Grip Trilogy Box Set

“How is that objectifying you?” I laugh before taking a bite of my pizza. “I said it was sweet and tight. That’s high praise.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

She rolls her eyes but laughs and stretches on the living room floor, her back against the couch. She looks completely relaxed, wild hair tucked into the neck of her Columbia University hoodie, legs bare in her boy short underwear.

“And you’re stalling.” I tweak her big toe. “You were telling me about your dad.”

Any humor drains from her face. She tugs one string of the hoodie, folding her legs under her.

“I was already wrestling with my feelings for you.” She puts the pizza down, dusting her hands of crumbs. “I knew I felt too much too fast.”

“It wasn’t too fast.”

“It was a week, Grip.” Bristol reaches for the bottle of red wine, giving me a wry look. “I’m not saying it wasn’t real. Just that it was fast. Throw the drama with Tessa into the mix, and I was already regretting letting my guard down.”

Hearing Tessa’s name replays that scene at Grady’s house before Bristol flew back to New York. Tessa screaming at me about being her baby’s father. Bristol witnessing it all with wide, devastated eyes.

“I didn’t handle that well.” I capture her hand, tracing the love line in her palm. “I should have officially broken things off with her before letting it go as far as it did between you and me.”

“I didn’t know what to think.” She runs her thumb along my finger. “I felt so connected to you, but Jimmi and Rhyson had painted you as this player.”

“And I was a little bit.” I shrug, my smile rueful. “I was young and feeling myself. Just because I wasn’t a cheat doesn’t mean I wasn’t a player.”

“I know.” She pours a glass of red, offering it to me, before pouring one for herself. “I was this close to writing you off anyway after Tessa, but when my mom and I walked in on my dad with that girl . . .”

She tips her head back, the wine untouched.

“That wasn’t it, though.” She grimaces. “It was seeing my mother after we caught him. She just . . . let it go. She put up a good front, but later I found her drunk and weeping because she loved him and couldn’t make herself walk away. It was pathetic what she was willing to take from him. All those years Rhyson and I assumed she didn’t love him, and the whole time she loved him too much.”

For the first time since she said she wanted me, her eyes become guarded again.

“And I realized that I’m like that.” She releases a disparaging puff of air. “That’s what I did with my parents, with Rhyson. I took what- ever they had to give, scraps, and even when they hurt me, like a broken spigot, I couldn’t turn it off."

“You group Rhyson with your parents?” I hate hearing that because he would hate to hear it.

“Not him as much as how I responded to what I processed as rejection.” She sips her wine, cynicism coloring her laugh. “And yet after years of silence, I still wagered my future on him, on the possibility that he would take me into his life.”

I’m silent, giving her space to express this her own way while my pizza goes uneaten, growing cold.

“It’s like I only have a few spots in my heart, but the people who have one, I’d do anything for. I’d accept anything from them because they mean so much to me. It’s needy and weak and I hate it about myself.”

Emotion blurs her eyes with tears.

“I knew you were one of those people, Grip. That you had one of those spots, and when I saw how giving that kind of power to the wrong man has destroyed my mother, I just couldn’t risk it with you.”

Hearing her refer to me as “the wrong man” hurts, but I understand her caution. I just hate it took this long for her to trust me. Or for me to prove myself to her.

“I guess it didn’t help that I’ve been smashing everything that moves since you came back to LA.” I tear a slice of pizza into crusty confetti.

“And guys in your line of work aren’t known for staying faithful.” “I ain’t gonna lie. You know I’ve had my fair share of . . .”

Ass.

“Fair share of girls,” I amend. “But I promise you I always let one go before I grabbed another.”

“You’re not helping your case,” she says wryly.

She’s probably right. I should move on. “What changed your mind?” I ask.