Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,30

I met the man yesterday. But in my defense,

we’ve squeezed weeks of conversation into the last two days. Still, that doesn’t excuse the jealousy gnawing my insides. When I add that to the lingering hurt from my argument with Rhyson, it makes it impossible for me to enjoy myself.

“Are we gonna dance or just hold up the bar all night?” Jimmi moves her shoulders and ass to the Drake song in Grip’s rotation.

“Sorry. I’m not a very good dancer.” I shrug, not really sorry. “And I’m kind of tired.”

And horny.

My midterms took it out of me. The internship essay took it out of me. This trip has taken it out of me. I need a good drink and a good lay, in that order. I don’t know Jimmi well enough to confess it. She’d probably hook me up with some stranger, and that isn’t what I want.

That isn’t who I want.

I glance over at the booth where Grip has been all night, keeping the music going.

I’m not letting myself go there. I purposely look away, only to clash eyes with some frat looking guy a few feet away eye fucking me. He flashes me a too-white smile. That smile would glow in the dark. I don’t return it, but deliberately look away, hoping he gets the message.

The message being no.

“I love this song,” Jimmi says. “Grip has great mixes.”

“Yeah, he does.” I sip my Grey Goose, waiting for the buzz that will numb the hurt Rhyson inflicted. Something to take the edge off this sexy itch I haven’t scratched in months.

Months?

Well, damn. No wonder I’m horny.

“So what do you think of him?” Jimmi asks. I obviously missed something.

“Huh? Sorry.” I set my hurt feelings and needy libido aside long enough to focus on Jimmi’s pretty face. “Who? What do I think of who?”

“Grip.” Jimmi sneaks me a curious glance. “All girls have thoughts about Grip when they first meet him.”

“Um . . .he’s nice?” I set my drink down and turn my stool to face the wall of bottles behind the bar. “He’s my brother’s best friend. That about sums it up.”

“Oh, the two of them together.” Jimmi fans herself. “They’ve been double trouble since high school.”

She touches my arm, her eyes contrite.

“I’m sorry. That’s your brother I’m talking about. Awkward.” She gives my hand a reassuring pat. “Rhyson’s nowhere near as bad as Grip, though.”

“As bad?” I swirl the contents of my glass without looking at her. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Grip goes through girls like it’s nothing.” Jimmi lets out a husky laugh. “They’re disposable.”

“I can imagine,” I answer weakly. She’s only echoing what Rhyson already told me. The guy I talked to for hours yesterday doesn’t match the one they’re describing, but they know him better than I do. “But I heard he makes it worth their while.” Jimmi wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “One of my girls got with him. She says he’s hung like you wouldn’t believe.”

Not what my vagina needs to hear right now. I cross my legs and squirm in my seat, seeking some friction, some release. The alcohol is kicking in, and it only fires the need in me. I imagine all those inches stretching me and … I need to rub up against something.

“Are you not into Black guys?” Jimmi scrunches her nose. “I mean, I have some friends who aren’t. I don’t care. I’d screw a hole in the wall if it could make me come.”

“Wow. That’s a . . .colorful way to say it. No, I’ve never dated a Black guy, but I guess I just never had the opportunity.” I shrug. “I don’t really care.”

Especially if he looked like Grip. I’d take green Grip. Pink Grip. Red Grip. If Grip were a bag of Skittles, I’d eat every one.

“Oh.” Jimmi claps excitedly. “Grip’s gonna perform.”

“He is?” I perk up, spinning around on my stool. Sure enough, he’s on stage with a mic. Under the lights, he seems even taller, even broader.

“What’s good?” Grip spreads his smile around the club. “I don’t get to do this as much as I’d like, but they’re gonna let me spit a few bars for you tonight.”

The cheering and whistles and catcalls explode from the audience.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” Grip chuckles and nods to the drummer in the corner. “Lil’ somethin’ for you.”

I wasn’t lying when I told Grip I don’t listen to rap much. I don’t hate it. I’ve just always been indifferent. I can’t make out half of what they’re