Dream With Me (With Me Book 4) (14 page)

I’m ready to head out, though, and so is Griff. After I finish off my Cape Cod, Griff and I say our good-byes and head out. It starts raining just as we’re halfway out the door, and we go back into the small waiting area between the two doors. It’s not simply raining. It’s
pouring.
A heavy onslaught of fat, warm drops that sound like a heavy metal drummer is going to town. The rain splats angrily to the ground. There’s no ifs, ands, ors about it, we’re going to get drenched. My buttercup-yellow dress will show
almost
everything.

“Why don’t you wait here?” Griff offers. “I’ll get the truck and pick you up. You can stay dry.”

I point to the small windowpanes bracketing the wooden door. The rain is coming down so hard that it’s difficult to see much outside. “That’s really sweet of you. But just look at it outside. I’ll be soaked no matter what.”

“You’ll be drier,” Griff tries to argue.

“Maybe,” I say easily. “But it’s not fair that you’ll suffer and—”

Griff stops me with a kiss. It’s a brief kiss. The kind of kiss that shouldn’t leave me so . . . hot and bothered.

“And I . . .” I try to remember what my point was. My mind is completely blank. That kind of kiss shouldn’t render me brainless. “But—”

Griff kisses me again—this one even briefer than the first one—yet I stumble into him.

“You stay here,” he says. “I’m going to get the truck.”

“Okay,” I say dumbly and press my fingers to my just-kissed mouth.

Griff smiles at this—at me—and I kind of just sag against the wall and watch him hurry out the door. I don’t know what just happened, but I know one thing for sure.

I am in so much trouble.

And I know what I need to do.

I send a bat signal text to my girls.

I’m not waiting that long before Chloe and Taylor open the door and enter the small in-between area. With how they both lean against the wall and slightly open the outer door to breathe in the cold, rainy air, I’d definitely say they’re buzzed. But not too far gone, since their eyes aren’t glazing over and they aren’t stumbling about. Still, before I get to The Issue, I make sure they’re okay and have a ride home.

“Taxi,” Taylor says. “And we’ll be leaving together. Unlike you, you lucky girl.”

Chloe holds up her cell, showing me the text I’d sent of Ben Affleck in the Batman costume. “You sent us Batfleck.”

“A seven on the scale of SOS,” Taylor chimes in.

“It might be nearing Batooney.”

Taylor and Chloe exchange looks. “We can’t have that,” Chloe says. “George Clooney is good at many things, but we do not speak of his Batman.”

During the first semester of freshman year, we developed a ranking of various Batmans and have adjusted them over the years. Michael Keaton’s Batman is a zero, because we all agree that his Batman is the best while Christian Bale’s is a four—somewhat okay but in danger of slipping into the bad territory. George Clooney is a ten as in OMG, GET OUT HERE BECAUSE I AM GOING TO DIE drama llamas.

“What gives?” Taylor asks.

I quickly fill them in, mindful of the fact that Griff’s truck isn’t that far away and he’ll be here in a matter of minutes. “So,” I say, “I’m worried.”

Taylor studies me closely. “Worried, because you said yes to staying over at his place again? And that it’s feeling kind of serious?”

“Yes, and definitely yes.” I push my hair to the side. “And there’s no kind of about it. It’s serious. I think I’m really falling for him.”

“So, don’t stay over and stop falling for him.”

I slump against the wall, joining them, and a big sigh escapes me.

Taylor catches on. Fast. So does Chloe. Their, “Uh oh,” happens simultaneously.

“Yeah,” I say. “Uh oh.”

“You want to stay over again,” Chloe says.

“And you
are
falling for him,” Taylor adds.

And there’s the rub. “I do, but I know I shouldn’t want to. This was supposed to be simple. Have some fun and call it a day. But . . .” I press my lips together, a last ditch attempt to keep it all in.

“But . . .” Taylor prods.

“But the whole falling for him,” I admit. “I want to know more about him. And a big part of me wants to know why he said those things back when we were freshman. But more than that, I like him . . . and I think . . . no, I know I want more. I know I’m in trouble. If I’m changing my mind not even twenty-four hours later, then what else is going to change by tomorrow? A few days from now? Next week? Months? A year?”

