Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,277

bag, take out the ring I’ve been carrying for the last week, and walk over to the counter where he’s still frying up heart disease in the form of meat product.

“Shiiiiiit.” He stretches the expletive out like a Slinky, obviously impressed as he takes it from my fingers. I want to take it back as soon as it leaves my hands, not because of how much it costs—though, damn, it cost a lot—it just feels like he’s holding my future in his big ol’ clumsy hands.

“If you get grease on the ring, I’m gonna—”

We hear the front door open, and Amir’s eyes go as round as plates. Bristol’s heels tap on the hardwood, the sound louder as she rounds the corner. Before I can take the ring back, Amir tosses it into the sugar canister.

“What the . . . ?” I smack the back of his head.

“I panicked!” He shrugs just as Bris enters the kitchen.

“What’s that smell?” She wrinkles her nose, distaste on her face.

She joins us at the counter, tipping up for a kiss. I try to think what acting-normal Grip would do . . . he would cup her face with both hands and kiss the hell out of her, so I do. She’s liquid against my chest and breathless by the time I’m done. She glances at Amir, smiling a little self-consciously even though he’s used to us.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the debate?” Bristol asks.

The conversation on race and mass incarceration between Iz and Clem Ford is tonight and being broadcast live from a nearby bookstore.

“Yeah.” I glance down at my narrow black slacks, gray button-up, fitted black leather jacket, and boots. “What? It looks busted?”

“No.” She frowns at her pantsuit, not even wrinkled after a full day of meetings. “The opposite—you look too good. I need to step up my game and change.”

She looks gorgeous. “You look gorgeous.”

“You have to say that.” But my compliment puts a smile on her face. “Are you going with us tonight, Amir?”

He meets my eyes over her head, and I silently shake my head and give him the finger-slitting-the-throat warning.

“Uh . . .” His eyes dart from her to me and back again. “Nah. I have. . . um . . .”

“Shit,” I offer helpfully. “He’s got shit to do tonight. Besides, the bookstore is only a few blocks away. We can easily walk. We’ll be fine.”

“There’ll be a lot of racist idiots there.” She glances uncertainly between the two of us.

“I said we’ll be fine.” I’m barely holding on to my patience now.

“You strapped, dawg?” Amir asks.

I lift my pant leg and show him the gun at my ankle.

“Is that really necessary?” The concern trebles in Bristol’s eyes once she sees the gun. “You know how I feel about guns.”

“And you know how I feel about not being able to protect you— not gonna happen. I have the license for it.” I drop the pant leg and turn to Amir. “Like I said, we’ll be fine walking.”

“It’s cold out there.” Bristol rubs her arms like she’s still standing on the sidewalk. “It’s December.”

“I’m the Cali dude,” I tease, “and I’m willing to walk in the cold, but you grew up here and are wimping out?”

“She’s right, though,” Amir says, poised to take the first bite of his sandwich. “It is cold.”

I point in the direction from which Bristol just came.

“Why don’t you take your heart attack on white bread and go back to your place?”

Bristol gives the sandwich a cautious glance. “What is that?”

“You never had bologna, Bris?” I ask.

“No.” She offers an investigative sniff. This I have to see.

“You probably wouldn’t like it,” I say casually. “It’s what we grew up on. We had to eat it in the hood—you know, us being poor and all, struggling to make ends meet. Right, Amir?”

He catches on immediately and jumps in.

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees. “Some nights this was all our moms could afford, but I understand, Bristol, if you don’t want to try—”

“Give it to me. I’ll try it,” she interrupts, stepping over to Amir and the sandwich in question. “I bet it’s . . . well . . . I’m sure it’s . . .”

Her voice dies when she comes face-to-face with the processed meat. Looking brave, she bites into it. She goes a little green for a second, like she might be sick, then she chews it quickly, determined not to ever let us know. Meanwhile, Amir has a coughing fit to disguise his laugh.