Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) (12 page)

“You did,” Kai reminds her gently. “That’s the night I totally groveled to win you back. And you gave me another chance.”

Steph kisses him. “Of course I did. I love you. Even though you have been a complete cheating asshole at times.”

“I know,” Kai says darkly. “I was.”

Griff glances over at me. “It’s kind of like being thrown in the fire here. So many people. So many stories.”

“I love it,” I say, meaning it. “You can’t even begin to understand how much I love being thrown into a mix like this.”

“As long as you don’t feel out of place, or that I’m ignoring you.”

“Never,” I say.

“Daphne,” Nick bellows, “get your cute ass over here.”

Daphne looks at her boyfriend, biting back a smile. “How about you get your cute ass over here and help me with the strawberries? And by help, I don’t mean eat all of them.”

“Little Fox is right,” Jamie says. “You should get your
cute
ass over here.”

Nick flips Jamie the finger, but gets up to join Daphne at the counter. “Seriously, McAlister, it’s a wonder your girl puts up with you. Your man-crush on Jack would be a complete deal breaker.”

“Who doesn’t have a man-crush on Jack?” Jamie asks. “C’mon. Show your hands. Every guy in this house thinks Jack Sinclair is awesome. Am I right, or am I right?”

“True, Jack is awesome,” Caleb says.

Steph leans over to me. “Jack is hot,” she says loudly. “H-O-T. Sizzling. Like, just stick a fork in me and I’m done.”

All the girls but me sigh.

“I haven’t met him,” I say. “But even if I did, there’s only one H-O-T, sizzling Sinclair in my book. And he just so happens to be sitting next to me.”

“Get a room,” Jamie says. “Oh, wait. You two
did
get a room. And, seriously, this is the most any of us have ever heard Griff talk. And I’m his BFF. His brother from another mother. I know everything.”

“You don’t know everything. You just think you do,” Griff says.

Jamie waves this off. “Whatever. I’m an honorary Sinclair. If we have kids, Zelda and I will name our first child Jack.”

“What if it’s a girl?” Daphne asks.

“Still Jack,” Jamie says and glances over at Zelda.

“Sure, why not?” Zelda merely laughs. “Go ahead and tell them, Jamie. What we discussed last night.”

“Zelda,” Jamie says, going a bright red. “Not in front of the people.”

Daphne stops cutting the strawberries, completely interested. “Oh, you have to tell us now!”

“It’s nothing, really,” Jamie says. “Just that after we come back, Zelda’s going to start applying to colleges, and I’m going to try and get into the FBI. And not because I think Jack is a secret spy, even though he totally
is
a secret spy. Or because I think James Bond is cool.”

“See?” Nick says. “Total man-crush. But, dude, that’s great. You’d be great.”

“I’ve already worked out my signature drink order,” Jamie says. “Martini.
Slightly
shaken, a little stirred.”

“You don’t even like martinis,” Zelda says with a laugh.

“True. Maybe it would be window dressing. Just there to throw everyone off. Why does this devilishly handsome secret agent dude order these drinks but never drink them? I have to have an air of mystery.”

“You have an air of something,” Nick says.

“Whatever Jamie has can wait,” Caleb says. “Pancakes are done. Griff, got some vegan, gluten-free ones for you that were not contaminated with anything. Let’s eat.”

The chocolate chip pancakes are delicious, but made more so because of the guy sitting next to me.

Afterward, when the food has been demolished, the kitchen cleaned up, and everyone leaves to do their own thing, Griff and I walk back out to his truck. The day’s clear blue, with puffs of cotton-white clouds here and there.

“What are your plans for today?” Griff asks.

I play with the hem of my dress. “Well, I want to change out of this and put on something comfy. I was planning on working on some new nail polishes today. But it’s so bright and beautiful. The last thing I want to do is spend it inside.”

“You want to do something with me?”

I definitely do, but . . . “Do you have to work?”

“No, Jack told me if he saw me in the shop from today until graduation, he’d kick me out.”

