Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,268

the movies or the songs or getting the jokes or knowing the things that are such a part of the community that means so much to you.”

“Hmmm. What else?”

“She said I was a fantasy, a high you’d come down from, and then you would want something real, a woman like Qwest, to cure your jungle fever.”

A startled laugh erupts from Grip.

“She actually said jungle fever? Who says that? Damn, that’s some ’90s Spike Lee shit. I’m embarrassed for her.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Babe, it kind of is.” The short-lived humor fades from his expression. “Actually, what’s not funny is that you bought into it and let it come between us. You’re it for me, Bris. You know that.”

“I do know that. I’m sorry I was an idiot.”

He softens his voice. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time.” His hands coast down my arms, heating my skin along the way before he takes my hands between his.

Anger stirs anew when I consider the stunt Angie Black pulled.

“I still say Angie shouldn’t get away with this completely.

Can’t I—”

“She didn’t.” Grip’s full lips thin into a severe line. “I blasted her ass when we got off the phone.”

“You did?” I hope he gave it to her good, though I would have enjoyed peeling her skin off myself.

“I did, and I talked to her producer about it. He was apologetic and said he hadn’t known she planned to go there. They’re suspending her for two weeks.” He squeezes my hands. “It wasn’t that I didn’t think she needed somebody’s foot up her ass, I just didn’t want it to be yours.”

He was protecting me. I feel worse and better at the same time. I lean up, whispering my regret to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Baby, it’s okay. Just don’t do that shit again.” He grins and pushes the hair back from my face. “Let’s go home.”

“Are we making it permanent now?” The half-joking question slips past my lips on a fractured breath and a broken laugh. “Is New York home?”

Grip brushes his thumb over my mouth, dipping his finger into the bow of my top lip, pressing against the bottom until he’s touching my teeth and tongue. His eyes rest hot and heavy and possessive on my mouth before he captures my eyes with his, making sure he has my attention.

“I’m your home, Bristol.”

He’s so certain. He never wavers in his love for me, in his certainty that we belong together no matter what anyone ever says. I’m ashamed again that I let Jade’s words, Angie’s criticisms, and Qwest just being Qwest make me doubt even a little bit.

“And you’re mine,” he adds.

“You better believe it,” I agree with a smile. “But speaking of our current home, aren’t you supposed to be in New York? In class?”

“I skipped.”

I know how much he loves Dr. Hammond’s class and what this time means to him. That he would miss that class speaks volumes.

“You skipped class?” I ask, my mouth hanging open.

He’s told me a hundred—a thousand times how much he loves me, but that girl who moped around a deserted mansion while her family traveled the world without her, the one who crouched beyond her brother’s rehearsal room listening to the magic of his music, looking for a way in, she still treasures being the most important thing to someone as incredible as Grip.

“You came for me.” I cup his jaw, my voice and my heart softening the longer we’re together.

Grip cups my face, too, his rough palm a welcome abrasion, his eyes intent.

“I’ll always come for you. You should know that by now.” He bends to press our foreheads together, his words misting my lips. “I have no pride when it comes to you, to this. I’ll chase you anywhere.”

I don’t have words for how secure and completely adored that makes me feel, so I don’t speak. I shift my head, my lips clinging to his, just for a moment. I deepen the heated contact of our mouths until our tongues move in tandem, tangling, wrestling, tasting.

“Don’t run from me again.” He breathes the words into my mouth and his fingers clench in my hair. Though just a whisper, they arrest me, an imperative that grabs me by the heart.

Chapter 16

Grip

THERE’S a certain sense of rightness seeing Jade in the studio, not the way she used to come, her eyes lit with a hidden jealousy for my success, a nurtured resentment that the shot I got—the scholarship to a performing arts school—could have been hers. She has her