Goddess Boot Camp
Page 50

Giddy on endorphins, I bust in and shout, “Stella, I’m—”
I stop midsentence.
Lying on the living-room couch, feet propped up on the arm and clearly asleep, is Griffin. He didn’t stir when I came shouting into the room. Obviously, he’s been out for a while.
“He was on the front porch when I got home from camp,” Stella says. She’s leaning against the far wall, casually stirring up the fruit in a peach yogurt.
My heart melts big-time.
How could I have been such an idiot? He’s made it clear every day in a million different ways how much he cares for me. I was ready to dismiss it all because he was talking to another girl. Because he was helping out a good friend.
I will never be that stupid again. Well, I’ll try not to be anyway.
In an instant, I’m sitting on the coffee table at the end by his head.
“I’ve got some work to do,” Stella says, pushing away from the wall. “I’ll be in my room. With the door shut. And my headphones on.”
I flash her a grateful smile. She’s giving us—me—some privacy and I appreciate it. I don’t need her to see me begging for forgiveness—she’d never let me live it down.
As soon as she and her yogurt disappear down the hall, I lean forward over Griffin. I take a second to absorb him before I wake him up. I’ve never seen him sleep before—his thick lashes fan out below his eyes like exotic palm fronds. There is no sign of worry or pain or the weight of his Herculean obligations. Just pure, innocent boy.
My pure, innocent boy.
Hand hovering above his shoulder, I sigh. I don’t want to wake him up. I don’t want to disturb his peace.
But my sigh must have been a touch too loud or too close—or maybe he just sensed I was there—because his palm-frond lashes flutter open, and instead I’m staring into his bright blue eyes.
For about half a second, his eyes are just as worry-free as his sleeping face had been. He smiles. Then a cloud shadows their brightness.
“Phoebe,” he exclaims, lurching up to a sitting position, “I was waiting for you.”
I smile nervously. “Clearly.”
“I mean, I wanted to talk to you.” He looks over my shoulder. “What time is it?”
I check my watch. “Six-thirty.”
“Skata, I was supposed to meet Dara at six.” His eyes pop wide. “I mean—not that I—she doesn’t—”
“It’s okay,” I say, laying a hand on his arm. “She told me.”
His eyebrows pinch into a frown and he looks like he’s in pain. “I wanted to tell you. You know I did. I just—”
“I know,” I say, trying to ease his pain. “You have to help her. It’s your Hercules complex.”
“No,” he says. “It’s more than that.”
“Then what?” I say, trying to be as open as possible. I won’t let there be any more lies and half-truths between us.
“Adara is my friend. Until you helped me work through things with Nicole last year, she was my oldest friend. That’s never going to change.” He takes my hands and holds them between his, between us. “Neither is the fact that you’re my girlfriend.”
“I know.” I ignore the wetness in my eyes. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I trust you, I really do. But sometimes I just don’t trust my own instincts.”
“We’ll have to work on that,” he says, grinning and pulling me off the coffee table and onto his lap.
When he’s got me settled, I slip my arms around his neck. “While we’re at it, let’s work on you trusting me, too.”
“Me? I trust you,” he insists. “What makes you think I—”
“I saw you with Nicole on the beach the other night.” I think back to that night. When I got so upset I’d shimmered myself home. Griffin always said my powers would be affected by my emotions until I learned to master them. “She knew what was going on with Adara.”
His brows scrunch over his blue eyes. “You were there?”
I refuse to blush. He doesn’t need to know I was hiding behind a boulder. “Why could you tell her the truth and not me?”
His head flops back against the couch. “I didn’t tell her,” he groans. “She guessed.”
“Really?” That’s a pretty uncanny guess.
“Interpol could use someone with her instincts. If it makes you feel any better, she was pretty pissed that I hadn’t told you.” He gives me a half smile. “She let me have it.”
Score one for Nicole. She always has my back.
“Why did you think the truth would hurt me?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You asked her not to tell me,” I explain. “You said you didn’t want me to get hurt.”
“No, that wasn’t about Dara.” He turns completely serious. “You know that research project Nic’s been working on?”
I nod.
“She’s been trying to find a loophole in our parents’ punishment decree.”
“Wow.” I’m breathless. “Can you do that?”
“There have been a few cases.” He gives me a sad smile. “But it’s very rare.”
Rare, but not impossible. My mind floods with possibilities. If there was a way to undo an Olympic decree, then Griffin could get his parents back. Nicole’s parents could be un-banished. Dad could get un-smoted.