Shame on You

“What did I do?” Uncle Wally whines.

“Both of you know damn well what you did. Anyone care to tell me why they felt the need to hire Griffin to help me on your bail-jumping case?” I ask, crossing my arms in front of me and tapping my foot.

Aunt Janet pipes up. “Griffin? I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks. How is he?”

“You’re not helping,” I tell her through clenched teeth.

“Oh, what’s the big deal? I needed extra help and Griffin needed work,” my dad says with a shrug as he slides down the bench seat and reaches for the Crock-Pot lid.

“The big deal?” I argue, smacking his hand away as he gives me a dirty look. “The big deal is that I can’t work with him. He’s cocky and manipulative and annoying.”

“You’re forgetting handsome, persistent, and a great kisser.”

I jump in surprise and a squeak flies out of my mouth when I hear Griffin’s voice behind me.

“Kennedy, you kissed Griffin?” Aunt Janet asks excitedly.

“Technically, I kissed her. But she was an equal participant,” Griffin replies.

I hear my aunt mutter, “It’s about time,” under her breath and I turn around to give him a scathing look for airing this dirty laundry in front of my family. As soon as I look at him though, I’m reminded of that stupid kiss and dammit if I don’t want to haul him off behind the bushes and do it again.

“So are you guys dating now?” my father asks with a smile as he quickly shovels in a few mouthfuls of dip.

Turning away from Griffin’s smiling face, I take a page out of Meadow’s handbook and stomp angrily over to the end of the table. I slam the lid back down on the Crock-Pot, narrowly missing my father’s fingers.

“Heeeeeeey!” he complains as I snatch the Crock-Pot up from the table and shove it under my arm.

“NO DIP FOR YOU!” I whirl around and storm toward the house.

“If you guys are dating now, you can just split the finder’s fee on McFadden, right?” Uncle Wally shouts to me.

I hear Griffin’s chuckle as I throw open the door to my father’s house and go inside.

GD family.





CHAPTER 11




I pace angrily back and forth in my father’s kitchen, muttering to myself.

“Stupid man and his stupid infuriating grin. Stupid family. Stupid me for thinking about that damn kiss…”

“Can we talk, or do you need a minute?” Griffin asks as I turn and see him lounging against the doorway with a smile on his face.

“Why are you here?”

He pushes off the wall and walks over to me in the middle of the kitchen. Reaching up with one hand, he brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes with his fingertips and I have to fight the urge not to shiver when his fingers graze the skin of my forehead. I notice something out of the corner of my eye though and I grab his hand and hold it in front of my face.

“Why are your knuckles bruised?” I demand as I stare at the red, swollen area and lightly run my thumb over it.

He shrugs and pulls his hand out of my grasp. “Oh, you know. Ran into a door or something. I don’t remember.”

It occurs to me that Alex gave me the same answer when I asked him what happened to his face.

“Griffin, what did you do?” I demand.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers quickly.

Oh my God. He punched Alex in the face. Why did he punch Alex in the face now? I told him the other night about Alex being a deadbeat dad and then this morning, Alex suddenly shows up at my house with a shiner, wanting to spend time with the girls. Did he seriously go to Alex’s apartment and beat him up for me? For the girls? This should piss me off. Alex should want to spend time with his own daughters without needing his face rearranged to do it. It doesn’t piss me off though; it melts my frozen heart.

“Griffin,” I whisper softly, looking up into his face.

“Did he pick the girls up?” he asks.

I nod in response, unable to speak.

“Good.”

He brings his hand up and cups my cheek in his palm, rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth against the side of my face, staring at my mouth. I feel my insides melting into a puddle of goo and I want him to kiss me so badly I feel like I’m going to scream if he doesn’t do it already.

As he eases his head down to me, I start to close my eyes in anticipation of his lips against mine. Then, my stupid brain has to interfere and I remember what happened last night. It was all fun and games until the kiss was over.

Putting both of my hands flat against his chest, I shove him away angrily and take a few steps back.

“No. No, no, no. You don’t get to kiss me again. Not after that crap last night,” I tell him angrily.

“Crap? I thought that kiss was pretty amazing. Crap? Really?” he asks again in shock.

How can a man this good-looking be so dense?