Taylor pushes away from the wall and stands in front of me. She grabs my shoulders and steadies me. “You’re freaking out,” she says softly. “Take a deep breath and let it out.”

I do this and feel Chloe’s hand rub my back in a soothing gesture.

“It’s okay to freak out,” Chloe says. “We get it. We’re going to graduate really soon, and our lives are going to change. We’ll have responsibilities. Real jobs that are about our careers. Bills. Student loans. We’ll have a lot of firsts, too. First apartment. First house. First job. First time we lose a job. And we’re young. We want all these big, bright, beautiful things—we’ve dreamed of them—and now we’re entering a time where we might not get all those big, bright, beautiful things. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still try for them.”

“I freaked out last night,” Taylor says. “I woke up around five and my heart was pounding away. And all I could hear was my father’s voice telling me I was going to fail, that I’ll end up quitting because that’s what I am, a quitter. And I’m scared that the asshole is right.”

“And you should have seen me when I was getting ready to go out.” Chloe shudders. “There I was, putting on my makeup, and all these thoughts jumbled in my head of oh my God, what am I doing, and what if I’m eighty and I look back on my life and think: Wow, I fucked up. I don’t want to fuck up. I don’t want to have regrets. And I’m scared that I won’t get to where I want to be.”

“I’m scared of that, too. I have all these dreams. You both know that. Dreams of starting my own makeup line. But everything is changing around us. And I’m pretty good with rolling with the changes, but it just seems like we’ve worked all these years to get to this point. And now it’s the whole question of . . . what next?” I take another deep breath and let it out. “And I guess I’m just worrying more, because here I thought and believed one thing about Griff and it’s not the case—or at least it’s not the case any longer. I’m not even sure I ever hated him. I was hurt. Really hurt by that night. And every time since then, I just let that hurt fester and used stupid, little things to keep that resentment growing. And then . . . everything has changed.”

“You feel like you’re on uneven ground,” Chloe says.

“Extremely uneven ground. I feel like I’m stumbling all over the place.”

“Maybe it’s good to stumble.” Taylor ignores my sputter of protest. “I’m just saying that you’re usually in control of everything. You’re impulsive and instinctive, yes, but you don’t do anything you don’t want to. I think this is one of the few times where you haven’t been in control. Not completely. And I think it’s a good thing. Griff could be good for you—but more importantly, you might really start to crack into that uneven rocky ground you’re on and uncover things about yourself. Like, that you’re even more kick-ass than you thought.”

“Of course I’m kick-ass,” I say jokingly.

“It’s not like you’re missing anything. Don’t think for one minute I’m saying that. And you definitely don’t need a man to ‘complete you,’” Taylor adds. “But if you stumble, you stumble. If you fall, you fall. But you’ll always get up.”

“And remember,” Chloe says, “We’ll always be here, to prod you to get back on your feet, to cheer you on, to answer the bat signal.”

“Also? Don’t think too far ahead. Stop worrying. You can’t control the future.”

“I know that,” I say to Taylor, then laugh. “It’s just that I like to think I can.”

“So, let me ask you this. What do you want right now?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “I want Griff. I want to spend the night with him. And I want more than just this one night with him. I want to see where this goes.”

“You have your answer,” Taylor says.

Chloe nods. “And it’s a good answer.”

Right on cue, my cell beeps with a new text message.

“It’s from Griff,” I say, quickly reading it. “He’s here. I’m just telling him to stay in the truck and that I’ll run out to meet him.”

I send the text to Griff and then look at my two BFFs. “I love you two. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you for the pep talk.”

“You’d do the same for us,” Chloe says.

“You
have
done the same for us,” Taylor says. “Now, go get your man.”

“I plan on it.”

Rain doesn’t even get a
chance to pelt me. As soon as I open the door, Griff is there, holding an open umbrella. He’s soaked clear to the bone, his brown hair plastered to his head, and his white cotton shirt practically see-through.

“Now, that’s a wet T-shirt contest I could get behind,” Chloe says under her breath. Taylor giggles, her expression saying that she’s in complete agreement.

And, for a moment, I can picture it. A line of hot guys in white tees or tanks; one by one, the contestants would get wet, resulting in shirts plastering to hard abs and pecs. The winner chosen by the amount of catcalls.

