"Yeah, because it's none of your business."
He leaned forward. "So you broke up?"
"No." This was technically true, because you'd have to be together to break up. Griff and I had never been a thing, but Devon didn't need to know that.
He was quiet for a long, sullen moment. "Well he doesn'townyou, does he?"
Nice try, asswipe.I stared him down. "What doesthatmean?"
"I'm just saying, if you're worried that he'll catch us talking, you should chill out. A guy like that isn't worth it."
Talk about nerve.I gritted out, "A guy like what?"
"You know…the jealous type." He straightened. "If I were you, I wouldn't put up with it."
What a tool.
Had he always been this way?I didn't think so. But then again, even back in college, I obviously didn't know him nearly as well as I'd thought.
Whatever this was, it was long past time to end it. I plastered on a sudden smile and pointed toward the window. "Look, it's Sierra."
Devon practically jumped out of his skin. He whirled to look, and his voice became a raw squeak as he demanded, "Where?"
What a coward.And don't get me started on the hypocrisy. Still, I couldn't help but smile – for real this time. "Oops."
He was still staring at the window. "What do you mean 'oops'?"
"Oh, I'msorry," I said with blatant sarcasm. "It must've been somebody else."
His shoulders eased, and he turned once again to face me. "You were messing with me, weren't you?"
Like it wasn't obvious. With a shrug, I replied, "I guess you'll never know." I glanced past him toward the window in question, only to give a little jump of my own. More to myself than to Devon, I said, "And there's Griff."
Devon snorted. "Nice try. But I'm not falling for that again."
When the door jingled, he didn't even turn to look. Instead, he leaned over the counter and said in a surprisingly smarmy voice, "So…you wanna grab a coffee sometime?"
I don't know why he bothered. I wasn't even looking at him. I was too busy staring at the figure standing just inside the open doorway.
The new arrival was tall and muscular with thick hair that was dripping wet. His black T-shirt was utterly soaked, outliningevery hard inch of his chest and torso. His eyes – steely blue with a hint of danger – surveyed the scene like a predator sizing up a kill.
He was hauling a battered box under his arm – a shipment that should have arrived days ago.
Yup. It was Griff.
Devon's question about coffee lingered like a bad stench. Absently, I replied, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
Devon gave me a roguish grin. "Oh, come on. You know you want to."
But this time, it was Griff who answered. "No. She doesn't."
34
Nothing to Lose
Maisie
Griff's simple statement echoed in the quiet shop.No. She doesn't.It wasn't loud. It wasn't showy. But something in his tone sent a chill down my spine.
