I nod, understanding him like he understood me. "I guess that’s the real reason I didn’t go to Kiki’s place for Christmas this year. We used to talk every day, but now she never texts me unless she wants me to be somewhere at a specific time. It feels like I’m just somebody she trots out for special occasions.”
I’ve never dared to talk about or even inwardly explore the feelings of jealousy and resentment I carry toward Kiki. Much less had someone else take my side over it.
It’s weirdly thrilling—but also guilt-inducing.
“It's not like she meant to forget me,” I rush to explain. “She's doing her best. She's just . . . really busy. I’m not exactly being fair.”
“Yeah, I guess that's my brother’s situation too. Plus, I’m the one who said no to my dad when he asked me to join this business venture he wants to work on with the both of us. Maybe I’m not exactly being fair either.”
Griff lets out a thoughtful huff. But then he shakes his head and adds, “Still feels shitty, though. Did you say something earlier about apple crisp?”
He’s right. It does feel shitty, and I did say something about apple crisp. But as shitty as it feels to finally admit out loud some of the feelings I’ve been secretly having about Kiki, for some reason, I feel a little better as we eat the dessert I made.
And even though it’s Christmas, Griff doesn’t bring up what happened in his father’s office—just suggests Die Hard to kick off today’s pre-dinner movie session.
This is nice, I decide as I clean off the table. It's nice to talk with someone who won't judge you—someone who doesn't know enough about you to judge you anyway.
As I wash the dishes, I think about the tentative friendship we’ve managed to build over the last few days of hanging out. One that allows us to say stuff to each other. Stuff we wouldn't necessarily say to the other people in our lives. And the confession I never got around to making last night rises up in the back of my mind.
Taking a deep break, I turn off the water. Okay, courage-wise, it’s now or probably never.
“Hey, Griff?” I come farther out of the kitchen and lean my hip against the island.
“Yeah?” He’s already settled on the couch and pulling out a joint.
I try to look at him like a big girl . . . and utterly fail.
“This was actually supposed to be the second part of your Christmas present,” I mumble.
“Oh yeah?” he says, fishing a lighter out of today’s pair of sweatpants. “Now I’m feeling guilty because I didn’t even get you a part one of any Christmas present.”
“Oh, this unexpected vacation was present enough,” I assure him. “Seriously, I’ve had a really great time hanging out with you.”
“Okay . . .” Griff eyes me suspiciously. “But if you’re having such a great time, why can’t you even look at me all of a sudden?”
I try to answer, but I can’t.
Griff lowers the joint he was about to light.
“What was the first part of the gift?” His voice is a suspicious metal detector, creeping closer and closer to the truth.
I open my mouth, and nothing. I can’t say it now, just like I couldn’t say it last night.
“Red?” Griff stands up, the unlit joint hanging from his fingers. “What was the first part?”
“Fried chicken,” I answer in a rush of expelled air.
He squints. “You've already given me fried chicken. It was freaking delicious. We both agreed on that.”
“No, I mean fried chicken,” I say. “That's my . . . um . . . that's my safeword. Fried chicken.”
He stares at me. And it occurs to me to add, “I’m off my period. That’s what I was trying to tell you last night before you told me you didn’t want to watch Elf with me.”
CHAPTER 14
GRIFFIN
I was so proud of myself when I sat down to light my first joint of the day.
I’d woken up hungover and weak, and I’d had a lie about having to get back to Nashville on the tip of my tongue when I came out to the front room. Yeah, I’m a Reaper, and every article I’m featured in talks about how I’m some kind of badass.
But early that afternoon, I couldn’t see how I was going to possibly get through another day of just chilling with her on the couch.
Her Christmas present had saved me, though. I’d sorted myself out and gotten my mind right while inhaling all those dirty, sexy carbs.
In fact, I’d felt so satisfied after the meal she served me, I’d wondered if maybe that wasn’t the real reason for all this messed-up energy I’d been carrying around since turning thirty. Maybe I didn’t need to get laid. Maybe I just needed more carbs to get my head right.