Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,219

about criminal justice reform, right? Dr. Hammond?”

“Right.” Even in the dim light, I see that Grip is pleased. “You remembered.”

“Of course. I’m sorry I haven’t read it yet. It’s on my Kindle, I’ve just been so busy lately. I’ll get to it.”

“Hey.” A frown pinches his brows the tiniest bit. “You don’t have to read it because I did. I don’t want you trying to be something you’re not. Who you already are is exactly who I need you to be.”

“I know.” But it still feels good to hear it. Grip remains the good guy his mother raised to be a great man, the one who never forgets where he came from, but he’s evolving. Maybe there’s this little corner of my heart afraid I’ll somehow get left behind, and his words go a long way to assure me I won’t.

“Good.” He looks at me for an extra few seconds, like he’s checking to make sure I believe him. “Anyway, Dr. Hammond is a guest professor at NYU this semester.”

I sit straight up in bed, grinning down at him lying on his side, propped on his elbow with his head resting in his hand.

“Grip, that’s amazing.”

“Yeah.” He grins back at me, his eyes carrying answering excitement. “It’s pretty dope. Reading his book opened my eyes and shifted my priorities in a lot of ways. It provoked me to not only do more, but to figure out what I want to do.”

“So, with you enrolled online, how does that work?” I ask. “I mean, do you like audit the class by video? Or teleconference?”

Grip’s smile falls away and he licks his lips, dropping his eyes to the sheets between us.

“It’s not set up like that.” He looks back at me, emotions wrestling in his eyes. “I think I’ll have to move to New York for the semester.”

Air rushes past my lips. How did that not occur to me? It makes sense that he would move to New York. I know Grip’s ambitions go far beyond the stage, beyond music. He wants to have an impact, and the more involved he becomes, the more he requires of himself.

“Wow.” Even knowing that, the thought of him living in New York for months shipwrecks me. For a moment I’m flotsam, inwardly adrift, flailing. I’m really excited for him, but I know my voice is dull when I speak.

“You should do that.” I nod, convincing myself as much as him. “I think that’s awesome.”

“The class is three days a week.” Even though I’m staring at the anxious tangle of fingers in my lap, I know Grip’s eyes don’t leave my face. “But it’s Monday, Wednesday, Friday, so just the weekend between.”

Not much time to fly back and forth between coasts.

“I’ll come back to LA, of course,” Grip continues. “And you can visit me in New York. I figure we’ll see each other four, five times a month or so, sometimes more.”

I’m a punctured tire, all the air hissing from me. The excitement I felt, I can’t sustain at the prospect of so little time with him for the next several months.

“Hey, I know it’s not great.” Grip props his chin in my lap and wraps a wide palm around my hip, warming me through the sheet. “I don’t have to go. Maybe I should reconsider and—”

“No.” I shake myself out of self-pity and lean down to frame his strong jaw and high cheekbones, the face of a king, between my hands. “It’s right. It’s good. You need to do this, and I want it for you. We’ll figure it out.”

Grip tucks his head into my waist, kissing my stomach through the sheet and running his hand over the bare skin of my back.

“I know things are crazy at Prodigy right now, and that means more responsibility,” he says. “Rhyson’s trusting you with so much. It’s everything you’ve worked for, and I’m happy for you.”

I angle my head, studying him. If there’s one thing I know, it’s when Grip wants something. He’s never held back from me, never left me wondering what he wanted from me, but now, I sense that he’s withholding something.

“What do you want?” I slide back down the headboard until we’re both lying down, facing one another. “From me? Grip, tell me what you want.”

Hesitation clouds his expression, and then he shutters his face altogether.

“Like you said.” He pushes the wild tumble of hair back from my face. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Tell me what you want.” I brush my thumb over the