Chapter 12: One Hundred Percent

Griffin's room was on the third floor of Dunmore House, and it had a poster of the Boston Marathon and a very clean desk.

Beau had left a note on the door.

I AM AT A HOTEL. DO NOT TEXT ME. MIRANDA I LOVE YOU.

"He's very supportive," Griffin said.

"He's very loud."

"He's both."

We stood in the middle of the room, ten feet apart, and I realized I had never been this nervous in my life.

I tapped my thigh, fast, with both hands.

"The room is full of raccoons and they've all voted."

"There are three raccoons in the closet, and they want a word."

"The bed is a rumor."

Griffin read them with his head tilted, his hands in his pockets, and the corner of his mouth going up.

"Do you want to check the closet?" he said.

"I trust them."

"Miranda."

"Yes."

"Come here."

I crossed the room, and he took my face in both hands and kissed me, and the raccoons went out of my head.

His mouth was warm and sure, and he tasted like toothpaste.

He backed me toward the bed, kissing me the whole way, and I fumbled his shirt up over his head and dropped it somewhere.

His chest was broad and hard, and I put both palms on it.

"The poster is judging us," I tapped, on my thigh.

He laughed and turned it face down on the desk, one-handed.

Then he took my cardigan off, slowly, one arm at a time, and I watched his face while he did it.

His eyes went dark.

He slid my shirt up and off, and unhooked my bra, and for a second he only looked.

"Miranda," he said. "God."

"Say something that isn't a lie."

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