12 GRIFFINThis bar is noisy as hell, but I can’t say that’s a bad thing. I have to lean down so Layne’s lips are brushing against my ear, just so I can hear her. And, f**k, if that isn’t fuel for every fantasy I keep returning to . . . you know the one. Of our naked bodies, finally entwined.
“You should really do therapy,” she yells before pulling another sip from the straw in her tequila sunrise.
Kristin and her new boyfriend are leaning over the bar, ordering their next round of drinks, while Layne and I kill some time at the old-fashioned jukebox. I lean against the metal and plastic along the side, browsing the songs for an oldie but goodie.
“What?” I ask, pretending not to hear her.
“You heard me,” she yells again.
The feel of her hot breath on my neck sends chills down my spine,
