Minute by Minute (Games & Diversions #3) Read online

  The accusation makes Griff’s teeth clench beneath his razor-thin jaw.

  He glares back at Foxx, and those green eyes of his turn dull, dimming by three muted shades under the hospital corridor’s bright fluorescent lighting.

  The knot forming under his eye grows more pronounced, and his normally tanned skin pales, emphasizing the olive in his irises.

  He only says three words.

  “Fuck you, Foxx.”

  The air grows still… until, abruptly, Griff spins, giving Foxx his ass to kiss as he deliberately turns his back on the confrontation.

  He walks away…

  But I don’t.

  Instead, I move nearer, regarding a still-gaping Kat—a Kat whose inability to keep a cool head has prompted her fiancé to lose his.

  “Look, I don’t owe you any explanations, Kat,” I assert. I step in closer, lowering my voice. “But while we’re at it, don’t you think you have a little explaining to do yourself?”

  I glance knowingly at Foxx, provoking a small gasp from Kat.

  “Exactly. So while you’re out here pointing fingers, I suggest you turn and point one at yourself. I’m leaving…”

  I take a step backwards, but Kat lunges for me.

  “Where are you going?”

  I step out of her reach. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back to visit Ana later.”

  “So will I.”

  “Fine. Try not to be here when I do.”

  I turn my back on Kat, half-expecting her to grab me again. But she doesn’t, and I keep storming towards the end of the hall, passing a stiff and wary Foxx who only glares in my direction.

  Griff stands a few feet away, and I can see the shock on his face when I stop in front of him. I lean into his body, suddenly feeling the need to be grounded.

  My voice is low; I speak so softly that only he can hear me.

  “Can we talk outside?”

  I can barely get the words out.

  What was meant as a whisper comes out as a mumble, and my hands are shaking so badly that they start to fumble as they cling desperately to the cuffs of my shirtsleeves.

  Surprisingly… I find myself still reeling from the fight.

  But Lukas seems unfazed. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink.

  “Of course we can,” he says.

  Then he places a warm, solid hand on the small of my back. He shoots an indiscernible look at Foxx before leading me out of the hall and into the lobby.

  Apprehension throws my stomach into knots as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.

  He’s waiting, and I’m terrified of the question I have to ask him.

  Fuck.

  This isn’t going to be easy. It’s actually going to be the hardest thing I’ve done in years but right now… I literally don’t have a choice.

  Griff’s one of the last things I have to hold onto, and as much as it hurts to admit, some small part of me needs him.

  For now, at least…

  I glance hesitantly at his serious face, trying to fortify my newly weak backbone.

  “Lukas, can you…” I grit my teeth. “Can you drop me off at the Marriott? After what just happened… it looks like I’m going to need another place to stay.”

  His dark brows draw tightly together.

  “What about your things?” he asks. His voice is subdued—somber. “They’re at Foxx’s and Kat’s place, right?”

  I nod reluctantly.

  “Yeah. Unfortunately. I’m going to have to send for them later.”

  I peek down at what clothing I have left, a mismatched outfit—half-Lukas, half-me. I shuffle awkwardly in Lukas’s borrowed sandals.

  “I can’t go back there,” I continue. “Not now… Not after this.”

  I don’t know what I expect from Griff, but it’s not quite this.

  He nods once, his lower lip and jaw set into a straight line that adds a silent gravity to his chiseled face.

  He reaches for my hanging hand.

  “Come on.”

  At that, he turns. We drop by Ana’s room for a quick good-bye… and I follow Lukas, dumbfounded, as he cuts a path through the hospital lobby, steering me straight from its doors and into the parking lot outside.

  His fingers lock with mine, lacing around my fingertips to swallow my diminutive hand.

  My palm feels so tiny compared to his.

  I stare at the line of him as we walk, suddenly hyper-aware of his considerable size—the length of his taut legs, the breadth of his strong back.

  In simple blue jeans and a white t-shirt, he is more god than he is man, his perfect posture and stature giving him the appearance of an all-encompassing Adonis.

  Foxx’s punch should have laid him flat, but it barely left a mark.

  Griff is closer to a fantasy than to reality, bordering on ethereal instead of human.

  It’s a humbling experience just being next to him.

  Is he even aware of the effect he has on women? The effect he has on me?

  He guides me to the door of his black Audi, opening and watching me enter its passenger side before circling around towards the driver’s.

  He climbs behind the wheel, not saying a word, and then we peel off, leaving the hospital grounds and a presumably still fuming Kat in a virtual trail of dust.

  Good fucking riddance.

  I turn my back to the scene behind us, and the ice-cold relief I’d been waiting for covers my body, cooling my heated skin.

  But the feeling is only temporary.

  As we hit the highway, the problems that I am riding away from disappear in the distance, and those I have ahead of me come fully into view.

  What am I doing? Where am I going to stay?

  What’s going to happen to Kat and me? And why have I dragged Lukas into this fight?

  He and I have never struggled for words with one another. If anything, we struggled to remain quiet around each other.

  But as we travel further and further away from Tampa General, our silence isn’t just complete; it’s uncomfortable.

