7. Blair

S eeing Hawthorne Manor at sunset is a whole new experience. The orange and pink colors in the sky cast the most stunning glow on all of the light brick and large windows. It's really magical.

A cool breeze ruffles the bottom of my short skirt. The oversize cream sweater holds the skirt in place, so at least I'm not flashing anyone. However, there isn't exactly anyone to flash.

I wonder where Griffin's parents are. Does he have any siblings? Do they live here too?

Honestly, I don't believe a soul lives here at all because of how tidy and clean the house is.

I'm barely up the first set of stairs when the double front doors open.

"Hey," Griffin says, and tingles shimmy down my back from his sultry tone.

"Hi!" I chime, immediately wanting to slap myself for how high-pitched it came out.

He stretches his arms across the double doors, and, dear God, it's unreal how fit he is. His arms bulge in his sleeves, his veins snaking down his forearms. I would have to be blind to not appreciate the artistry in his body and the hours he pours into his training for these results. It's admirable, and it's fucking hot.

But it doesn't matter how hot he is. I don't date jocks, not after Grant, who still won't leave me alone. Grant is an overachieving narcissist who likes me more when my lips are sealed than when I express a sliver of thought.

I don't know how I was dumb enough to give him a second chance. I was out of my damn mind. Thinking back to high school, I was thankful when he committed to a school in California for football; I would finally be free of his constant love-bombing texts and late-night calls with never-ending voice mails. Then, Mr. Vain himself showed up at HEAU. And I fell for his sweet words all over again, letting him take me out. He said he was offered a scholarship here and had a gut feeling that he just had to take it. Lucky me. His unwanted affection comes in waves. I know I should just block him and kill the connection altogether. I just … I don't know why I haven't done it yet.

"Blair?" Griffin's deep voice invades my train of thought, completely taking over.

Reality clicks back into place, and I realize we are at his dining table. I was really zoned out; it felt like a dream, walking through here.

Goddamn Grant, at it again, making everything about him.

Clearing my throat, I begin unloading my backpack on the table. "Shit, sorry. I was thinking about …" I trail off. "It doesn't matter. How are you feeling about the study guide?"

His laptop and papers are already set up, including a glass of water for each of us.

He takes a seat while filling me in on his progress. "Pretty good. I was up late last night studying. I think I'm going to ace it."

My eyes widen with shock from his profound confidence. "Really? An A, huh?"

His glare tugs my lips up. "Yes, smarty-pants, an A."

Holding my hands up in defeat, I chuckle. "Good. I'm an even better tutor than I thought."

"Now, who's being cocky?" He scoffs.

A smile stretches across my face, and I quickly kill it, forcing myself to get back on task. But I don't miss the almost-indiscernible pout of his full lips.

"I made a practice test for you to take," I announce as I take the test out of a folder in my bag and slide it over to him.

He pushes the glass of water closer to me and murmurs, "I made you this glass of water."

My snarkiness yet again slips past my lips without my intent. "How do I know you didn't roofie it?"

He chokes on his own gulp of water and laughs before setting his cup down and picking mine up. "Fair point." He takes a gigantic mouthful of my water and swallows it. And another, nearly emptying the glass. "See, it's not roofie?—"

His eyes roll into his head before his head crashes down to the table, and the sound startles me cold.

"Oh my God, Griffin!" I shout and slap his cheek .

"Ha! Gotcha!" He flies up, laughing, and I almost hit him again for pulling that. "I love how your concern shows itself in violence."

"I was just going to get my money and go. It wouldn't have been my fault if you'd drugged yourself." I shrug, biting down on my bottom lip.

He huffs and shows off those perfect pearly whites again. "Ha-ha. Very funny."

"I'm not a nurse. I'm here to help you with English. I did my part. Now, you do yours and take your test," I order him and grab my glass of water from his hand, my fingers grazing his as I take it.

He smirks. "Fine. Just don't slap me again."

I stand up and head for the kitchen. "I'll be right back. Don't cheat."

He gasps as if I hurt his feelings, but I ignore him and trek onward.

Wandering through the enormous house, I walk into the kitchen and nearly shout as chills race down my arms.

A little blond boy sits on the kitchen island, eating milk and cookies.

"Hello there. Sorry. I wasn't expecting anyone to be in here," I say softly, smiling gently at him. "My name's Blair."

I think the kid has to be, like, nine. Maybe ten?

He stares at me with kindness twinkling in his bright blue eyes, but doesn't respond.

"I'm just going to get some water quickly if you don't mind." I grin and stroll up to the automatic dispenser on the fridge and fill my cup back up.

"Chip, are you ready to start the movie?" an overly sweet voice sings through the kitchen right before a woman walks in with a smile stretched ear to ear. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here. You must be Blair!" she chimes and walks over to me. Without hesitation, she pulls me into a gentle hug. "It is lovely to meet you, dear."

