Her stomach flips, a hard thought occurring to her just then. Maybe he misses it. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he wants to go back to his drunk-as-a-skunk womanizing ways. The thought stings. But she reminds herself this is a casual, no-strings-attached deal. When she took this job, she thought she had her priorities figured out—get the money, get out, make a new start. And now ...
Now she doesn’t know what she wants.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “We bitin’ off more than we can chew, Greyson?”
He hits her with a frown and sits up. “Why’re you talkin’ like that?”
“I don’t know. I just ...” She trails off when Griff pushes himself toward her, dipping his head to kiss the inside of her knee. His scruff tickles her and goose bumps break out over her skin. She moves her legs, stopping him with a hand to his shoulder. “Someone could see us.”
“So?”
Biting her lip, Alabama dangles her hands in the water, out of view of the photographers. His hands swim toward hers beneath the water. He captures her hand, slipping it into his, weaving their fingers together like perfectly linked pieces. “What we singin’ tonight, Alabama?” His expression turns sly. “‘Burn Me’? Or maybe ‘Find You Again’?”
Her heart radiates pride. In the last week, she and Griff have cranked out more songs than she can count. They’re not all keepers, but the ones that are are something special.
She laughs. “We definitely ain’t singin’ ‘Find You Again.’”
They’ve written most of the song they started the night Griff came to her in the writing room. The only thing it’s missing is an ending.
His face clouds up. “Why the hell not?”
“It’s not ready, Griff.”
“Bullshit.” His eyes hold on hers. She’s pissing him off. “It’s perfect and you know it.”
“It ain’t perfect. There’s no endin’,” she shoots back. “And you know it.”
As they stare at each other, a cold hard truth wells up in her, making her heart tumble down into her toes. The song isn’t done, has no ending, because she and Griff never did. Never will. Her and Griff—they’re just a flash-in-the-pan moment. Finishing the song makes it—makes them—real. And she can’t make it real. Not when she’s vowed to keep this casual. Not when she still doesn’t have an answer for why he left her all those years ago.
Alabama won’t let herself go there, won’t let herself hope. If she hopes, she loses. Even a song can’t be trusted, because trusting only leads to trouble. A lifetime of regret and the worst mistakes a person can make.
“Hey.” Griff’s soft voice breaks the spell of her thoughts. “You’re right. We’ll sing whatever you want. You pick it.”
She swallows and forces a smile. “Okay.”
Griff reaches for her, gently taking her wrist in his fingers. “I’m sorry, Al,” he says, his face contrite.
Too contrite.
She eyes him suspiciously. “Really?”
“I am, I really am, sweetheart. I mean, I just need to tell you one little thing—”
Alabama yelps as Griff tugs her onto his lap and splashes her down into the water. She sputters and lands a punch to his shoulder. “You asshole!”
A gut-busting laugh rips from Griff.
Untangling herself from him, she pushes up on her knees, pushes Griff away from her. She looks down at her clothes and groans. “You’re lucky I ain’t dressed.”
He’s still laughing as she climbs out of the fountain, dripping wet like some drowned rat. “You’re a shit, Greyson,” she says, squeezing water from the ends of her hair.
“You love it.”
The scoff that’d normally be on her lips falls flat. Off in the distance, a flash of blond hair, the soft shuffle of footsteps. She stares at the gate bordering the hotel and a shiver slinks down her spine.
She opens her mouth to tell Griff but instantly forgets what she was planning to say. Because he’s looking at her with those primal eyes that tell her he’s gonna devour her mouth pretty damn quick.
Alabama sidles away from him, shimmying her hips in a way she knows drives Griff crazy. “Get outta there. We got a show to do. And I gotta get ready.”
He stands, water rolling off his muscles. “Need any help dryin’ off?”
She glances over her shoulder and wags a finger. “You lack many proper morals, Greyson.”
His eyes flash, and then he’s out of the fountain, prowling her way.
She gives him an evil grin and walks fast toward her hotel room, feeling Griff following behind her, feeling his body burning with wild desire.
Alabama doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing anymore, only that she likes it. Only that she wants it to last as long as it can.