Making Up (Shacking Up 4)

“Come on, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us, and we don’t want to keep the pilot waiting.”

I reluctantly untangle myself from him and get out of the car. It’s not fiery-pits-of-hell hot today, but I’m still glad I wore my hair in a braid to keep it out of my face. We sign some paperwork, and we’re introduced to the pilot, Vern, who walks us to the helicopter pad. I expect there to be other people joining us, but apparently it’s just me, Griffin, and the pilot.

“Don’t they usually fill the back?” I motion to the empty seats behind the cockpit.

“They accommodate private tours when requested.” Griffin helps me up into the cockpit and climbs in beside me.

I can’t even begin to fathom how much it would cost for a private helicopter tour over the Canyon and I’m not about to ask because it’s rude, even though I’m tempted.

It turns out that we’re not just flying over the Canyon; we also land in it and have a romantic lunch. There’s even champagne.

I’m already on my second glass. “This is delicious, by the way. The only other time I had champagne, it tasted like goat piss.”

“And you’re familiar with what goat piss tastes like how, exactly?”

“I’m not. It just tasted awful, like I imagine goat piss would.” I shift around, making myself more comfortable—in Griffin’s lap. The picnic table is rough on the back of my legs—at least that’s my excuse for using him like a chair.

This is the point where Vern tells us he’ll be back in an hour.

“Do you think I made him uncomfortable?” I whisper, in case sound carries in this rocky fishbowl. I might be tipsy and feeling bolder than usual. Also, this is probably the sweetest thing any guy has ever done for me. My sister may have been right about the wine-and-dine thing. I imagine if he goes to this length to set up a surprise date, sex with him must be pretty fantastic.

Griffin fingers the end of my braid, expression unreadable. “If anything, I’m the one who makes him uncomfortable.”

“Why would you think you’re making Captain Vern uncomfortable when I’m the one sitting in your lap?”

He drags a gentle finger across my jaw, causing goose bumps to rise along my skin. My body buzzes with restless energy that I can’t do anything about right now. Unless I feel like becoming an exhibitionist. It’s something to consider.

“Look at you.”

I’m wearing a tank that boasts the Animals of the World. It’s a series of cartoon images with ridiculous names for each animal. I’ve paired it with shorts that Griffin seems to think barely cover my important parts and a pair of beat-up Chucks. He said casual, so I went casual. “He thinks you picked up a homeless chick and took her out into the middle of the desert?”

He rolls his eyes and snorts a laugh. “No, Cosy. He thinks I’m taking advantage of a college student. He thinks I’m throwing glamour and sparkles at you and that I’m going to use your body and steal your virtue.”

“First of all, how can you know what he’s thinking unless you’re some kind of mind reader? Secondly, he has no idea I’m a college student. And third, where the hell are these sparkles you’re throwing at me?” I’m trying to lighten things up because I know Griffin is hyperaware of the decade of difference between us, and whenever we’re out together and people give us a second glance, I’m sure that’s the first place his mind goes—not my short shorts or how motherf’ing gorgeous he is. No. It has to be the ten years and hint of crow’s feet separating us.

“All you have to do is look at you and look at me, and you can see the conclusion he’s jumped to,” he says rather haughtily.

“Well, that’s presumptuous, isn’t it?” I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or amused or horny, or maybe all three.

“Isn’t what presumptuous?”

“That he thinks I have virtue to steal.” I decide I’m horny more than anything else, so I shift until I can straddle his lap, facing him. “Maybe I’m the one who’s planning to use your body. I mean look at you.” I run my hands over his shoulders and give his biceps a squeeze. I’m definitely tipsy, otherwise I wouldn’t be so brazen.

Griffin grips my thighs. “What exactly are you doing?”

I shift closer, rolling my hips as I bring my mouth to his ear. “I think, based on what I can feel between my legs right now, that I might be making you hard.”

He groans and runs his palms up my legs, fingertips sliding under the hem of my shorts, thumbs grazing the juncture of my thighs.

I nip the lobe of his ear, drunk on lust and a sudden surge of power. “Do you know what that does to me?” I whisper. My entire body is hot and cold at the same time, flushed and covered in goose bumps.