I really need to meet this Jack. I like him already. “Then, yes.”

“You don’t know what it is, though,” Griff says.

“I don’t need to,” I say. “As long as it’s with you, I’m game for anything.”

‡

“What is this place?” I
step out of Griff’s truck and smooth out my vintage-style red gingham halter dress with sweetheart neckline. It’s not exactly comfy clothes, but when one goes to a picnic, only this dress will do.

It’s been a couple of hours since breakfast, and each minute that passed that I didn’t see Griff felt like a minute too long. I lift up my sunglasses to look at the wide stretch of green broken up by wildflowers. “I mean, obviously it’s a meadow.”

“It is a meadow,” Griff says as he gets out a picnic basket and blanket from the back. “You’re going to match.”

I smile, because it’s true. The print of my checked dress almost matches the blanket. Griff looks good enough to eat in a light blue tee and shorts. His legs should be outlawed—all hard muscle and sinew. I just want to sink my teeth into him. Oh boy, it’s getting hot.

“You’re full of surprises, you know,” I say. “A basket and blanket? Where did you find all of this stuff?”

“There’s this funny new thing you might have heard of. A store.”

My laughter spills out of me, and I join Griff to walk out into the greenery, a definite skip in my step. Dots of tiny blue and yellow flowers are speckled throughout the blades. It’s nearing noon, and the sun is bright overhead, already warming my skin.

Griff and I spread out the blanket before he sets the basket down in the middle. I sit, curling my legs sideways, and Griff eases down next to me.

I glance over at him, only to find his dark eyes on my mouth.

“Each time I kiss you, you taste different.” His eyes flick up to mine, linger. “What is it today?”

I’m wearing a deep red matte on my lips, made glossy by a product I made. I had enough time to switch my nails to
Ruby Slippers
, a newer color full of sparkles and glitter and a vegan red dye.

“Evie,” he says, dipping closer. “What do you taste like?”

I feel as if I’ve landed in Oz, except I don’t want to click my heels to go home. “Kiss me and find out.”

Griff doesn’t need any further invitation. His lips meet mine, soft and slow and steady. He kisses me as if he could always kiss me from now until the end of time.

When he lifts his head, his brown eyes have deepened to a velvet black. “Your eyes also change when we kiss. That first night, they were a dark, deep green. Last night, they went golden.”

“And right now?”

“Bright green. Like emeralds.” Griff runs a finger over my lips, almost as if he can’t stop himself from touching me. “Your eyes have always fascinated me.”

“The power of hazel eyes,” I say. “One moment, they can look brown. Another, green. Sometimes, blue.”

His voice roughens. “I can see that, the streaks of those colors in your eyes. The brown, the green, the gold, even the blue. I’d look at you in class to see what color they’d be that day.”

“I never knew.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” he says. “I thought you hated me.”

“And I thought you hated me. Clearly, we were wrong. Very wrong.”

Part of me aches with curiosity to ask Griff why he said what he did that night. But the saying
curiosity killed the cat
is there for a reason. It’s so unlike me to not just plow ahead and ask, but the truth is . . . I’m not ready to know. I’m scared that finding out will change things—badly. It’s a beautiful day, a beautiful moment, and I don’t want to mar it with any ugliness.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I might be ready.

“And what did I taste like?” I ask, curious to see if Griff liked the raspberry and vanilla flavor.

“You taste like a dream come true.”

My heart does a slow flip in my chest, turning over and over. Griff obviously likes me. He does. He has to, if he’s saying those things and looking at me like he does. I’ve been with a lot of guys and have fallen in love a few times, so I’m not new to this whole dating thing. I’m smart and can spot a line a mile away. I know when a guy is only after one thing, and hey, that’s great, since I don’t mind exploring that one thing.

But there have also been times where I’ve been really hurt, because that’s the gamble when a new relationship starts, whether it’s a hook-up, or something that lasts a few weeks, months, or a year. Lately, though, I’ve been wanting more.

The real thing.

