Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,27

closeted in a studio all day?”

The girl in the mirror mocks me with her smoky eyes. She knows as well as I do that I wouldn’t have traded today for anything. It felt like old times. Rhyson may have forgotten, but I used to do my home- work outside his rehearsal room. I loved hearing my brother play, replaying a passage until it was perfect. That hasn’t changed. I may not make music, but I love it. My parents may manage musicians now, but they were both brilliant musicians when they were younger. Uncle Grady, too. I told Grip I was an ugly duckling in my family. Maybe I’m not ugly, but I’m certainly the odd man out.

My eyes drop to the shadowy cleft between my breasts. Correction. Odd woman out.

I slip back into the studio unnoticed, and my heart skips a stupid beat when I see Grip at the piano with Rhyson. Both of their faces, which are so different but so handsome, wear matching frowns of concentration.

“Did you try it here?” Grip points to a place on the pad Rhyson has been scribbling on all day.

“Yeah.” Rhyson chews on the end of his pencil. “But it’s a major third.”

“Ahhhh.” Grip nods since that apparently holds significance to him that I don’t grasp. “I see.”

Neither of them looks up when I step farther into the room, keeping their eyes trained on the pad.

“Oh!” Grip’s face lights up. He grabs Rhyson’s pencil and music pad, writing furiously, a wide smile spreading over his face. “What about that?”

Rhyson takes the pad, frowning for a few silent moments before laughing and slapping Grip on the back.

“That does it.” Rhyson’s shoulders slump with his relief. “Man, thanks. I’ve been looking at it too long. I didn’t even see what was right in front of me.”

“Glad I could help.” Grip’s expression shifts, amusement twitching his lips. “Hey, did that guy send you his demo or mixtape or whatever? The guy from Grady’s class?”

“That dude.” Rhyson grimaces and then shifts into an odd British accent. “I was gonna listen to that, but then I just carried on living my life.”

Huh?

“That’s one of your goofy ass movie quotes, isn’t it?” Grip shakes his head, his grin teasing Rhyson. “Which one?”

“Russel Brand in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. You’d like that one.” “That’s what you said about Little Nicky.”

“Okay.” Chagrin wrinkles Rhyson’s expression. “Upon further consideration, that was an Adam Sandler miss, I admit.”

“I’ve never known anyone as obsessed with movies as you. You got a quote for every day of the week.”

Really? I don’t remember Rhyson ever watching movies. He never had time. It strikes me—again—how little I know this version of my twin brother. Grady, Grip, and Jimmi seem to all know more about him than I do. Maybe because they’re his family now.

“Yeah. You know that’s how I decompress.” Rhyson returns his attention to the music pad, halfway gone already.

“I can think of several ways to decompress that . . .”

Whatever Grip planned to say goes unsaid when he catches sight of me. His eyes scroll over my body in a quick assessment and then go back up and down for slow seconds. When he finally reaches my face, his eyes burn into mine. His mouth falls open just the tiniest bit, and in that small space between his full lips, I see his tongue dart out for a quick swipe. Like he wants a taste of something. Like he wants a taste of me. It’s a nanosecond, but it’s real, and I see it before he stashes it away and schools his face into the indifference he showed me in the kitchen this morning.

“Bris, wow.” Rhyson’s brows disappear under his messy fall of dark hair. “You look . . .wow. Grip, you’ll have to protect my little sister at the club tonight.”

I saunter closer, my Louboutins adding another inch or so to my confidence and some sway to my hips.

“Maybe I don’t want to be protected.” I laugh at the nauseous look on Rhyson’s face. “This is my spring break, brother, and I am all grown up. I’ve been in this studio all day working on my essay. I’m ready to be hair down, bottles up, and I’m glad you won’t be there cramping my style.”

“You finished?” Grip asks, speaking for the first time. “The application?”

“Yeah.” We stare at one another for a few seconds before I untangle our eyes. The leftover heat in his gaze is still too hot for me. “I’ll read over