Grip Trilogy Box Set

“Yeah.” I gather my iPad and bag. “I was supposed to be there by now, but . . .”

I let him fill in the blank with my cowardice and avoidant behavior.

“You do realize most people don’t feel that way, right?” Luke asks with a kindness not typically found in this industry. “The things Angie said . . . I know there are some who agree, but most don’t. Look at all the support you guys got afterward.”

I was pleasantly surprised by all the flak Angie received, lots of it from black women wanting us to know they didn’t agree with Angie. It came from groups Grip has donated to, from cops he’s worked with who defended him. It was actually pretty amazing. There were, of course, those vocal in their support of Angie’s position, but it was heartening to see the support for us, too.

That still doesn’t fix the fact that I messed up.

“This is some high-profile shit, Bris,” Luke says. “But you can take it.”

“Taking it is easier said than done when ‘it’ is blasted all over every social media platform and your relationship is reduced to tacky hashtags by people who want to see it fail.”

To my absolute dismay, my voice shakes and I’m blinking back tears. I hate being reduced to this weak, teary girl. This time it’s not what they did to me. It’s how badly I’ve handled things.

“Hey.” Luke takes both my hands in his and dips his head to catch my eyes. “I was there the week you and Grip first met. I saw him love you for years, and I saw you try your best not to love him back. It’s never been more obvious to me that two people belong together. This is a bump in the road, and not even a bump of your own making. Somebody else’s biases shouldn’t be causing problems between you.”

Right now, Luke isn’t my client; he’s the friend I’ve known for more than a decade, since before the money and the fame, and he’s right. Urgency to make things right quickens my breath and smolders in my blood.

“You’re a wise man.” I pull my phone back out of my bag, my mind and fingers already racing ahead while I start searching for a flight. “I’ll have Sarah on set tomorrow, but I need to get to New York tonight.”

“Maybe.” Luke aims his megawatt smile over my shoulder. “Or maybe New York will come to you.”

Before I can fully process what he’s saying or turn to see what’s over my shoulder, a warm, familiar weight settles at my hip. That clean skin-deep scent I’ve come to associate with one person envelops me. I look up and over my shoulder to find Grip scanning my face with sober eyes.

“Hey.” That’s all he says, like he’s supposed to be here on the set of a reality TV show instead of in class, instead of in New York. His fingers tighten at the curve of my waist, though, belying the calm greeting. The tension rolls off his body and onto mine. I absorb it, feel it tightening the line of my mouth and clenching my hand around the strap of my bag.

“Dude.” Luke reaches for Grip’s free hand, doing that man clench handshake thing. “What’s up? Good to see you.”

“You, too.” Grip’s mouth relaxes into a smile for our longtime friend. “You think you big time now, huh? Now you got your own show and all.”

Luke laughs, his bright blue eyes lighting up and crinkling at the corners.

“I’ve always been big time.” He offers an immodest shrug of his shoulders. “The rest of the world’s just catching up, thanks in large part to your girl here.”

“Yeah, she’s something else.” Grip’s smile dims a little, but he doesn’t look my way. “Well, congrats.”

Before any of us can say more, the director’s assistant interrupts, her harried expression and flyaway hair conveying the kind of day it’s been.

“Luke, Steven’s looking for you.” She sets her stress aside long enough to ping-pong admiring glances between Grip and Luke. I can’t blame her. Facing one another, they’re a study of beautiful contrasts, Grip’s darkness and raw sexuality a perfect foil for Luke’s blond hair and surfer-boy-next-door good looks.

“You said Steven needs me?” Luke prompts.

“Um, yeah.” She blinks the stars from her eyes and frowns. “He wants to talk through a few things for this next sequence.”

As much as I loathe the thought of leaving Grip even for a few minutes, I force myself to turn to him, prepared to ask him to wait for me, but again, it’s Luke to the rescue.

“Hey, I got this, Bris.” His kind eyes smile back at me. “I’m sure Grip didn’t come all this way to see me.”

My eyes lock with Grip’s, and I already see the reprimand behind his impassivity.

“Okay,” I say. “I won’t leave, though, until you’re done. Come find me. I want to make sure you feel good about everything.”

“That works,” Luke says, turning back to the production assistant. “Take me to your leader.”

He gestures for her to lead the way and they’re gone, leaving Grip and me alone.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” He scans the studio’s parking lot, which is doubling as our set. We’ve broken for lunch, and the crew swarms around the craft service table like ants at a picnic, hungry and industrious. There won’t be much time for food. Every- one’s focused on the meal, but not too focused to miss Grip. His star has risen stratospherically since his album dropped. They pretend not to be starstruck, but their surreptitious attention presses in on the privacy this conversation requires.