Grip Trilogy Box Set

He keeps getting me off topic.

“Will you consider it?” I ask, inserting space between our lips, cutting into the hungry kisses.

“Huh?” Passion glazes Grip’s eyes. “Consider . . . what?”

“Dr. Hammond.” I pant between our lips, resisting the temptation to sink into another kiss. “You’ll think about still working with him?”

He tilts his head back into the sofa cushion, lashes lowered over the resentment in his eyes at the mention of the professor’s name.

“Yeah.” He nods, but derision still twists his lips. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” I startle him when I hop off his lap.

“Hey, where are you going?” He points to the situation behind his zipper, the pole in his pants.

“We’ll have to handle that later, babe. You think you love me now? Wait’ll you taste my garlic lemon chicken thingy.” I head toward the kitchen, calling over my shoulder, “By the way, don’t bother me tonight. I have lots of reading to do.”

I downloaded Virus a long time ago, and it’s well past time I read it for myself. If I used Grip’s own words to prove my point, maybe I’ll need to use Dr. Hammond’s own words on him, too.

Chapter 19

Grip

“CAN I SEE IT?”

Amir and I are in the kitchen. He’s frying, of all things, bologna, and I’m on my laptop working on an assignment for Iz’s class. Things have not been the same between the professor and me since our argument. He was watching the door the next day when I came in, like he wasn’t sure I’d show, and honestly, I was ready to pack up my shit, grab my girl, and fly back to LA. Even sitting through his class felt like a betrayal the first few minutes, like I was telling him it was okay to think the things he does. If it hadn’t been for Bristol, I would have chucked the deuces on his ass.

But during class, we dove into case after case, injustice after injustice that reiterated just how broken our justice system is, how black, brown, and poor people are clearly disproportionately suffering the brunt of it. This is bigger than even something as important as whether or not Iz approves of me loving Bristol. For me, that’s a heinous bias, and I can’t believe the same bright mind that produces brilliant ideas for programs and policies confines itself to that kind of thinking, but he does have solutions. He does have good ideas, and together, we can help a lot of people. Maybe we can even change things.

“Bruh, you gonna show me or what?” Amir scowls through the smoke rising from the sizzling pan.

“Not while you got my house smelling like a heart attack.” I glance from my laptop to the sizzling grease in the pan. “You can’t keep eating like this. We’re thirty, not thirteen. You need to eat better.”

“Who you supposed to be?” Amir demands, a grin on his face. “The surgeon general?”

“The surgeon gen—” I shake my head and laugh. “Also, if we’re gonna get technical, you’re thirty-one, a year older than me.”

“Aw, hell. Here we go.” Amir rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his beer.

“I mean, we can’t forget you flunked the first grade.”

“You know

I was sick that year and missed a lot of days.”

“Still.” I slant him an amused glance. “First grade.”

“You ain’t ever gonna let me live that down, are you?” He shakes his head and adjusts the flame on the burner.

“My point is you gotta adjust that diet. You know all the shit that runs in your family.”

“What runs in my family?”

“Hypertension, heart disease.” I tick the afflictions off on my fingers. “Diabetes.”

“Always with the ’betes,” he mutters. “And that’s just your mama’s side.”

“Don’t talk about my mama,” he warns, but still chuckles.