A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GRIFFIN

I ’ve known Finley her entire life, and I'm pretty sure this is the first time I’ve seen her this tired. Her long dark hair is piled on top of her head in a bright pink scrunchie. It’s lopsided and looks like it might fall out any second. One of Everett’s LAU hoodies swallows her whole, and hot pink sweats with the word PINK is painted across her ass. As soon as we pull away from the house, she slips out of her Birkenstock sandals and sets her feet on the dashboard, not bothering to open her eyes as I flick on the blinker and merge onto the main road.

“Feet down,” I order.

With a yawn, she covers her mouth. “What?”

“Feet. Down,” I repeat, reaching for her polka dot-covered feet.

She scoots away from me, her jaw unhinged. “Wait, why?”

“Do you want to break your pelvis?”

“What? Are you offering?” she quips with a wink.

I rest my elbow on the driver’s side window and pinch the bridge of my nose, praying for patience. “I meant if we’re in a car accident.”

“Well, then drive safely,” she counters.

I tap the brakes, and she lurches forward, her seatbelt getting lost in her cleavage as her eyes pop open and she glares at me.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Just tryin’ to keep you safe.”

Thankfully, the streets are empty at this time of day, so I’m not actually too worried, but still. Better to be safe than sorry.

I can feel her glare on the side of my face, and honestly, I shouldn’t expect anything less. The girl’s more stubborn than an ox.

Giving her the side eye, I try a different tactic. “What about the baby?”

She doesn’t budge and folds her arms over her chest, a grumbled “Well played” echoing from the passenger side. Setting her feet back on the rubber floor mat, she reaches for my phone in the cupholder.

As she shamelessly types in my password, I ask. “Can I help you?”

I shouldn’t be surprised she knows it. The girl’s a sneaky pain in the ass. Honestly, I’m an ass for not assuming she knew my password in the first place. She probably knows my social security number and poop schedule, too.

Without bothering to look at me, she opens my music app. “If I’m gonna be awake in the middle of the night, I’m gonna listen to some good music.”

“It’s almost five in the morning,” I point out.

“Which is five hours before anyone should be awake, thank you very much. Now let’s see…” She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and continues se arching my music streaming app, finally settling on…something. Her mouth stretches into a Cheshire grin.

I brace myself for nails on a chalkboard, and when the song starts playing, I realize I’m not far off. “Really?”

“I’m sorry, is there a problem with The Descendants ?”

Other than it being a glorified, off-broadway musical the girls weaponized to torture me and the guys as soon as Maverick and Archer’s little sister, Rory, became obsessed with it? Yeah, I could say there’s a problem or two with the good ol’ Descendants movie.

Instead, I turn the volume up and start belting the lyrics. “Rotten to the core, core, rotten to the core…”

Her laugh mingles with the chorus, and she joins in, twerking in the passenger seat. It’s refreshing, though. Considering our vulnerable chat last night, it’s nice to see her like this. The same Finley I’ve grown up with. The carefree Finley. The sassy, impulsive Finley. The one who isn’t afraid to get under my skin and piss me off all because she has a twisted sense of humor. Seeing her broken in the hospital bed made me wonder if I’d ever see this side of her again. I should’ve known better, though. This girl’s stronger than anyone gives her credit. She’ll get through this, too. Even if it’s without me.

Her eyes crinkle in the corners as she grins back at me, and I turn up the volume a few more clicks.