Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) (17 page)

Griff walks to me, his gaze steady, his intent clear. He stops before me, and my heart soars off to a different galaxy.

“Evie.” A rumble of need in those two syllables. “Will you dance with me?”

He holds out his hand, waiting for my answer.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Yes,” I say and slide my hand into his. “Yes, I’ll dance with you.”

“So, how does this begin?” Griff asks. “I mean, I know the basics, but I don’t want to get it wrong.”

“You won’t get it wrong. And it starts like this.” I step close to him, brushing my body against his. “You put your arms around my waist, like so.”

“I can do that.”

“Now, I’ll wrap mine around your neck.” I do so, and the movement erases any distance between us. Our hearts pound, in sync with each other. “Just like that.”

“And after that?”

“After that the music starts.”

Almost on cue, the beginning strains of Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah” plays. The heartbreaking richness breaks over us, the longing and wanting strumming in the notes, the need . . . the simmering need.

“The music plays,” I say, “and we dance to the heartbeat of the song. The pulse that brings notes on a scale to life. Through dance, we give a different kind of voice to music. For the . . .”

“Pleasure,” Griff says thickly. “Of having you in my arms. Of finally having this dance with you.”

“Yes, for the pleasure.” I look into his dark brown eyes. “Dancing is about rhythm. Both to the music and with your partner. We can sway.”

“No, show me something more.”

“I’ll show you a simple box step.” I go through the steps with him. “Pretty simple, right?”

“This does seem simple enough. I don’t know why I—”

“It always looks trickier, and dancing this close to someone . . . you get in their personal space.”

“And that can feel awkward if you don’t really know the person or have—”

“Trust issues,” I say. “I used to love to dance.”

“Why did you not pursue it?”

“I love it, but it’s not a passion. And I think to be a dancer or any kind of artist like that, you have to have a passion for it, especially since you’re facing constant rejection. But I didn’t stop because I didn’t want to face rejection. I just didn’t want to make dancing my life.”

“I’d love to see how you dance,” Griff says. “Would you dance for me?”

“Maybe,” I say. “I haven’t danced ballet since I gave it up. And I’m dancing with you right now.”

Griff snaps his gaze away from me to glance around. “We really are dancing.”

“And quite well, too. But you do have an awesome teacher.”

“I definitely do.”

“Hallelujah” ends and the next song, The Beatles’ “Something,” starts up right away. I rest my head against Griff’s chest and we fall silent, letting the music play while we dance in perfect harmony.

Thursday, Three Days until Graduation

‡

Griff insists on walking me
up to my apartment the next morning. I’m wearing the now-dried dress from last night, but I plan on switching into my comfy clothes ASAP. By the time we got up, Jack had already left so I wasn’t able to meet him. And I was disappointed, solely because I want to meet the man who was Griff’s rock. Who still is Griff’s rock.

I take out my key and linger by the door to stay with Griff for a little longer. “Last night was great.”

After the last song, Griff and I headed to his room and danced in a different way. The sex was sweet and tender, and I ended up falling asleep immediately afterward.

“So, what’s in store for today?” Griff asks.

“I’m feeling inspired to create a new nail polish.” I lean up on my toes and brush my mouth across his. “So my plan is to work on that and some other designs. You?”

“Nothing much. Actually . . . would you mind showing me?”

“Show you what?”

“Show me how you do what you do.”

“You want to see how I do makeup?” I blink, confused. “Why?”

“Because you love it.”

My heart turns into a puddle of mushy goo. “Oh.”

“Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh?’”

“It’s a good ‘oh.’”

He smiles, and yup, there I go, joining my melted heart. I’m just a pile of smooshy feelings right now. “So is that a yes, you’ll show me?”

“It’s a yes, but I should warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“Chloe and Taylor will be joining us at some point. And they’re going to grill you with so many questions.”

“Should I be terrified?”

“Without a doubt,” I say.

“You’ve survived my friends,” he says. “I’ll survive yours.”

“Famous last words.”

Before I can unlock the door, Griff stops me. “Come to dinner tonight. I want you to meet Jack.”

“Should
I
be terrified?”

“Of Jack?” Griff shakes his head. “Only if you think he’s a secret spy, like Jamie does.”

I let out a laugh as I unlock the door. “I definitely don’t think that, but I think it’s hilarious that Jamie is so adamant that your brother is a spy.”

“Yeah, Jamie’s funny that way.” Griff steps inside my apartment and his attention goes to the vase of wildflowers. “They’re still alive?”

“I have a green thumb, so flowers stay alive for me. Oh, good. The kitchen table and counters are clear. We need to lay a covering over those and on the floor—I use a drop cloth—which I have rolled up in the linen closet. It’s this way.”

I walk down the hall toward my room and stop at the small closet that I use as one of my storage areas. I open it up to reveal an array of beauty supplies and products. I turn when I hear Griff’s surprised grunt and take pity on the poor guy. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“You made all of these things?”

I face the shelves again, looking at the rows of filled nail bottles, the cleansers, the pots of lip stain, and have all sorts of feelings. I feel proud and happy and remember all the trials and errors that happened along the way. But
I
made all of this.

“Yeah, I did.”

Griff touches my shoulder, his hand gently gives me a squeeze. “This is amazing, Evie. I couldn’t even begin to imagine being creative or driven enough to—” With his other hand, he gestures to the lines and lines of makeup—“do any of this.”