Embracing her softly while balancing the water in the cup, I murmur, "It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Hawthorne."

A warm spice and honey aroma drifts through the air and invades my nose as she pulls away, chuckling softly. "I am not Mrs. Hawthorne. My name is Mary Pottinger. Feel free to call me Mrs. Potts. I am the Hawthornes' live-in maid and chef."

You've got to be kidding me.

"Chip, have you met Griffin's new tutor?" She directs her attention to the little boy watching us with the biggest chocolaty smile.

He nods and shovels another cookie into his mouth.

"All right, Chip, that's enough for one night. You're going to get a thousand cavities," Mrs. Potts says before walking to the kitchen island, pulling the plate of cookies away from him, and stowing them on top of the fridge.

Chip dismisses himself without a word and scurries away. He must be Griffin's little brother.

As if she can read my mind, Mrs. Potts introduces Chip. "Chip is my son. Don't take it personally when he doesn't respond to anything you say. He is nonverbal."

That makes me feel better about him not answering me. I thought maybe he just didn't like me. But I suppose I am a stranger who just barged into his kitchen after all .

"That makes a lot of sense as to why he didn't answer me earlier."

"He's a sweet boy. He's talented, too, with his art. Once you better understand how to communicate with him, you will be able to do so for hours on end." She giggles. "The hard part is getting him to stop."

While I appreciate the thought, I can't think of why I would spend a lot of time with Chip. Once I'm done tutoring Griffin, we will return to our little worlds. Perhaps mine is more little than his.

"So, do you work with many students?" she asks me, and she steals a cookie from the plate. "Shh. Don't tell Chip."

My chest floods with warmth at the genuine goodness that exudes from Mrs. Potts. "Your secret is safe with me. And, no, Griffin is my only student."

She finishes her bite of chocolate deliciousness and whispers, "That's probably for the best. He never was very good at sharing. Oh my goodness, I couldn't even count the number of nannies and staff he ran off when he was a little boy."

I chuckle at her comment. "I don't know why that doesn't surprise me."

She lowers her voice and caresses my arm. "He wasn't always so … distant. He used to be the type of kid to make friends in seconds. He was outgoing and playful, loving every second of life with the biggest smile always plastered on his face." Her eyes seem to gloss over as she remembers that time.

My heart aches, and my curiosity is piqued. "What changed? "

"A lot. Sometimes, I wonder if we'll ever see that side of him again. He's built so many walls around himself to protect his heart. After what happened with?—"

"Yeah, yeah. Enough with the stories." Griffin's deep voice slices through the room, and I jump at the intrusion.

The hair on my neck rises as he steps directly behind me.

As I turn around, I take a small step back.

His gaze lowers until it's locked on to mine, and he murmurs, "I've finished the test."

It wasn't too invasive of a practice run. But even then, he finished that much faster than I'd expected. Mrs. Potts and I got carried away, talking about Griffin's childhood. I will need to hear the rest of that story.

"Well, duty calls," I utter before spinning on my heel with my full water in hand, following Griffin back into the dining room.

"I see you met the rest of the crew," he says as he finds his seat and kicks back, crossing his hands behind his head.

The motion causes his shirt to lift up and exposes a couple of inches of solid, deeply grooved muscles and his V-line. I knew he was ripped, but holy shit .

He clears his throat, and my eyes fly to his. The corner of Griffin's lips tip up, and now, the only person I would like to slap is myself.

Get it together. It's just abs on some boy's body. Oh well. Who cares?

Squinting in annoyance at his mere existence at this moment and at the damn agreement we made, I set my water on the table and take my seat .

"I did. They are very nice," I say without meeting his eyes. Grabbing the test, I put it in front of me.

"They are," he responds, and I wait for him to tell me more, but he remains silent.

Where are his parents if that's the rest of his crew? Do millionaires leave their homes and travel all the time?

Stopping my brain from running rampant with assumptions, I uncap my red pen and begin grading his answers. After going through each page carefully, I'm actually … impressed. He really did study for this, and it definitely shows.

"All right, results are in. You got …" I trail off, and he slams his eyes shut in anticipation. "A perfect score!"

He flies out of his seat and jumps up, his eyes widening and face lifting with excitement. "You're lying!"

"Nope!" Rising to my feet, I circle the one hundred percent on the top of the page and turn it around to show him. "You did it!"

He rushes forward, and I gasp as he lifts me into the air and spins me around. "Ahh!"

After a full three-sixty twirl, he apologizes and slowly lowers me to the ground with mere inches between us. "Oh shit, sorry." His cheeks burn bright red, and he shyly smiles. "I got a bit carried away."

"Yeah." I grin as I feel my heart racing and my breath quickening. "I can see that."

