Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

“No, really, that’s not nec—”
“Yes,” he interrupts. “It is.”
While it is not totally unappealing to be in his arms, this is not
how I’d always imagined it would be. Wait—I mean this is not how
I’d fleetingly thought it would be when we came up with this plan.
I never wasted my time imagining Griffin and me doing anything.
Promise.
Anyway, here I am, cradled in his arms as he makes his way back
through the woods. I feel like some fairy-tale damsel in distress
being rescued from a dark forest full of ogres and trolls.
But Griffin Blake only acts like a fairy-tale hero when it suits
him.
“Why are you being so nice?” I ask.
His blue eyes glance down at me. “I’m not.”
I give him a look that says, “Um, hello!”
“All right,” he relents, then mumbles, “I hrmphoo.”
“What?” I know he’s weird, but I am sure he is capable of intelligible
speech.
“I said . . .” He closes his eyes—I glance ahead on the trail to
make sure he’s not going to trip over a tree root or anything—and
clenches his jaw. “. . . I have to.”
“What do you mean you have to?”
I stomp down on the little part of me that wants him to say, I
can’t help myself because I love you, Phoebe. Talk about delusional.
“It’s in my blood,” he explains. And leaves it at that.
Like that clears everything up.
“I don’t get it.”
He growls and I can feel it in his chest.
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