  We cruise quietly in Lukas’s car, traversing tensely across the tawny sun that sets on the waterside city of Tampa.

  The downtown streetlights flash an amber pattern across our blackened windows as we pass them in quick succession.

  Twinkle.

  Twinkle.

  Twinkle.

  Each light, to me, is a heavenly burst against the twilight sky; I count them one-by-one like stars, choosing to focus on each intermittent glow beaming back at me instead of this.

  The silence. The darkness. The quicksand.

  Have they followed me?

  I cough dryly.

  My throat is scratchy, my mouth—arid.

  The taste on my tongue is odd, and the sudden whir of police sirens in the distance only intensifies the drought beneath my breast.

  “Elena.”

  I blink—confused.

  “Elena.” Stronger this time.

  I look over and find Lukas, still at the steering wheel.

  He’s talking to me.

  “You ok?” he asks.

  I inhale deeply. “No, I’m not… Who would do such a horrible thing?” I say softly.

  He shifts his gaze back to the road, his green eyes narrowing at the street ahead. He won’t look at my face, and I realize that while this question only evokes sorrow from my side of the car, on his—it evokes rage.

  A palpable rage.

  An unsettling rage.

  “I have some thoughts,” he answers. “But I don’t want to jump the gun. I promise you… I will find out who’s behind this and take care of it.”

  “You talked to the cops, right?”

  “They know everything I know.”

  “And what do you know?”

  Lukas pauses, stopping the car at the closest red light.

  Ferocity begins to creep into his face, hardening his gorgeous features.

  His jaw tightens.

  “I know that whoever did this is dead when
I get my hands on them.”

  The light turns green, and I am jerked back into my seat before I can respond.

  I turn my face towards the window once more, concentrating back on the city lights until every sky-high fire on the horizon fades from my view.

  Ace Up Your Sleeve

  You can’t cheat if there are no rules.

  ― Lauren Oliver

  DAY 1—8:26PM

  Tampa City Streets

  LUKAS

  The lights of yet another high-rise disappear into the distance.

  For a town as southern as Tampa, this Florida coastline city sure doesn’t have the “hospitality” bit down.

  Three “No, sir’s,” five “Sorry’s” and two “We apologize’s” later, and Elena and I are back on the hunt for another hotel.

  Our eleventh of the night ended in an “Our sincerest apologies,” and suddenly that first chuckle we shared outside the first inn just isn’t quite funny anymore.

  The Marriott was booked.

  So was the Embassy Suites, the Sheraton—even the Motel 6… though I did shiver when I had to call that one.

  Every stay-in—every half decent hotel within ten miles of Tampa General—booked… because some Sunshine, Sunset—whatever the hell—fucking festival is in town.

  So much for “leaving the light on” as the slogan says.

  Two hours later, and we still can’t catch a break.

  The night grows longer than the day, and suddenly the stifling air in my Audi doesn’t feel so awful, the turmoil inside of my tired brain taking a relapse as we take a detour that puts us past my house.

  I barely notice the neighborhood… until I look over at Elena.

  Her arms are tucked in close to her body, her bare legs pulled up into the cushion of her seat.

  Sweat tinges the collar of her white shirt, and small smatters of it plaster the blonde hair across her brow.

  She’s asleep… and she looks beautiful.

  With one look at her, I know that I can’t just leave her at some hotel. Though, I should… and I know why…

  Because I will fuck up her entire life… like the life of every woman that came before her.

  And with all the secrets I’ve held that led to Ana’s accident, I’ve already gotten a good goddamned head start…

  Apart from dealing with the crazy fucker that hurt Ana, I should be leaving Elena alone.

  She’s obviously got enough on her plate, and what is there doesn’t need to involve me in the least…

  Or does it?

  Just days ago, I interrupted her business plans when I thought she was on a date, proceeded to crash her rendezvous when I’d heard that she’d gone out.

  At that moment in the restaurant just yesterday, flying to Memphis to see her meant everything to me; I was willing to drop it all to have her to myself.

  And now that I do have her, the circumstances couldn’t be worse, the timing to do all the things I’d dreamed about proving to be fucked up beyond belief.

  Even now I have to look away from her, suppressing the stirrings of a hard-on while she sleeps tensely in the passenger seat, her long legs crossed, her pretty mouth pressed into a silent line.

  Better to leave it alone.

  Better to leave her alone.

  An unfamiliar image jumps unexpectedly into my head. My imagination starts playing tricks on me, and I see images that are not really there.

  I see myself wrapped around Elena’s petite body. Hugging her, holding her—comforting her.

  Hmph. Comfort.

  I wanted to comfort her earlier.

  I wanted to say or do anything that would ease the pain.

  Such fucking pain.

  I could feel it shooting from her skin like sparks, stabbing me like a thousand little darts.

  And I couldn’t do anything.

  I couldn’t kiss her. I couldn’t hold her. I didn’t even know where to begin.

  Comfort. Jesus. I’ve never even learned the word.

  In all of my twenty-eight years of living, comfort, to me, has been nothing but that—a word.

  Just a term.

  Seven letters, two syllables—strung together randomly and placed in the dictionary.

