Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) (15 page)

“In the rain,” I add. “That is, if you don’t mind—”

“Mind?” Griff shakes his head slowly, gazing at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Evie, all I want to do is kiss you. Every time I look at you, every time I see you, every time I hear your voice, every time I’m near you, every time you’re not with me, I think about kissing you.”

“Just kissing?” I tease.

Griff’s free hand slides around my waist, bringing me close to his body. “Well, maybe more than kissing.”

“Good, because same goes with me.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how sure are you about this?”

“A million.” I don’t look away from his dark brown eyes. “Kiss me. Kiss me in the rain, Griff. Just kiss me.”

Time seems to wind down, seconds turning into hours, actions distinct and precise, so that it leaves a permanent imprint, never to be forgotten.

The umbrella clatters to the ground.

Rain pelts us, the furious splatter soaking us in no time at all. It’s on the colder side of warm, like bath water that’s not fully heated up. Not too cold, but cold enough that I shiver and goose bumps rise along my arms.

My dress sticks to me like a second skin. My hair turns into a wet, heavy rope between my shoulder blades.

Rain caresses his cheekbones, sweeps down his face.

His hand presses at my back, his other cups my cheek. He brushes the rain away from me. A futile effort, as there’s no escaping the onslaught. But the rhythm of his fingers against my cheek—the cadence of his roughened skin gliding along my skin so easily and softly—makes me heated.

When I shiver this time, it’s due to Griff’s hotness and close proximity. His touch elicits a primal response in me. Every beat of my heart feels like it’s calling to him; this time he touches me, it feels as if he’s answering back,
I’m here.

“Evie,” he says, the sound rough and wild, even as he traces the plushness of my mouth with tenderness.

I wrap my arms around his neck and push my body into his, knowing that he’ll take me, support me; that I’m not a burden but a glorious welcome.

His head lowers, slow and sure, until his lips are right near mine. Hovering. Scant millimeters away. The vibration of his breath whispers over me. I see the flecks of dark gold amid his brown eyes. Droplets of rain cling to his dark, thick lashes like tears about to fall.

“Evie,” he says one more time, his voice thicker and much, much rougher. Words are deserting him, driven away by an overpowering need, but Griff holds on tight to say: “I’m consumed by you.”

I blink past the rain and focus on Griff, aware of the rumble of thunder that’s not coming from the sky but from my heartbeat. He’s consumed by
me
? That feels too big, too powerful, like so much more than what I am—what we are—but what other words could adequately describe
this
?

There’s no groan of defeat, no waving a white flag of surrender, no sinking into this kiss.

No, when he kisses me, so sure and strong, it makes my whole being fill with this incandescent joy. It’s like I’m being lit within, and this feeling—this feeling of such buoyancy and light and happiness—bounces through me.

I smile into his kiss, sharing my delight, and I can taste his, the burst of elation that makes me think of a bright sun, and I don’t even question how this one guy can make me feel so much joy.

I don’t question it, though. No, it’s too precious, too much of a gift to be doubted. We might be kissing in the rain, but it feels . . .

It feels like we’re kissing in sunshine.

This current between us is strong, even from the very get go. And I can’t help but think that if we had been more mature as freshmen, then perhaps what we’d felt wouldn’t have overwhelmed and scared us into pushing each other away. I know that I erected walls and barriers in denial so thick that
I
even believed that I hated him—that he hated me. But how could that ever have been true when there’s this?

Why was I so stupid? Why was he?

I don’t like living in the past, but this feels too important to brush aside. To ignore. This is definitely not the best place to start this conversation, but when would it ever be a good time?

I draw courage before I can stop myself. I draw a little away, put a finger to his lips before he can kiss me one more time.

“We need to talk about the Freshmen Mixer and what happened.”

“We do need to talk about what happened. Do you want to go to my place or yours?” Griff asks.