Stepping back, I try to ignore the way I liked being in his arms, the way it made me giddy, like that feeling I got as a little girl, dreaming about fairy tales.

I beg that damn feeling to go away. But it's too late; the cage is open, and butterflies are flying free .

Attempting to disregard the fluttering in my stomach, I say, "D-don't forget that there will be a short essay part on the test that you will have to do. Have you prepared the bullet points for your final yet?"

He looks away. "Shit. I was kind of hoping you had forgotten about that."

"Well, I will take that response as a no. But as your tutor, I have to remind you that in order to get your grade up and keep it up, you cannot afford to purposefully forget things," I say to him as I pack my things up in my bag. "You'll do great on the test. You'll do splendidly on the essay portion. Unfortunately, I can't help you with that because the only person who truly knows yourself is you."

"That was"—he hesitates—"kind of deep."

"And true," I respond, grabbing my phone and throwing my bag over my shoulder.

Ugh. The text notification makes me squirm.

Grant: I miss you, baby. When are you going to stop playing these games? You know we are meant to be together. I love you.

I swipe the notification away the second I'm done reading it and look up from the screen to find Griffin with concern etched into his features.

"Everything okay?" he asks quietly.

Shrugging like it's no big deal, I grin. "It's nothing, really. I have to get going though; my ride's here. I'll see you tomorrow in class."

"Yeah, see you then. Good night, Blair." His voice is lower and thicker somehow, like the emotion that wasn't there before is now gently tucked beneath every word.

"Good night," I murmur before spinning on my heel and walking away.

Griffin clears his throat, and I realize he's trailing behind me.

Griffin's words spew out of his mouth as he attempts to fill the silence. "I'll walk you out."

"Okay, thank you," I say, slightly distracted by the vibration from my phone in my hand.

It's a text from Grant— again .

Grant: I miss you. Seriously, I need to see you, Blair Bear.

Absolutely not, especially if I can help it. I ignore the feeling of my skin crawling off of my body, pull open the front door, and step into the crisp fall air.

"Lumi's not picking you up tonight?" Griffin asks as he follows me onto the porch, stopping beside me and quickly typing into his phone.

"Not tonight. I just got an Uber. I'll see you tomorrow." I look up at him and smile, and my breath catches in my throat.

He is aggravatingly beautiful in a way that isn't fair to the rest of humanity.

He smiles back at me, and I feel a burn ignite in my cheeks. Before any shade of red can shine through, I look away and begin descending the stairs.

"See you tomorrow," he calls out, but my attention is already drifting to my phone once again .

It's a notification that Griffin sent my payment—the easiest money I've ever made.

The club is packed tonight, but it doesn't stop me from gossiping with my coworkers.

"Scarlet, it's been a month. You barely know the guy." I scoff at what she said.

Scarlet is one of the dancers here and is very popular, earning more than almost everyone else. But she gets too attached to these boyfriends that she dates for a short period and lets whoever her new guy is completely change her personality. The man of the month wants her to stop working here, specifically to stop dancing. For one, she loves it, so screw whatever he wants. Two, she isn't going to find a job that would pay her nearly the same money she's making now—at least not a legal job.

She never likes being alone and would rather be with a guy undeserving of her than being single. I wish she could see how amazing she is. Screw any guy who demeans her. I understand that being a stripper isn't a career that you can keep your entire life. But she's nineteen and having the time of her life.

Maybe after they're together for six months and they sit down and discuss it, concluding that he doesn't want her to do it anymore and she's okay with it, then quit. But a month? You don't know anything about someone after a month—at least not anything that counts .

"I knoooow." She drags the O out while pouting.

"Do what you want, Scar. But make sure that you are the reason you're making the decision, not him," I shout over the music.

"You always give the best advice." She blows me an air kiss and shimmies away, leaving a trail of body glitter in her path.

A cool shiver runs down my shoulders, and the hair on the back of my neck rises, as if someone is watching me. Discreetly, I scan the club with batted eyelashes and a sickeningly sweet smile. I glance at the entrance, and my blood runs cold.

Grant.

This isn't the first time he's been here. He and his football buddies come by occasionally, stay for a few beers, then leave. Usually, I don't care when he comes in because he knows the rules and mostly minds his business. He knows that pissing me off at work isn't in his favor of winning me over.

The Fallen Petal has one rule that must be obeyed above all else—the no partner rule. Of course, we are allowed to date, but our partners cannot show up at the club and make a big scene. It often deters the clientele and is unprofessional. There is zero tolerance, and if it happens, you are fired on the spot.

Grant's presence isn't what makes me feel uneasy; it's the anger in his eyes that I don't recall seeing there before that chills me to the bone, like staring into a dark forest, not knowing what monsters lurk in the shadows.