My heart warms with the compliment but I look back at him because the subtext in that sentence about him not being creative or driven bothers me. “Don’t put yourself down like that! You are creative and driven, Griff. Maybe your talents don’t lie in makeup—”

His lips twitch with amusement.

“—but everyone is talented and creative.”

“You truly believe that?”

I spin around and plant my hands on my hips. “Of course I do. You don’t?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”

I make a disbelieving snort but manage not to roll my eyes. “Everyone’s creative. I really believe that we’re all born with this spark in us. It takes on different forms. Painting, singing, dancing, design, writing, cooking, playing an instrument, making HTML codes or computers, discovering cures, and so many other things.”

“I’m not musically inclined and I’m certainly nowhere near a good chef.”

“It doesn’t even have to be complicated,” I say and turn to gather the things I need from the linen closet. With my hands full, it’s going to be impossible to grab anything else. “Would you mind getting the drop cloth at the bottom for me?”

“Not a problem.” Griff grabs the cloth after I step to the side. “You need anything else?”

I look over the closet and then down at what I have, trying to decide if I need anything else. “I think I’m good, thanks.”

“So,” Griff says as we head back to the kitchen, “how can creativity not be complicated?”

“Oh.” I set my stuff down on the counter and move to the table. “Well. Creativity can be a mom or dad making up a bedtime story to get their kid to go to asleep. Or when you were a kid, pretending to be a superhero or that you were invisible. You’re telling me that you never pretended to be Batman or James Bond or something along those lines? Or even played with G.I. Joe dolls?”

“G.I. Joes were
action
figures.”

“Just another word for dolls,” I tease.

Griff laughs. “Okay, okay, they’re dolls.”

We move the small table to the living room so we can lay the drop cloth on the kitchen floor. After we put the table back where it belongs, we place another cloth over the wood surface for protection.

“And for some people, they push the creativity aside and believe that they’re not.” I give Griff a stern look and poke him in the chest. “But there is no way that a guy who reads as much as you do is not creative.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “True, because I can think of a million creative ways to kiss you.”

“Only a million?” My attempt at being saucy is completely ruined by the breathless quality of my voice.

Griff notices it and steps closer. “You’re right. A million and one ways to kiss you.”

I make a
hmmm
noise because I’ve completely lost my ability to speak. This seems to happen a lot around Griff, but seriously, how can I even think when he mentions kissing me?! He’s an awesome kisser and—

“Your eyes have gone all starry-like green,” he says, stepping closer to me. His hand brushes the side of my face, and my whole being shimmers with awareness. “I swear that right now when I look into your eyes, I can see the whole universe.”

“And you say you’re not creative,” I say, my voice softer and lighter than a feather. “Your words create such images. They make me feel . . .”
Cherished. Adored. Loved.
“. . . such things.”

He stops stroking to cup my face, his dark eyes meet mine. There’s a wildness in there I recognize. A hunger. A
spark
. “I feel such things, too.”

And, then, with infinite care and tenderness, his lips meet mine.

My best friends don’t play
“Ask Evie’s Guy Twenty Thousand Questions,” but they come prettttttttttty close to it. Especially when they ask him about that night and seem satisfied when Griff tells them he was a complete ass. And far from being bothered or annoyed, Griff is unflappable and steady and that makes my friends super impressed.

When I ask him about it later on, as we’re driving back to Jack’s place to have dinner, Griff merely says, “They’re your friends. They have your back and look out for you. Of course they’re going to give me a hard time about what I said about you.”

“If it gives you any sort of comfort,” I say, “they’re super supportive but they have totally been busting me about all the times I said I couldn’t stand you. They’ll often say,
so, Evie, just how much did you hate Griff last night?
”

We stop at a red light and Griff slides me a look of interest. “Your friends and my friends operate on the same field, I see.”

“Yours, too?”

Griff nods his head. “They’re solid guys—”

“Mine are solid, too, but—”

“They like to give me a hard time.”

“Especially when it’s warranted,” I say. “Chloe and Taylor didn’t even believe me at first when I told them about you.”

“You should have seen the guys after the BBQ,” Griff says with a laugh and hits the gas again when the light turns green. “For Jamie? It was like every holiday wrapped in one. I still haven’t heard the end of it from the guys.”

“What do they say?”

“I’m sure you can imagine.”

I bite back a smile because I can definitely imagine it. After all, my girls questioned me about the night. I know they have my back and are telling me to go after Griff, but I also know they want to make sure I’m okay, too.

“Griff,” I say softly. “What happens when we graduate?”

Griff makes a turn onto a street. “What do you mean?”

“What happens
after
we graduate?” I ask again. “To . . . us.”

“What do you want to happen?”

I sigh. “That’s not fair. I asked first.”

“You’re moving back to the city, right?” he asks instead.

“Yeah.” I look out the passenger window. “I start an internship. When do you start grad school?”

“Not until the fall, but I’ll be working at the auto-shop.”

Enough of this, I think. I will put myself out there first if Griff’s not willing to go all out. He did make the first move at the dock and then again when he asked me out at the BBQ, and he’s hinted that he wants more. Maybe he wants me to say what I want before he says anything. And I can do that. I stop looking out the window and put my attention on Griff.

“Okay,” I say. “You want to know what I want? Here it goes.”

‡