Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(14)

“You should have food,” he said. “I can make quesadillas. You okay with that?”

Griffin was actually a pretty good cook. I sniffled. “Don’t go to the trouble.”

“Hey, I’m starving,” he said. “And it’s easy. It’s not trouble.”

I looked at the balled up pieces of toilet paper in my hands. “Okay,” I said in a small voice.

He hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen. “Look, doll.” He stopped. “Leigh, I mean.” He rubbed his head again. “I, um, I’m really sorry about your friend. And I don’t want you to be miserable here with me. No matter what happened in the past, I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll always do whatever I can to keep you safe, no matter what.”

I raised my gaze to meet his.

He looked away. “It’s just that what happened... What you did...”

I shut my eyes. “You said no blaming.”

“I wish it didn’t bother me so much,” he said. “I really do.”





Chapter Four


Griffin put on a movie while we ate. We sat awkwardly on opposite sides of his couch. He didn’t have any other furniture in the living room. Maybe that was why it looked so spacious. There was very little in it.

I couldn’t really concentrate on the movie. I could only think about how screwed up my life had become in a matter of hours. Yesterday, I was a normal college student, eagerly awaiting graduation. Today, everything was different. My best friend had been shot in front of me. I was here in this apartment with my ex-boyfriend, who I’d never really gotten over. Not even a little bit.

And he hated me.

Oh, and there was the fact that some crazy guy was out there trying to kill me.

Maybe I was simply going to have to get used to people chasing me. Maybe there was no way around it.

The movie was one of those superhero ones—the ones with all the sequels. Griffin had all of them. When one finished, he put the next one in.

We perched on the couch together, stiff and nervous, for hours and hours. And we didn’t talk.

It had worked for one day, anyhow, but I didn’t think we could watch movies for two weeks.

Eventually, it was dark outside, and I started yawning.

Griffin noticed. “You tired?”

“A little,” I said.

“Yeah, I guess you’ve been through a lot today,” he said. “He, um, he shot her right in front of you?”

I nodded.

“That’s hard,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’ve seen things like that before,” I said. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah. You’re tough.” He paused. “Um, you can sleep in the bedroom if you’re ready to go to bed.”

His bed? The bed where he slept with the girl who shaved herself in his shower? I didn’t think so. I shook my head. “Don’t be silly. I’m not going to take your bed. I can sleep on the couch.”

“No, you’re my guest. I insist.”

“I don’t want to sleep in your bed. It would be too...” I looked away.

He sighed. “I don’t have extra sheets. If you sleep out here, all I can give you is a blanket.”

“That’s fine,” I said. I really didn’t care.

He drew a hand over his face. “God. This is so awkward.”

“Maybe there’s someplace else I could stay.”

“No,” he said. “There isn’t.”

“What about Sloane and... whatever the guy’s name is? You said they live in Morgantown, right?”

“I can’t ask them to do that.”

“Fine,” I said. I started to dig through my clothes, looking for something to sleep in. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I hadn’t brought any pajamas. I guess that hadn’t been high on my priority list when I was running from Marcel. I set the back pack down.

“What were you looking for?”

“Something to sleep in.” All I had were jeans and fitted shirts. I didn’t even have something I could use as pajamas. “I didn’t bring anything. But it’s not a big deal. I can sleep in my clothes.”

“You can borrow a shirt,” he said.

I bit my lip. I used to sleep in Griffin’s shirts. They were big and comfortable, and they smelled like him. I remembered how happy I used to be, crawling into bed with him every night, snuggling close to his hard, warm body.

“Is that weird?” he said. “I was only trying to be nice.”

I gazed into his eyes. “What happened to us, Griffin?”

“Jesus, doll.” He walked away from me. “You know what f*cking happened.” He ducked into his bedroom and came out with a shirt. He threw it at me.

I caught it.

“Go change,” he said. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

I almost didn’t put on the shirt. But it was freshly laundered, and it didn’t have Griffin’s raw, male scent. It only smelled like detergent. So I put it on and left the bathroom.

He looked up from the couch, and when his gaze settled on me, I realized how bare my legs were. Griffin’s shirt just barely covered my butt. Suddenly, I felt exposed and vulnerable.