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“You bought me a horse?” “He’s sorta broken.” He bought me a horse.
That ass in a pair of jeans? The tattooed forearm porn he’s constantly flashing? Dark hair and equally dark eyes and all the meaning-filled glares? Wet dreams are made of him.
“If your ass looks better in jeans or those tights you wore to play football. There was a side-by-side photo and everything.” I stop, forcing a smirk off my face. This girl cracks me up. “And what did the 82% choose?” She grins. “Jeans. Definitely jeans.”
“Call me Griffy again, and I’ll spank you like the little brat that you are.”
Protecting myself doesn’t mean settling.
“Age is just a number, little Dalca. And the only number that counts is eight.” She points over to where Griffin stands, panting and glowing under the scorching sun. “Because that’s how many abs I can count on him.”
“I like all your words, Griffin. It’s what you don’t say that kills me.”
“We all do the best we can with what we’ve got. Trauma is a tricky bitch,”
I hear his signature rumble, and I sigh. My eyes fluttering shut when I hear him growl, “Fuck it.”
“I thought you looked like you were supposed to be mine.”
The corners of her heart-shaped lips tip up as she smirks in my direction and shrugs lightly. “I could be wetter.”
Sex with Griffin Sinclaire was filthy and romantic all at once.
we spend the morning sinking into each other. Until Tripod finally wakes up and starts leaping through the covers like we’re playing a really fun game. Asshole dog.
“Good girl. You suck me so well.”
I’m smart enough to know there’s something holding him back, something he’s embarrassed about. Some demon from his past. But his demons don’t scare me. They call to my own.
“You two Neanderthals are best friends. Don’t be stupid about this. I’ll see you both at family dinner tonight.”
You deserve to be happy, and I can’t be the only thing that does that for you. I don’t want to be your antidote. I want to be your reason. The reason you put the work in.”
“Hey, Dad? Do you still have the names of those rehab programs you looked into?” This shit ends here and now. Because I’ve never had a better reason.
The sign reads Wildflower Racehorse Rescue.
A rancher with huge banks of windows looking out over the valley that bursts with wildflowers every summer. She told me it was a waste of a field. But I reminded her of all the incredible things those wildflowers can do.
My girl. My reason. My Wildflower. Forever.