But then I snap out of it and shoot Chloe and Taylor death glares. This is Griff, and if anyone is going to be thinking naughty thoughts about him, it’s going to only be me. And he’s right there. Chloe’s talking low, but not
that
low.

“Stop ogling my guy,” I say.

Chloe merely laughs, then slaps me on the butt. “Go get him, tiger. He’s all yours.”

And with that, Chloe pulls a laughing Taylor back into the bar. I shake my head and face Griff. “Sorry about that. They’re normally like that so there’s no excuse, but—”

Words die in my throat when Griff drops the umbrella to the ground and steps into the small entryway. He tugs me to him, and his skin is so cold from the rain, but that’s not why I shiver. Not at all. His hands cup my butt, and then his mouth claims mine in a slow, devastating kiss.

When he lifts his head, I can’t stop myself from bringing him back to me and kissing him once more.

“Not that I mind,” I say breathlessly, “but what was the kiss for?”

His dark gaze searches mine for a long moment.

“Griff?”

“You called me your guy.” His hands cup the side of my face. Back and forth, his thumbs sweep over my cheekbones. “Am I?”

My pulse flutters fast like a hummingbird’s wings. I can’t find it in me to offer a nonchalant response, not with the vulnerability that shimmers in the air between us. And I can’t play a game—not when he’s holding me so tenderly or looking at me like I’m the center of his universe.

I can’t do anything but give him
my
truth—what I didn’t know I really wanted until a few moments ago. But for some reason I’m not scared to say it, because I know that Griff is already there, waiting to catch me when I leap.

“Yes,” I say. “I mean, that’s what I want you to be, if you want it and—”

Griff stops my rambling in the best way possible.

With a kiss.

My lips tremble under his. I could just stay like this forever.

He breaks away and gives me a once-over, his expression turning rueful.

“What’s the look for?” I brush my fingers over his lips, needing to touch him.

“Your dress is quickly becoming transparent.” Griff shakes his head. “My plan was to get you in the truck without you getting soaked like me.”

My heart softens like a big, fluffy marshmallow over an open fire. I can practically feel my bones melting with a sigh and I’m slowly turning into mush. If I’m not careful, I’ll burn into something hard and nasty.

But I don’t listen to that unwanted warning, because there’s no way I’m going to get burned—not when I feel like this. Not when Griff makes me feel something I’ve never felt before.

“You’re so sweet,” I say.

He grimaces.

“Oh, stop it.” I lean up on my toes to kiss him briefly. “You’re sweet. Girls like sweet.
I
like sweet. You’re sweet and nice and thoughtful. And sexy. So, deal with it.”

Griff lets out a laugh and takes my hand in his. “I’ll deal. Coming home with me, right?”

“Of course.”

He opens the door, picking up the dropped open umbrella and shelters me from the onslaught of rain. It’s near impossible for my feet and legs not to get soaked, and water splashes the bottom of my dress.

Sometimes, life presents us with moments we can’t pass by—moments that we need to grasp, and hold on tightly with all our might . . . moments that, if we were to blink, would disappear before we had a chance to do anything and risk losing the opportunity gone forever. That’s why I’ve always gone after what I wanted, why I try not to let doubts stop me, to not have regrets.

So, when Griff and I step outside, him holding onto the big black umbrella over both of our heads to keep the rain away, I slide my hand over to cover his, the one wrapped on the handle, and stop him, a few feet away from Griff’s truck. The few people on Church Street are ducking for cover, running under awnings or into warm, dry places.

Griff turns to me, his eyebrows slightly raised. “Evie—”

“So,” I say lightly, “I’ve always had this . . .
thing
.”

“Thing?”

“Well.” I bite my lower lip and notice how his gaze fastens to that spot. “Fantasy, really.”

“By any chance, does this fantasy involve being out of the rain and in a heated truck?” He drags his eyes away from my mouth to meet my eyes and lets out a sigh, as if he’s trying to pull off the
I’m going to pretend to be serious
but it’s totally ruined because the expelled breath is mixed with laughter. “I guess that it involves being
in
the rain.”

“Blame
The Notebook
,” I say. “Or, really, any romantic comedy film ever made, but I’ve always had this . . . thing—fantasy—
dream
—to be kissed in the rain. Like
really
kissed, not just a peck on the lips and send me on my way.”

“You want me to kiss you.”