I like that he gives me a choice in this, even after I agreed to spend the night at his. “We can go to yours.”

“Actually,” Griff says. “We can go to Jack’s.”

“Your brother’s? Won’t he be home?”

“He’s always working,” Griff says. “It’ll be quiet there.”

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go there, then.”

Despite the rain, it takes no time at all to reach Jack’s place, a charming gray-colored bungalow.

“Is this where you grew up?” I ask.

“Kind of. Jack and I moved here when I was thirteen. This is Jack’s, though. But I have a key,” Griff says.

“Wait, you and Jack moved here when you were thirteen? What about your parents?”

Griff swallows hard. “It’ll be easier to tell you inside.”

Definitely a delicate subject.

I nod, and we hurry inside. Griff turns on the lights. The house is decorated in a no-nonsense style but designed for comfort. The plaid couch and chairs are big and inviting. But I’m not really interested in what the house looks like.

I’m interested in what Griff is about to tell me. I turn to Griff and scrunch up my face.

“You’re drenched,” I say and shiver. “And so am I. I don’t want to get water everywhere.”

“Hold on.” Griff runs down a hall and comes back a few minutes later with two fluffy navy-blue towels. He gives me one.

“Thanks,” I say and wrap it around me.

“Why don’t we actually get into something warmer,” Griff suggests. “You can take a quick shower.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“I’ll lend you something of mine.”

“A hot shower does sound nice,” I say. “What about you?”

“There’s a bathroom off Jack’s bedroom. I’ll use his. And then we’ll talk.”

“Sounds good to me,” I say through chattering teeth.

Griff shows me to a bathroom and I hurry inside to start heating up the shower water. I peel off my sodden clothes and put them in a small heap on the floor. There’s a knock on the door, and I wrap a towel around me before I open it.

“Here’s a pair of sweats, a tee, and a sweatshirt. Socks, too, if you want them,” Griff says. “I can throw your clothes in the laundry.”

Thank God my dress is machine washable. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Griff leans down to grab my stuff. “I’ll put it on the gentle cycle for both. There should be shampoo in the stall. And if you’d like soap, Jack stores that in one of those drawers. Extra towels are in the bathroom.”

“Thanks again,” I say.

With a quick nod, Griff leaves me to it. I find the soap and wash off my makeup, then hop into the shower. The hot water feels great on my chilled skin, but I definitely hurry things along because I’m anxious to get back to Griff.

I’m nervous about the conversation, about getting to what I heard and
why
he said it. And what else he’s about to tell me.

I step out of the shower and wrap my wet hair in a towel. I like him. Like? I
really
like him. I shake my head again.
Really like?
I’m falling so hard for him.

I dry myself off and put on the clothes—even the thick white socks—Griff gave me. They smell clean and make me feel all warm and cozy. I have a mini-brush and an extra hair tie in my bag and use both. I stare at my reflection through the slightly steamed mirror. My wet hair is in a topknot, I’m swimming in the clothes, and my face is makeup free.

I feel like my heart and soul is about to be laid bare.

Time to head out. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders as I walk to the main living area. I find Griff in the kitchen, setting a teakettle on the stove.

“Is tea okay?” Griff asks. “Or do you want coffee? Jack doesn’t really drink it, but he keeps it around for guests.”

“Tea’s perfect,” I say. “So—”

“So—” Griff says at the same time.

I give a stifled laugh and he gestures for me to continue. I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. What if this changes things again or makes it worse than it was before? But we do need to clear the air—as painful and as awkward as it may be—and in all honesty, this should have happened years ago.

Better late than never, I hope.

“Okay,” I say and lean against the kitchen counter. Griff mirrors me at the other end. “So, at that Freshmen Mixer . . .” I swallow hard, and it feels as if I’m pushing the rapid heartbeats back down to my chest. “I heard what you said about me.”

