Free Are You In The House Alone? (plus: Love Me) by Y.A. Love

happy too. It was like he was trying to figure it out,
mentally scratching his head: Why would
shy little Ally Grange be standing at my locker?
    He cocked his head further,
quirking an eyebrow. “You looking for me?”
    I sucked in my breath and gave a
slight nod.
    His lips twitched, obviously
entrained by my discomfort. “What’s up?”
    I bit my lip. Good question .
    Tugging at the hem of my sweater, I
took a deep breath, trying to summon up a little courage. I needed it. ‘Cause
Griffin wasn’t exactly considered a nice guy. In fact, he was considered a
terror on the hockey rink and not much different off it. And I wasn’t exactly
Miss Confident when it came to mean people. I shied away from
confrontation— any confrontation—and tormentors—at all cost, but here I was, seeking
out Griff the Grief-Master .
    He smirked again, his eyes
twinkling with a strange combination of curiosity mixed with amusement. “Just
spit it out.”
    “Aiden Hanks,” I blurted like a
cough. “He’s my …”
    When I choked again Griffin
finished for me still looking curious. “Your boyfriend.”
    I nodded, surprised. I didn’t know
Griffin knew that. I didn’t know he knew who I was.
    Griffin grinned, light dawning. He
had definitely figured it out. “Oh, you’re here to beg me not to bash his face
in.” He tossed his history book from one hand to the other, looking amused.
“The twerp sent you?”
    “No!” I rushed out my next words to
stop him from getting the wrong idea. “Aiden doesn’t know I’m talking to you.”
    He grinned. “Then why are you talking to me?”
    “Because—like you said, I
don’t want you to bash his face in.” I stared into Griffin’s twinkling eyes.
“Please don’t.”
    I don’t know where that came
from—me being brave enough to stare into The Griff’s eyes. Maybe it was
because he kept smiling at me, acting like I was fun to talk to, or look at, or
something.
    Griffin leaned against his locker
and wet his pink (gorgeous) lips. He gazed at me intently a moment, then up at
the ceiling. Finally he groaned, letting out a breath, and looked back into my
eyes.
    “Look,” he said, for once sounding
serious, “I have to. The punk talked trash about me in front of the whole team.
It’s not like I can ignore it.”
    “Yes you can!” I said, following at
his heels as he started to walk away.
    I said it again, all squeaky and
desperate this time since he was ignoring me. “Yes you can!”
    Griffin kept walking, so I kept
following, like a puppy dog begging for attention, yipping at his ankles.
    “Please, can’t you? Please?”
    I grabbed on to his arm out of
desperation. That was all, just to get his attention since he had apparently
ditched listening to me. But when I grabbed onto his arm he abruptly stopped
walking. I mean, he froze.
    Yikes! My chest went tight. What
had I done?
    Griffin turned back to me and
stared at my hand on his arm. I snatched it away lightening fast, terrified he
was going to hit me for touching him or being annoying or something. But when
he didn’t push me down or pound me to the ground or do anything but stare at me
with his swoon-inducing long-lashed eyes, I swallowed finally going on with my
plea while I had his attention—only now I was shaking and unnerved on
even more levels. I mean, The Griff was … hot. He was. I wasn’t really paying
attention to that before, since I was pleading for my boyfriend’s life, but now
that Griffin was looking at me like that—well, I noticed. And it
distracted me, even now while I was petrified.
    Still, even though my mind reeled
from that, I managed to squeak out, “I have some money—not much, but …”
    Griffin smirked, then shook his
head. “I don’t want your money.”
    For some reason that made my
stomach feel funny. I guess because of the way he said it. And the way he
looked at me when he said it. It pushed my pulse into over-drive and got my
heart pounding.
    “Then what?” My voice hitched.
“What