Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,288

her about it when fat tears slip over her cheeks.

Holy shit. I can’t do Bristol tears under any circumstances, even joyous occasions.

“Babe, don’t cry.” I swipe a thumb over her cheekbone and cup her chin. “You’re gonna give me a complex.”

“How can I not . . . you just . . .”

She gives up, shaking her head and dropping her lashes into the wetness gathered under her eyes. Her forehead falls to rest against mine, and we just sit there for a few seconds. Her hand slides around my neck and she kisses my jaw, sniffing and blinking rapidly against my face. I turn my head to look at her and she stares back at me, her silvery eyes as clear as crystal, as certain as the sunrise.

“You just gonna leave a brother hanging like this?” I ask, my voice husky with emotion.

Her chuckle breezes over my lips, and she sits up straight with a red-tipped nose and damp cheeks.

“I heard you say something about engagement sex,” Bristol says. “But I haven’t heard an actual proposal.”

My smile wavers and then drops. I can’t lighten this moment any more. It has more weight than anything I’ve ever done, and it deserves more than I’ve ever given anything.

“Bristol, I’ve loved you so long, my heart doesn’t remember life before you. For the last decade, you’ve been the first thing I think about and the last thought in my head.” I proffer the ring. “Would you do me the honor of forever? Will you marry me?”

She swallows and fresh tears fill her eyes, but she blinks and bites her lip as if she’s trying to keep it together.

“I aspire to be many things,” she finally says, “but there is nothing I will ever do that will make me prouder than being your wife.”

When she puts it that way, knowing her ambitions and her drive, to hear her esteem our relationship above all else as we start our life together humbles me. If I wasn’t already on my knees, that would have brought me to them. I take her hand and slip the ring onto her finger.

Chapter 22

Grip

“THERE IS NOT enough coffee in the world for this week.” Callie looks up from the corner of Iz’s desk she has commandeered for her stack of papers.

“I told you to focus on finals—grading mine and taking your own.” Iz studies her over the rims of his glasses. “Grip and I have this proposal under control.”

“Well, don’t you have finals, too?” Callie asks me.

“I do.” I flash her a grin. “But this is the only class I’m taking this semester. Next semester, I go back online and home to LA.”

Callie tosses her pen down, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs.

“Wait. Did you move to New York just for Iz’s class?” she asks.

Iz and I have negotiated a tentative détente, but it’s still galling that I moved across the country to learn from a guy who thinks I shouldn’t be with Bristol. It’s narrow-minded, and it makes me feel stupid for coming here, but . . . the guy is a genius, and this proposal we’re working on is something I could only dream of being a part of before I met him.

“You could say that,” I mumble, looking back to the pages I’ve been marking up. “So, are we set on the college campus tour?”

“Uh, yeah.” Iz sounds about as uncomfortable with Callie’s question as I am. “You need to run this schedule by your team or whatever?”

“By Bristol,” I say deliberately, looking up to meet his eyes. “She manages everything, but this far out, we should be able to accommodate these dates.”

“And just to be clear,” Callie says, propping an elbow on the desk and leaning forward, “you’re going to college campuses all over the country talking about this community bail fund?”

“And the community justice defense initiative,” Iz adds. “For those who have been wrongfully accused or convicted and can’t afford quality legal representation.”

“And Grip will perform at each stop?” Callie asks.

“Yeah, a few songs, not a full concert,” I clarify. “And I’ll talk about the program. We want to mobilize the next generation around these issues, raise awareness, recruit volunteers.”

“This will slay.” Callie grins and swings her eager look to Iz. “Where do I sign up?”

“Say . . . huh?” Panic fills Iz’s eyes for a moment. You wouldn’t expect a woman who barely clears five feet to scare the living shit out of a guy as big and imposing as Iz,