Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,119

and had chicken and waffles,” Ma says.

“I know.” Amir rubs his stomach. “A week is a long time in waffle years.”

“Did that actually just come out of your mouth?” I raise both brows. “For real, bruh? Waffle years?”

He doubles up, flipping me off with both middle fingers.

“Okay.” I stand up. “I’m gonna go grab my stuff from the dressing room before we head out.”

Amir stands with me, but I wave him back to his seat.

“Please don’t try to ‘guard’ me,” I say. “I hate it when you do that.”

“It is my job.”

“Well, right now you’re getting paid to sit your ass back down and leave me alone for a few minutes.”

“Give a man a little money.” Amir grumbles, grins, and takes his seat. “And he gets all new on you.”

I’m still smiling about that when I enter the dressing room to collect my bag and the clothes I wore to the venue. I almost run right over Bristol leaving as I enter.

“Sorry.” I grab her to keep her standing upright. I intend to let her go, but my palms linger on the warm, silky skin of her shoulders.

“No problem.” She steps back, looking up the few inches to my face, her eyes guarded. “I was just, um, leaving. Straightening up and then leaving.”

I notice her hands behind her back, and the shifty look on her face.

“What you got there?” I reach behind her, but she steps back, deeper into the room and out of my reach.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, a self-conscious smile tugging at the fullness of her lips. “It’s just . . . nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, why are you hiding it?”

I slide my hands down her arms until I encounter her death grip on the handles of the bag. I don’t bother actually reaching for the bag, but give myself a few seconds with her pressed against my chest. She swipes her tongue over her bottom lip. I’m riveted by the motion of her tongue and how her breasts lift against my chest as her breath shallows. Her lashes flutter closed, and her sigh lands heavily in the quiet dressing room. She steps out of my hold and offers the bag to me, breaking the moment fusing our bodies together.

“For me?” I glance from the brightly wrapped box in the bag to find her gnawing on her lip, a tiny frown sketched above her eyes.

“Just a little something for, you know.” She gestures vaguely in the air. “Congrats or whatever.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I murmur, setting the bag on a side table so I can open the box.

She starts toward the door. “Well, I’ll just—”

“Hold up.” I gently shackle her wrist, pulling her up short and stopping her from leaving. Our eyes collide over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to stay while I open it?”

“Obviously not.” She tugs on her wrist uselessly. “Grip, come on. Let me go.”

“I’ve been trying to,” I say softly. “It’s harder than you think.”

She stops struggling, going still in front of me and pulling a breath in through her nose, huffing it past those cherry red lips. A fiery chord bridges the distance between our bodies, and I want to pull her close enough to burn me, to hurt me, to destroy me. Some- times I don’t think I care as long as she’s close. I just want to feel her, even if it burns me alive.

But she pulls away.

“Like I said, it isn’t much.” She shrugs, clasping her hands in front of her while I rip the paper away. “Just something I kind of picked up on a whim.”

When I open the box and see what’s inside, I’m like a kid at Christmas. The limited edition silver Jordans with the black sole and laces are like polka dot unicorns for a collector.

“You say you got these on a whim, huh?” I take them out and resist the temptation to remove my boots and put them on right now.

“Yeah.” She shrugs, but I don’t miss the anxiousness in her eyes or the way she twists her hands. “Just thought you might like them. I know they’re not—”

Her words fall off a cliff when I hook an arm around her neck and pull her against me. I drop the shoes and bring my other hand to her waist.

“That’s some whim.” My voice dips to a husky whisper that disturbs wisps of hair escaping by her ear. “Considering there’s only maybe ten pairs of these ever made.”

“Really?” The word comes out high and breathy, and