Stark horror flashes across Griff’s expression, and color leeches out of his body in a blink of an eye. “You heard,” he says so softly that at first I think I’ve imagined the words. He says, “You heard,” again, in a loud whisper, the sounds stilted, as if he’s speaking a different language and having trouble pronouncing the words.

“I heard,” I whisper. I tilt my head, studying him. “Did you not know?”

He places his hands at the edge of the counter, gripping tight. “I wasn’t sure. I thought you might have and felt horrible, because it was an incredibly shitty thing for me to say. But to know that you definitely heard makes me feel so much worse that I caused you pain. It’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.”

His words seem incredibly sincere, and a huge part of me wants to forget about all of this—to sweep the old hurt under the rug and pretend it doesn’t bother me anymore. But contrary to that stupid saying, words
do
hurt.

I cross my arms in front of my chest and swallow. “I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?” Shock, pure shock in those three syllables. “How could I ever hate you?”

“Well, I did think it. I heard you say, ‘she might be hot but she’s not hot enough to tempt me’ in a tone that felt—” I stop and wince. “Gosh, I sound stupid right about now, don’t I?”

“You’re not stupid,” Griff says hotly. “
I
was stupid. Still am.”

“No, you’re not,” I say just as heated. “But I mean, hearing myself say it out loud
to you
 . . . well, I feel like—”

Griff studies me closely.

I slump in a nearby kitchen chair and bury my face in my hands. “I feel like such an idiot.”

Griff doesn’t say anything. Maybe I’ve stunned him into silence. Or maybe he’s waiting for me to continue.

“Honestly I feel like a bitch,” I say with a regretful sigh. “Like the biggest bitch that ever bitched.”

“Evie—”

I shake my head. “I mean, I am. I got butt-hurt feelings because you didn’t think I was hot enough? That’s so . . . stupid. Idiotic of me to hold a grudge over something so basic.”

“It’s not,” Griff says. “Can I sit down? I feel like I’m a giant towering over you, but I won’t if you’d rather not, and—”

“Of course!”

Griff takes the chair opposite me. “First, you are
not
a bitch. Second, I was the biggest idiot. Third, you have every right to be mad. I can’t even begin to say how sorry I am. And last but not least, I think I should try to explain what happened that night. Not that it excuses what I said or did, but I want to tell you. It’s way past time that I did.”

‡

“I hurt you, and I’m
sorry,” Griff says. “And I want to try to explain. That night when Jamie pushed me to ask you to dance—and Jamie’s not the kind of guy to let things go—I shook my head no, because I couldn’t even speak after I saw you.”

My heart flips. “You couldn’t even speak?”

“Evie, you’ve got to know—you must know . . . how much I want you. When I first saw you, I wanted you so badly. I saw you standing there, and my whole world changed. I was slammed by these feelings I never felt before—I never thought I would, to be honest.”

“Wait, why didn’t you think you could feel that?”

“I’ll get around to that. I promise,” Griff says. The teakettle whistles and he gets up to turn the oven off. “Do you want sugar in yours?”

“Black’s fine for me.”

Griff brings over two mugs of tea and hands me one. “I need to apologize for that night. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Jamie kept pushing me and instead of acting like a man, I acted like an ass. I also thought there would be no way that a girl like you could ever be interested in a guy like me.”

“Hold up for one sec,” I say. “You didn’t think
I
could like you? Um, have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re, like, every girl’s wet dream. Seriously, Griff, you’re gorgeous. And besides the physical, I’m going to let you in on two secrets. First secret: girls love glasses on guys. And those glasses of yours give me very dirty Harry Potter fantasies—like what exactly you can do with your magic wand.”

A huff of laughter escapes Griff.

“Second secret: girls love a guy who reads. Have you not seen that Tumblr of hot guys reading books?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“Well, you should. You should be the freaking cover model for that Tumblr. There’s more, too.” I get up and move toward him. “You’re kind, generous, funny, thoughtful, and you’re so incredibly sweet.”