  I never felt it. Never experienced it. Never dispensed it.

  I can provide a listening ear; I might even offer you a helping hand…

  But I’ve never been anyone’s shoulder to cry on.

  Just wasn’t me.

  I wasn’t raised that way… and my best friends could accept that.

  The women in my life…?

  Ah, the women.

  Well, I never let them get close enough to even see—never let them come near enough to tell or know that I was an incomplete body, a damned consolidation of scattered limbs without shoulders on which to weep or careful hands with which to wipe away tears.

  Worked for me.

  The less they knew… the better.

  Better for them. Better for me.

  And definitely better for Elena.

  If she even thought that I might be responsible for what happened to Ana…

  Hell, I can’t even imagine it.

  I ride silently on the suburban streets, one hand on the wheel—staring out at the road—wondering about comfort.

  How long does it take to lose it? How long to get it back?

  I question it all. Not for myself… but for Elena.

  I was born without comfort. Can’t miss what you never had. But I wonder if she can ever recover her sense of it.

  Will things ever feel comfortable to her again after this?

  Resting against the leather steering wheel, my watch abruptly beeps nine, and I decide to make a U-turn, my eyes shamelessly assessing Elena, gazing for God knows how long at her while I finally come to a decision.

  She’ll be pissed.

  But better angry than dead… I say.

  ***

  DAY 2—8:03AM

  Casa de Griffin

  ELENA

  Splat.

  Crumple. Crumple.

  “Shit!”

  The sounds wake me up from my sleep. My sleep?

  Goddammit, I fell asleep!

  The soft smell of leather surrounds me, and I sit up, wondering where the fuck I am. I touch the seat beneath me with frantic hands.

  Black. Leather. A couch. A blanket.

  Lukas’s.

  I’m at his house.

  What happened?

  I smooth out the rumpled shirt on my shoulders, taking care to pull down my black skirt that’s bunched around my thighs.

  My feet are bare, and I place them back in Lukas’s sandals on the floor, making my way into the kitchen where I think the noise is coming from.

  The scent of ginger and garlic greets me around the corner.

  “Damn.”

  I look up.

  So, that’s where the cursing is coming from.

  It’s Lukas, standing in his low-slung jeans and white, v-neck T-shirt. The last thing I remember seeing him clutch was a black steering wheel.

  Now?

  Those large hands of his grip tightly onto a large, brown paper bag. His long fingers slide carefully inside of the harmless-looking sack before yanking roughly out.

  He slaps large tins of savory-smelling dishes on the kitchen counters, snatching his hands away as soon as the Styrofoam containers hit the surface.

  I nearly laugh. “What’s this?”

  He finally notices me, glancing at my face and then the counters.

  “Good morning to you, too.” He points at the food. “This…? This is me burning the hell out of my hands with these sausage containers.”

  He turns.

  “The eggs are a little cold. I thought about putting them on the stove along with the pancakes.”

  “Food?” I step in closer. “You can cook?”

  “No… but I can order a mean IHOP.” His grin is slight as he looks around. “I’m just keeping it warm.”

  I inch my way over
to the counter, leaning across its polished surface.

  “That’s nice of you…”

  Griff shrugs casually, placing his hands behind him and onto the granite-top. His triceps tighten, and I look away.

  “It looks good…” I exhale loudly, stammering. “The… the food, I mean.” I clear my throat. “How long was I out?”

  “Not long… ‘bout twelve hours.”

  “Twelve hours?!” I stand up straight, pushing away from the granite counters. “What time is it?”

  Griff checks a watch I hadn’t noticed before. “Eight…in the morning.”

  Fuck.

  FuckFuckFuck.

  I start to swivel in my oversized sandals, searching anxiously for my belongings.

  My purse. Where the hell is my purse? My phone… My wallet…

  I pad noisily out of the kitchen, the soles of my sandals slapping loudly on the hardwood floors as I make my way back into the living room.

  The couch.

  All of my stuff sits on its arm, each item placed carefully on the flat black leather. Lukas’s doing, no doubt.

  I snatch the phone and wallet from the sofa’s edge, stuffing each of them into my low-hanging purse.

  My money isn’t exactly abundant, but it’s there, and I need to get out of here.

  It’s morning. The night’s gone. And I still want to see Ana again before the day is over.

  I need to call hotels, find one that’s available and get settled as soon as possible. I sigh heavily, tapping an anxious foot for a full minute.

  Settled? Hmph. Yeah, right.

  What kind of settling can I do with nothing to my name but the clothes on my back? And half of those aren’t even mine; they belong to…

  “Shit!”

  I slam into Lukas’s wide chest as I turn from the couch, nearly falling across his body as I stumble. He catches me by my upper arms, his long fingers wrapping wholly around each limb.

  His grip is gentle yet powerful; he holds my clumsy body completely upright with his clutch as if I weigh nothing at all.

  As if he could throw me… fling me… maybe even toss me over his shoulder…

  “Fuck, I keep running right into you,” he says, his voice gravelly and low. “I don’t mean to; I just wanted to check on you to see if you needed me.”

  I blink up at him.

  Need him?

  Need Lukas Griffin?