Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,183

walks over to me and lifts my chin, his eyes scanning my face.

“Breathe.” A small smile tilts one corner of his mouth, but serious eyes search mine.

I draw a deep breath in and exhale long and slow. He’s right. I think I’ve been holding my breath since I heard the word “marry.”

“I didn’t say tonight.” He cups my face. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. That was the worst way to bring it up. I just . . . I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

“No, of course not.” My voice comes out from whatever rock it was hiding under. “I see nothing but you in the future. No one but you. You know that.”

“Then don’t freak out on me.”

“I guess I . . . we just haven’t talked about it, and we haven’t been together long and—”

He presses a finger to my lips. “Bris, it’s okay.”

“I guess I just didn’t know what to say.”

He dips to take my lips between his, exploring me, searching me until he’s satisfied with the answer my body gives. He pulls back, his eyes taking me in.

“When I do ask you, just say yes.”

Chapter 33

GRIP

I’M SO HUNGRY I could eat my tires. If I didn’t need them to get home to Bristol, I probably would. I pull the Harley into the under- ground parking garage of my loft. Bristol’s Audi convertible sits in the neighboring spot. An involuntary grin works its way from the inside to land on my lips. Seeing her here at my place makes me think about the future. After last night, I’ve been thinking about the future a lot.

I couldn’t have chosen a worst way or time to bring up marriage than during a confrontation with her mother . . . who happens to hate me.

It’s beneath her.

Angela Gray’s words echo back to me. Yeah, I got the message, lady. I’m some Boyz n the Hood thug rapper and your daughter will come to her senses when the novelty of how I lay down this pipe wears off.

Got it. Loud and clear.

Bristol’s mother is the high priestess of veiled messages, though she wasn’t hiding much last night.

Billions?

Damn. That’s a lot of money Bristol’s walking away from.

I look around the lobby of my loft building. It’s nice. Luxurious even. Nicer than anything I ever would have imagined for myself growing up. Better than anything anyone in my family has ever owned.

But billions? Parker is worth billions.

I’ve been wrestling with this unfamiliar sense of inadequacy ever since last night. Unfamiliar because my mother raised me to assume I was up for any challenge, as if I could accomplish anything. That kind of confidence in a kid from my circumstances is rare, and not for the first time, I thank my mother. She’ll come around. She has to. I told Mrs. Gray that Bristol would choose me. I know this because I would choose her. It wouldn’t be fair, and it would cut me open and gut me, but if my mother insists on this attitude—on treating Bristol the way she did—I’ll have some choices to make, too.

An odd, bitter smell hits my nose as soon as I enter the loft. An investigative sniff doesn’t do much good. I still can’t place that awful smell. Is it garbage or . . . what?

“Grip.” Bristol bends over the rail up on the landing. Her dark hair hangs a little wild and completely free down her back. She rushes down the stairs and hurls herself into my arms. I stumble back, laughing with an armful of my girl.

God, yes. This.

Parker can have his billions and his hotels and his helicopters. This is all I want. I squeeze Bristol so tightly our hearts converse through our clothes. I lean into her, sliding my hands down to her waist and kissing her.

“Are you hungry?” she asks against my lips. She’s wearing a simple black dress with short sleeves. She’s barefoot and has on no makeup. I could eat her for dinner she looks so good. Or actual food and then just make love to her afterwards. I like that option even better.

“Starving.” I peck her lips and squint toward the take out menus under magnets on the refrigerator. “We can order whatever you want, just make it fast.”

“No need to order.” Bristol pulls back, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I cooked.”

So it wasn’t the garbage.

“Um, why?” I pose the question cautiously because . . . why would she try to cook? That one good pot of chili