Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,179

What was I supposed to say?”

We shut the conversation down when the door above opens and Bristol comes out on the landing. For a moment it’s just the two of us, her smile for me and me alone. Yeah, Corpse is just insurance, but I’d use him and anything else at my disposal to protect her. I glance back to Amir, wondering if he can read my mind as my girl comes down the stairs. The grim set of his mouth and the concern in his eyes tells me that he can.

Chapter 32

BRISTOL

“INTEREST HAS DIED DOWN, HUH?”

I throw that lightly in Grip’s face as we pull up to the charity dinner where there’s a small mob of fans and media behind the ropes flanking the red carpet.

It isn’t a ball or gala, thank God. Just your standard sit-down, five-thousand-dollar plate dinner. Grip was invited to talk briefly about the importance of giving back to the community. Meryl included parts of his talk at his high school in the Legit piece, along with a clip from her phone of him playing basketball with the student. Between that piece, and all the publicity “Bruise” is getting in the debate over tensions with law enforcement, Grip’s being perceived as an artist with a conscience. I love it because I think it reflects who he truly is.

“It is crazy out there.” Amir considers the crowd lining the red carpet leading to the hotel where the charity dinner is being held.

“It’ll be fine.” Grip gives Amir a pointed look. “Stay with Bristol if we get separated.”

“He’s here to guard you, not me.” I adjust my dress before the door opens and we have to get out. I’m terribly conscious of the deci- sion to leave my panties on the bathroom floor. I’ve been exposed enough without flashing my naked girl parts to the world.

“Amir, you heard me.” Grip looks from me to his friend. “I’ll be fine.”

“Gotcha, bruh.” He looks at the throng of people pressing closer to the car with cameras and microphones. “Bris, stay close.”

I roll my eyes, but nod. I know it bothers Grip that a lot of the hate has died off for him, though some of the more vocal critics call him a sellout, but the lion’s share of the vitriol seems to be for me. They’ve called me so many names, I may as well be doing business as “That White Bitch” by now.

“You ready?” Grip grabs my hand and doesn’t wait for me to confirm.

We’re on the red carpet sooner than I want to be. I don’t answer any of the questions hurled at us, but one question makes me stiffen, and has the same effect on Grip.

“Bristol, what about Parker?” one reporter yells. “How does he feel about your new relationship?”

I hope I’ve adequately dealt with Parker. All of his messages were the same. I want you. You’re mine. We’re meant to be. You will marry me. Blah, blah, fucking blah. I left him a voicemail telling him to seek professional help and leave me alone. I haven’t heard from him since, even after the police footage was leaked, but that doesn’t mean anything. This man has persisted for years. We’re into decades now that he’s believed some day we’ll get hitched and endure years of miserable matrimony just like our parents have. I’m not naïve enough to think one voicemail will kill that delusion.

“Bristol, are you with both of them?” another reporter asks.

I ignore the horrible question, but Grip turns in the direction of the reporter, glaring, his hand still holding mine, tightening around mine.

“What did you ask her?” His voice, a dark growl, has the reporter looking like a mouse caged with a snake. “Does it look like she’s with him? She’s with me.”

“Grip, don’t.” I tug on his hand, pulling until he’s walking with me. “Let’s just go in.”

The hotel entrance is a blessed end to a walk that only took a minute, but felt like forever with the glare of the spotlight. As soon as we’re inside, I pull him into the nearest discreet corner. I reach up to frame his face, undeterred by the irritation stamped there.

“Hey, don’t let those stupid questions get to you, okay?” I whisper. “You know I’m with you. You know what happened with Parker. That’s all that counts.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes, turning his head to kiss the inside of my wrist. “But the Parker thing . . .”

Displeasure rattles his throat in a low rumble.

“You’re