Grip Trilogy Box Set

My shoulders, which have been tight since we pulled up in front of my dump apartment, relax an inch.

“Yeah?” is my only response.

Bristol nods and walks over to my turntable against the far wall, running her fingers over the dust cover. “You use this to deejay?”

I’m standing here holding the door open for her to leave, and she’s conducting an inspection.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You’re still deejaying tomorrow at that place Jimmi was talking about?” She looks up from the turntable, apparently in no hurry to leave. “Brew?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ll use for some of the set. I prefer vinyl, but most setups nowadays are completely digital.” I sigh and nod my head out to the hall. “Look, we better get going.”

“What’s the hurry? Rhyson’s at the studio and Grady’s at his retreat all week. Just an empty house waiting for us.”

“I’m ready to go. I have better things to do than give a perfect stranger a grand tour of my place when I need to be working.”

Hurt strikes through her eyes so quickly, I almost miss it. She lowers her lashes and walks toward me without addressing my rude- ness. She’s squeezing past me in the doorway when my conscience reprimands me. I grab her elbow to stop her from leaving, tucking her into the doorway, too.

“Hey.” My hand slides down her arm to take her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I don’t know why I did that.”

She looks up at me, her back against one side of the doorframe, mine against the other. With her coming where she’s from, and me coming from where I’m from, there should be a vast ocean separating us, filled with our differences and all the reasons we should never meet on shore. But there’s only this wedge of charged space between our bodies that seems to be shrinking by the second. What should be foreign feels familiar. When I assume I know something, she surprises me.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” she says softly. “I’m sorry I made that crack at the airport about my suitcase being bigger than your apartment. “

“I actually said that,” I remind her, pulling up a smile from somewhere.

“Whatever.” She waves a dismissive hand, grinning just the smallest bit in return. “My point is that I’m a spoiled bitch sometimes. I can’t blame you for assuming I would judge your place. I just want you to know that I don’t. Hearing all the things you do on the side so you can pursue your craft, I admire that kind of commitment.”

“Thank you.” I look at her, cataloging her features one by one and realizing the most fascinating thing about this girl isn’t visible to the naked eye.

“When you’re rich and famous, you’ll look back on this time— this apartment—and laugh. And appreciate how far you’ve gone.”

“You haven’t even heard my stuff.” I scoff and smile. “How do you know I’ll be successful?”

“My brother’s a genius. You must be talented or he wouldn’t make time for you.” Her lips twist just the slightest bit. “Believe me, I know from personal experience how little time Rhyson has for the mediocre.”

“So you don’t sing or play?”

Her face lights up with genuine humor.

“Much to the dismay of all my music instructors. Everyone thought they’d get a female version of Rhyson.”

“And you . . .” I lift my brows, waiting for her to tell me what they got.

“Can’t carry a tune in a bucket or a note in my pocket to save my life,” she says. “I tried the clarinet, and was only … I think the word my instructor used to describe me was ‘adequate.’”

“It can’t be that bad. I mean, Grady and Rhyson are both obviously incredible musicians. Your parents played themselves, didn’t they, before they started managing?”

“Yes, they all play, which makes me the ugly duckling.”

I don’t even realize that my hand has lifted to brush my kn

uckle across the slant of her cheekbone until it’s done. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away. Her skin is like warm silk to touch.

“Ugly? I doubt that.” My voice comes out all deep and husky. If I keep this up, I’ll be excusing myself to jerk off in the tiny bathroom. “We better go.”

I drop my hand from her face and clear my throat. I need to stay focused, not on her face and body and that clever brain, but on getting out of here without spreading her out on my unmade bed.