Illusive

I lifted my glass to my lips and drank some before saying, “Is that what you came here to tell me? Because I’m not really sure what to do with that, handsome. I’m as far from the kind of girl who settles for one-night-stands as a woman can get.”

“Yeah, I figured that. And no, that’s not what I came here to say. I actually wanted to apologise to you for acting like a prick today. I was in the middle of a shit of a day, and Josie knows how to push my buttons. I love her, but goddamn, she can push me to places that make me act like an asshole, and I’m sorry for that.”

“I can appreciate that. And I can totally understand how a bad day affects you because I’ve been having a few of those lately, too.” I paused before saying, “Apology accepted.”

He seemed surprised, and didn’t say anything more before finishing his drink.

“Do you always use your words so economically?” I asked, a little frustrated because I was the kind of woman who liked conversation.

He finished off his drink and then gave me his eyes. God, those eyes were full of secrets and depth and hurt. I was sure of it. Something about Griff screamed damage. Perhaps it was the way he watched you – as if he was always assessing a threat – or maybe it was the way he held himself back – not only his words, but he also held his body as if he didn’t want to get too close; didn’t want to get burned. “I’ve never met a woman like you. You’re like this odd combination of all woman – in the way you seem to suffer from female insecurities that, in my opinion, aren’t warranted, and in the way you have this sexy-as-fuck way you move and talk – but then you’ve got this other side where you speak with honesty in a way a lot of women I’ve known don’t,” he finally said, taking my breath away with his own honesty.

I smiled. “So that would be a “no” in answer to my previous question.”

The corners of his mouth lifted as if he was going to smile, but he didn’t. Instead, he simply said, “Correct. Sometimes I have a lot to say, but not often. Mostly, I find people aren’t interested so much in what other people have to say; they’re more interested in the sound of their own voice, and only want to hear yours if you’re agreeing with what they’re saying.”

I grinned. “For the record, handsome, I like the sound of your voice more than the sound of my own, so feel free to talk as much as you want around me. I’m all ears.”

He stared at me. “Fuck.”

I cocked my head to the side. “I’ll take that as a good ‘fuck’ rather than a bad one, shall I?”

He raked his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “I’m not sure yet, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

I could get used to him calling me that.

He’s already told you he doesn’t date.

“Why don’t you date?” The words were out before I could censor them. Damn alcohol.

He didn’t skip a beat. “Why don’t you do one-night stands?”

“Shit, you sure know how to turn a question back on a woman,” I noted. “But seriously, the commonly accepted thing for people to do is date, so what’s caused you to stop?”

“Is it the commonly accepted thing to do, or is that just what they sell you in the movies and TV?”

I frowned. “I’m pretty sure it’s the accepted thing.”

He shrugged. “In my world, nothing is commonly accepted except for the belief in each to his own. I don’t do things just because society tells me to. The world’s too fucked up to even begin to know what’s best for me. I say, figure out what shit works for you, then do that, and fuck what anyone else has to say about it.”

For a man of few words, he was giving me a lot tonight. And I never wanted him to stop speaking because I loved everything coming out of his mouth. Griff was the kind of man who, even if I didn’t agree with something he said, I could appreciate the thought and time he’d put into it. And I could respect the hell out of a man like that.

“I take it you’re not going to share with me why you don’t date, then?” I asked, still wanting to know his reason.

He reached for the bourbon and poured us both a drink - his neat, mine with diet coke. As he slid my glass to me, he said, “I’m more interested to know why you don’t like one-night stands.” He threw back half his drink and waited for me to speak.

I passed him the bottle of bourbon while I picked up my glass and the coke. “I need to sit for this conversation,” I said, and turned to walk into the living room.

I settled myself at one end of the couch and watched as he joined me, taking a seat at the other end. Keeping himself as far from me as he could. “Do you have family, Griff? I mean, I know you have your aunt, but do you have a family who love you and care for you and make you feel special?”

He blinked rapidly and sucked in a deep breath. When he put his drink to his mouth and downed what he had left, I figured I’d hit a nerve. “Not anymore,” he said, his voice hard, his body just as rigid.

Shit, I hadn’t expected that, but I figured he wasn’t the kind of man who would want me to dwell on his admission, so I carried on. “You did once, though?”

“Yes.”

I drank some of my drink, swallowing the alcohol and the shitty memories that reared their ugly heads. “I never have. Well, not unless you count the few years I had with my parents when I was younger, but I don’t count those years because I was too young to remember them, let alone for them to mean anything. All I had was the foster care system from the age of nine, and let me tell you, there wasn’t any love or care or being made to feel special in that system.”