lets me go.

“Did you catch it?” I ask.

“He’s back in the cage.”

“Terrarium.”

“Terrarium,” he corrects.

“Perfect.” I clear my throat and fold my arms. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. ”

“And thank you two times,” I add, pinching the edge of the shirt I’d stolen as if to say, “Exhibit B.”

“You’re welcome two times.”

I nod.

“You know, this is the most we’ve talked since SeaBird without being dicks to each other.”

“You’re a dick. I’m a bitch,” I clarify. “But, yeah, you’re right.”

“It’s nice,” he adds.

My head bobs up and down. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Maybe don’t tell Drew I saw you naked, though.”

I snort. “Probably a good idea.”

“And maybe don’t tell your brother, either.”

I smile. “Our little secret.”

He squeezes the back of his neck and rocks back on his heels. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will,” I murmur. As he slips past me, heading for the stairs, I call, “Hey, Griff?”

Glancing over his shoulder at me, he says, “Yeah?”

“It isn’t…personal. Okay?”

His head falls to his chest, and my stupid heart splinters.

“Not sure what other label fits, but whatever you say, Fin. As long as you’re happy, I guess.”

Then he takes the stairs two at a time, leaving me alone in the hallway in nothing but his T-shirt.

Tiptoeing back to my room, I peek around the corner and squint my eyes, searching the terrarium for a trapped little green monster. When I spot it, my body sags and I step over the threshold, closing the door behind me with a quiet click. I should shower again since Griffin touched me with his hands after catching the demon spawn. But I’m too anxious. The look in his eyes… The way his low voice sounded so…detached. It hurt .

As long as you’re happy, I guess.

Am I happy?

With a deep breath, I reach for my phone and dial Drew’s number. It rings and goes to voicemail.

As long as you’re happy, I guess.

The words haunt me as I tap the edge of my cell against my chin. My gaze trails to my dresser and what I know is hidden inside. It’s Schrodinger’s Cat. Two potential futures. And I have no idea which one’s mine.

Would I be mad? Happy? How would I tell people? I see cute pregnancy announcements all the time on social media. The idea of posting something—anything—kind of makes me want to puke. The thought alone makes my stomach churn, and the feeling messes with my head. Is it morning sickness? Do you have morning sickness outside of the early morning? I don’t even know.

My head feels fuzzy, but I march toward my dresser and open the top drawer, blindly searching for the plastic pregnancy test before I can talk myself out of it. When I find it, I force myself to read the stupid thing even if it kills me.

And there it is. Two lines.

I’m…

The pregnancy test slips from my shaking fingers as the world goes black.