Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,161

comes the rest of the way. As soon as our lips touch, all the tension, frustration, anger, and yes, fear—I let it go. She opens for me, taking me in. The world falls away, and I’m lost in her. We kiss until I feel her lose herself in me, too. Until the tension leaves her shoulders and her hands come up to frame my face.

“You’re still in trouble for springing dinner on me like this,” she says against my lips.

“I did say if you ever gave me a chance,” I drop one last kiss on her lips. “I’d take you home to my mama.”

Chapter 27

BRISTOL

I ONLY HAVE my own vanity to blame.

If I hadn't been so concerned about my makeup, I probably would have realized where we were headed.

I would have demanded he turn the car around, or as a last resort flung myself into traffic on the 5. Now I have no recourse but to endure this. The woman will hate me. She hates the very idea of me with her son. She loves Qwest because . . . Black. She hates me because . . . white. I know that’s an oversimplification. There are a lot of things Mittie James loves about Qwest that have nothing to do with the color of her skin. But I could be Mother Theresa and she wouldn’t approve of me because of the color of mine, or so it feels.

At least having to deal with this distracts me from the clusterfuck of that “routine” stop. I’ve never seen anything like it. That officer cuffed Grip for no reason, with no provocation. It’s the kind of thing I might have doubted at one time if I read on Facebook. I might assume the driver exaggerated for the sake of the story. But I saw it with my own eyes, and I’m still holding my previously held notions up against what just happened and wondering how to reconcile the two.

“It’s gonna be fine.” Grip’s hand braves the space across the console to capture mine.

“You should have asked me or at least warned me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

His wicked laughter fills the car until his shoulders shake and he bends over the steering wheel.

“Yes, by all means wreck us. That would be a reprieve,” I mumble, looking out the window to study my surroundings.

The community teems with life. A cohort of guys riding dirt bikes pop wheelies down the street. Young girls play hopscotch, their braids bouncing as they jump the squares. A man wearing a bright red apron stares appreciatively at the Rover through the steam rising from his front yard grill. I don’t see the war zone Grip has often talked about when he was growing up. But we are sometimes in the most danger when we let our guards down, when we let peace deceive us and trick us into forget- ting. Being at Grip’s old high school, hearing about the funerals, the gangs, the volatility—it all tells me there is more to Compton than what this Sunday drive reveals.

A man in conversation with two others leans against an Impala, not as well kept or tricked out as Grip’s, but a six four all the same. A blue handkerchief encircles one thickly muscled, ink-marked arm. Nothing’s amiss in his actions, but maybe there’s violence in the eyes tracking us. Something about him seems lost, desperate, dangerous. Or is that just my perception of him? Am I as bad as Officer Dunne? Fear and ignorance driving my assumptions? I’m discombobulated in this zip code, on this block, and the only things familiar to me are the opulence of this car and the man driving it.

I love him. Grip’s fingers wrap around mine, and he darts concerned glances my way when he thinks I’m not looking. His beautiful words. His outrageous humor. The way he looks at me and makes me feel. Ms. James may not like me, but her son loves me. Obstinately, unwaveringly loves me. I’ll hold onto that like an anchor.

“We’re here.”

Grip kills the engine in front of a small house in a row of houses that look almost identical, differentiated only by color and the front porch decorations. Ms. James’ house is blue. A tributary of cracks run through the short span of concrete leading to the entrance. Three chairs squeeze onto the tiny porch, a vibrantly colored pillow in each one. I envision Ms. James and her friends seated there, inspecting the neighborhood and keeping watch. The wooden door stands