White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) by Samantha Christy Page B

it, I’d even go so far as to say Griffin and I have become friends.
    We follow the crowd up the stairs and through the tunnel and I head to the nearest bathroom while Griffin leans against the wall to wait for me. A few minutes later, I emerge, looking for Griffin only to find him absent from the spot where I left him. I turn around to search for him and smack right into someone’s chest. “Sorry,” I say, looking up at the large specimen.
    Suddenly, my eyes and the stranger’s eyes spark in recognition as a slow and steady grin crawls up his face. “Well, looky what we have here.”
    I cringe at his heavy Boston accent. I assess his fiery-red hair and wonder what I ever saw in the guy. “Oh, hi.” I look around for Griffin, conflicted on whether or not I want him here. On one hand, it might diffuse the situation if the guy thinks I’m here with another man. On the other hand, I really don’t need Griffin witnessing my past indiscretions.
    As I look around, the man—whose name I never did find out—continues talking, saying something about going back to his place for a repeat. His accent grates on my every nerve. It’s not that I dislike people from Boston or anything. I blame Mr. Hewitt, my fourth-grade teacher. He was the meanest teacher I ever had. I also think he disliked me because he once dated my mother, before she met my father. I was doomed with him from the start. He had an incredibly thick accent that haunted my dreams. To this day, I’ll occasionally have a nightmare about Mr. Hewitt singling me out in the class, telling everyone what a poor student I was.
    So, it’s not really this guy’s fault that I hate him because of his voice. I just know deep down, I could never be with a guy who talks that way. Gorgeous or not. If Griffin could only sustain a minor head injury that would result in him speaking like Red, all would be well in my world.
    “You up for it?” his eyes question me along with his words.
    “Uh, no thanks,” I answer politely, even though I’m not sure what the question was. I was pre-occupied looking for Griffin, who I now see exiting the men’s bathroom.
    Griffin comes up next to me, but that does nothing to keep Red from eyeing me seductively. He asks again, right in front of Griffin, “Aw, come on, we had fun, didn’t we?”
    I narrow my eyes at him. What the hell? “You’re a douche, you know that? You have a wife and kid. Or are you choosing to ignore that little fact again?”
    He laughs. “That didn’t seem to bother you six months ago when you were riding me for the third time.”
    I’m sure my stunned face pales. I can feel the burn of Griffin eyeing me speculatively as I spit out, “I didn’t even know you, you asshole.”
    “Right. You were too wasted to ask,” he says.
    I don’t think I’ve ever been so mortified in my entire twenty-four years. Griffin must think I was a complete slut. A bottom-dwelling whore who would pick up any guy in a bar. Then I close my eyes briefly, because he’d be right. That’s exactly who I was. Maybe it’s even who I would still be if I wasn’t hiding behind this whole surrogate thing.
    I see Griffin shift around defensively. He takes a step closer to me and says to the asshole, “You need to leave. The lady isn’t interested.”
    “Lady?” Red smirks. “Okay, if you say so. What are you, today’s piece of meat?”
    “Hardly.” Griffin puts a possessive arm around me.
    Red raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I guess I can’t blame you, man. I’d have gone back for seconds, too. Had I known her name, that is.” He’s clearly trying to humiliate me further to get a rise out of Griffin. “But, I’m not sure one man is enough for that pussy, so don’t count on the little whore being faithful.”
    In a split second, it all happens at once. Griffin’s face turns as red as the guy’s hair. He balls up his fists and lays the dude out with one punch to the jaw. He carefully pushes me aside and prepares to go after the