The one.

As romantic as that sounds, I believe that there is a
one
. My parents have it. Others have it. So why can’t I?

Griff seems real and genuine. And I feel things for him that I’ve never felt for anyone before. Everything feels more intense but more grounded. I feel like I’m myself around him. I feel like we just click.

So I shouldn’t be afraid to ask, shouldn’t be afraid to bring it up. I shouldn’t wait until tomorrow or even one more second, but we have such a short time left. Sunday is days away.

And as much as I like Griff—as much as I know I’m starting to fall for him—I just don’t see how this doesn’t end after we graduate.

I have plans. He has plans. And neither of those plans include love.

After we’ve eaten our lunch
and pack everything away, Griff grabs two bottles full of a bright yellowish-orange-pink liquid and passes one over to me.

I uncap it and take a whiff. Oranges and lemons and something else I can’t quite identify hit me. “What is it?”

“A homemade juice. You smell the oranges and lemons, right?”

I nod. “But there’s something else.”

“A little cayenne, which you wouldn’t really smell. But it might be the lime and pomegranate.”

“That explains the pink,” I say and take a sip. It’s tangy and sweet and cold, thanks to the ice packet insulators inside the basket. “It’s delicious.”

I take a few more sips before putting the cap back on. I want some for later. We’re in the middle of this empty meadow, blades of grass gently swaying from the barely there breeze, and I lean forward to slip off my peep-toe wedges. I leave my sunglasses off. Then, I stretch out on the blanket and gesture for Griff to join me.

He does and puts his sunglasses to the side.

I look at the sky. Clouds dance overhead. I raise my hand and point to one. “That one looks like a bird.”

“Huh?”

“The cloud.” I point again. “See how the cloud stretches out just so, like a wing, and the beak is there and . . .” I look away from the clouds to Griff’s face. “You’ve never cloud gazed?”

“I have, but not since I was little. Probably five or six.”

I make a scoffing noise. “You’re out of practice. It’s my duty to fix that. I’ll even make it fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yes. Fun. That three letter word that basically means you’re having a good time.”

“By cloud gazing,” he says, disbelief heavy in his tone.

“Yes,” I say, bumping his shoulder with mine. “With cloud gazing. Just look at some of the clouds, Griff. What do you see?”

“Clouds.”

“Griffffff,” I say. “You’ve never looked up above and seen something
more
? Sometimes, I’ll glance overhead and try to find pictures in the sky. See that wisp over there? Tell me that doesn’t look like a unicorn’s horn.”

“A unicorn’s horn?” Griff makes a sound. “Please. That looks like a dagger.”

“You say dagger, I say unicorn’s horn.” I move my hand to the left. “And that cloud looks like a dollop of whipped-cream.”

“It looks like a tit,” Griff says.

My laugh sputters out of me. I can’t even believe Griff said
tit
. “Listen, you dirty librarian you, that is definitely not a tit.”

Griff leans up on one elbow, his gaze fastened onto me. “Hey, I saw what I saw. Don’t take away my tit cloud.” He plops back down. “So, I’m game for the cloud gazing thing. You said you’d make it fun.”

I hear the challenge in his voice. “Three words: Strip cloud gazing.”

“I’m listening. What are the rules?”

“It’s simple. We look at the clouds, and whoever sees something first, points it out and then the other has to remove an article of clothing.”

“You’ve already taken off your shoes. And you’re only wearing that dress. I think this will be a very short game.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t ever do this.”

“I’m motivated.” His hand slides over my arm, making my skin shiver with awareness. “But I’d like to add another rule to this game.”

“What?” I ask.

“The person who loses the round can also not remove an article of clothing—”

“That defeats the purpose.”

“
But
the person has to reveal something about themselves. Nothing easy, like what’s your favorite color.”

I swallow past my flutter of heartbeats. “So, basically a version of Truth or Dare.”

“Or, really, Truth or Strip,” Griff says. “And if one sees a tit cloud, one sees a tit cloud.”