Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,210

was that working out for you?”

“Between you and me”—Kevin slants me a knowing grin—“I think I was getting somewhere.”

“Uh, Kevin, you really should—” I try again.

“Was he, Bris?” Grip cuts in over me, crossing his arms—vibrantly inked and roped with muscle—over his chest. His white shirt reads HABITUAL LINE STEPPER; no telling what that means. “Getting somewhere, I mean?”

Though well disguised, humor percolates behind his polite inquiry. Grip is possessive, but he knows this guy would never be anything but a joke.

“No, I told him we should keep things strictly business.” I turn my attention from Grip to Kevin. “And I was just about to say I have a boyfriend.”

“I’m sure he’d understand.” Kevin flashes a conspiratorial wink Grip’s way.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” A vein of steel runs through Grip’s good- natured response. “He doesn’t like her having dinner with other guys.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, eh?” Kevin leans forward slightly to elbow Grip’s arm.

“Might get you hurt, though,” Grip says, elbowing Kevin back with a little more force. “Eh?”

“Ow.” Kevin rubs his arm, frowning at the spot Grip poked roughly.

This has gone on long enough. Every word out of Kevin’s mouth imperils this book deal.

“Kevin, Grip is my boyfriend,” I tell him, annoyed and tired of stretching this out.

Kevin’s poor jaw nearly unhinges.

“Grip is your boyfriend?” Behind the designer spectacles, his eyes widen and dart between Grip and me.

Grip links our fingers on the table.

“As fuck would have it, yup.” Grip raises our hands to his lips, kissing my fingers, but keeps his eyes trained on Kevin. “Is this your strategy for signing new authors? Hitting on their girlfriends? ’Cause I gotta tell ya, it’s kinda brilliant.”

I can’t help it—I snort. My inelegant laugh draws Grip’s dark eyes and wicked grin, fanning heat low in my belly that slides even farther south. I went years barely being intimate with anything that wasn’t battery operated, and now I can’t go two hours without wanting to be horizontally naked with this guy.

Though we did do it vertically in the shower this morning. I squirm in my seat remembering the slice of steamy heaven we had before the sun was all the way up. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to the office and then home for more of that, whichever home we choose tonight. At some point, I guess I’ll sell my place, or Grip will sell his? We’ll live together, but will we get engaged first? Married? He did tell my mother he would marry me one day.

Oh, Bristol, please don’t become one of those women obsessed with getting a ring, I self-admonish.

Because if you can’t admonish yourself, who can?

We’re in no hurry, and I actually appreciate our pace. The last few months have been . . . I don’t even have language for how happy I am. It’s contentment sheathed in passion, twisted around the deepest, most honest connection I’ve ever known. I wish everyone could taste this, could have this. That’s when you know you’re far gone—when you start wishing everyone else had what you have. I know what it’s like to live without it, to live without him. It’s lackluster, a pale parallel existence I have no intention of revisiting. We got just a taste of it this summer when he was on tour and I needed to stay behind in LA.

Miserable.

“Does that sound good, Bristol?”

Kevin’s question snaps my attention back to the conversation at the table. Now I’m daydreaming? In the middle of a meeting? About proposals and engagement rings and fairy-tale endings?

“Uh, sorry.” I split an apologetic glance between Grip and Kevin. “I got distracted. Does what sound good?”

“Grip wanted to reschedule the meeting.” Kevin considers the calendar on his phone. “He has a session to get to at the studio, so maybe we can talk about the deal when he has more time.”

Does Grip really have a session? Or is he just writing Kevin and this deal off? I try to read between the impassive lines of his face. I want him to give this a chance, despite the awful first impression Kevin made.

“You have a session?” I probe to see what he’ll reveal.

His mouth kicks to the left, which usually indicates he’s privately laughing at someone.

“Yeah, and don’t you have that thing to get to?” He stands, grab- bing his helmet and me, gently pulling me up by the elbow. “We both probably need to get out of here. Nice meeting you, Kev.”

So that’s