Grip Trilogy Box Set

“I’ve been in India. You know that. It’s just a misunderstanding. A miscommunication.”

“One I am fully capable of correcting if you don’t do it.” I pause for emphasis. “Soon.”

“Is it really so far from the truth?” he asks. “Come on, Bristol. We did spend the night together just days ago.”

“You know damn well I was too drunk to even know my name that night, much less choose to sleep with you. Now, everyone thinks we’re practically engaged.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“You better, or I will.”

Something sinister uncurls and hisses in the silence on the other end.

“That wouldn’t be wise, Bristol,” Parker says quietly.

“You don’t scare me.” I push myself away from the wall, standing perfectly straight as if he were right in front of me to see. “I hope you know that.”

“I don’t want to scare you.” He infuses his words with artificial warmth. “I want to love you.”

“Love?” A bitter laugh leaves an aftertaste on my lips. “The way my father loves my mother? The way your father loves yours? No, thank you. If I ever do marry, it won’t be to a man who needs other women like they do. A man who humiliates me with his infidelities.”

“I’m sure you can persuade me not to stray,” he says, sounding pleased that it matters to me. “I had no idea you were so possessive.”

“I’m not possessive of you, and any man I have to persuade not to stray is welcome to do so. If I have to convince him I’m worth his fidelity, then he isn’t the one for me.”

“I love your spirit, Bristol.” He sounds a little like he’s . . . panting? “It turns me on.”

“All right.” I wish he were here to see my eyes rolling. He’s like a hound dog after a rabbit. A swift rabbit he won’t get ahold of again. “On that note, I’m gonna go.”

“But, baby—”

“I’m working,” I say, cutting into whatever bullshit he planned to say. “And don’t call me baby.”

I hang up before he has the chance to protest further and quietly ease back through the gym doors so I don’t disturb Grip’s talk.

Only he isn’t talking. He’s at one end of the court, poised to shoot the basketball. He’s no longer wearing his black leather jacket and Kelly green hoodie, but just a plain white T-shirt and black jeans. One of the students, as tall as Grip and with an athletic build, guards him with a hand in his face.

“What’s going on?” I ask Meryl. “What’d I miss?”

“It was great.” Meryl’s eyes glimmer with her eagerness. “One of the kids challenged Grip when he talked about the value of an education. He said Grip didn’t go to college, but he’s still, and I quote, ‘stacking dollars’. Then Grip said everyone doesn’t have to go to college, but an education is something that cannot be taken away.”

“Wow. Sounds intense.” I watch the two guys run back up to our end of the court. “How did they end up playing basketball?”

“Then Grip said he’s enrolled in online courses now.” Meryl gives me a curious look. “Did you know that?”

“Uh, no.” I shake my head, watching the student make a difficult shot. “I had no idea.”

He never told me. Why would he not tell me something that huge?

“So then Grip calls him out about some writing contest he apparently won’t enter,” Meryl says. “Before I knew it, Grip said he’d play him for it, one on one. If Grip wins, the student—I think they called him Bop—has to enter the contest.”

“And if Grip loses?”

“If Grip loses, Bop wins his shoes.”

“His shoes?”

Grip has a massive tennis shoe collection, and the classic Jordans in his closet are his prized possessions. I recognize the pair he’s wearing now as especially expensive and rare.