Grip Trilogy Box Set

“Anything for Bristol’s friends,” Parker says smoothly.

“You two t

ogether?” A smile lights Qwest’s sharp eyes.

“On and off since high school,” Parker says.

Mostly off, but no need to split hairs right now.

“No way.” Qwest’s mouth hangs open a little. “I had no idea.”

Neither did I.

“I actually escorted Bristol to her debutante ball.” Parker tucks his chin into the crook of my neck. “That’s how it started.”

In my eighteen-year-old mind, sex in that coat check was such an adventure. Little did I know that would be the high point. I spent the next four months trying my damnedest to shake Parker and have been shaking ever since. That tic in Grip’s jaw tells me he remembers the story I told him about screwing my escort, but until now, he never knew the guy.

“You were a debutante?” Qwest laughs, looking at me through the lens of my family’s wealth and pedigree. “Wow.”

“In another life, and at my mother’s insistence.” I put a little distance between my ass and Parker’s dick, because apparently, trips down memory lane arouse him.

“We better go.” Grip grabs Qwest’s hand and turns to leave abruptly without saying goodbye.

Qwest waves over her shoulder and stutter steps to keep up with Grip’s swift, long-legged stride away from us.

I should feel good that this is working even better than I planned. Qwest is with Grip. Grip saw me with Parker. All is going according to plan, but it feels so wrong. I watch Grip and Qwest slip through a side exit, hand in hand, and wonder, too late, if maybe I’ve made a big mistake. Actually seeing him with another woman— someone he could really fall for—saws at my insides. He was right, up on that roof. It hurts me to see him with someone else, every time. I know I could have him, but not on my terms. Probably not forever. Probably not to myself. It’s ironic. People think I’m heartless. That I don’t care enough. That isn’t it. This ache, this wound bleeding on the inside of me, it tells the truth of how I really feel.

And I’m sick and damn tired of feeling. I want to forget that Grip is probably falling for Qwest tonight. Probably sleeping with her tonight. I want to be numb. I want the best vodka martini money can buy, even if I do have to fly to Vegas with Parker to get it.

“Hey.” I turn to Parker, determined to feel less by the end of this night. “What about that drink you promised me?”

Chapter 9

GRIP

“YOU DON’T LIKE STAND-UP COMEDY?”

Qwest’s question pulls me out of my own head, where thoughts of Bristol with that punk ass Parker have tortured me ever since we left the club. So Parker’s the coat check guy. And the man her mother has wanted her to marry since the cradle.

“What?” I frown and force myself to focus. “No, I love Chappelle. I can’t believe we caught a show.”

Dave Chappelle has been doing surprise shows in the city, and we were lucky to catch one tonight.

“Do you not like steak?” Qwest points her fork at the medium rare meat on my plate, nearly untouched.

“Love it.” I take a bite. “This is delicious.”

I survey the private dining room of the restaurant still open solely to accommodate us at this late hour. We’re the only customers here. Qwest’s security guard stands just outside the door.

“So do you not like me?” Qwest injects humor, but her eyes beg the question.

I feel like shit. She went to a lot of trouble to make tonight fun, exactly what I would have chosen. I’ve been half here the whole time. The other half of me can’t stop wondering where Parker took Bristol on the “flight” he mentioned. I need to make more of an effort.

“You know I like you, Qwest.” I toss my linen napkin on the table. “I’m sorry I’ve been so . . .”

I search my tired mind for the right word. “Preoccupied?” Qwest finds it for me.

“Yeah. It’s rude, and you’re great. It isn’t you.” I lob a smile across the table before lifting my water for a sip.