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vivianna
He looks like a Griffin— all dark hair, and ink eyelashes and jaw, like something out of mythos.
When I focus on him now, he couldn’t be anything else. And now that my foggy sleep brain has cleared, I register that he’s got a faint dimple that appears on his right cheek when he actually smiles, rather than when he’s sporting that fox-like grin that’s drenched in all sorts of mischief and arrogance.
I’m embarrassed, not because Griffin is attractive—although he unfortunately is—I know damn well that the way I had fallen asleep was not flattering at all.
Knowing me, I probably had my mouth all open and my neck at an odd angle. Not to mention, there are these sound effects I make when I sleep that have been confirmed by both That Guy and Reese on more than one occasion.
He pulls back my attention by clearing his throat.
“You?”
“Vivianna,” I reply, because I suppose we’re making friendly small talk now.
We sit in silence for the next few minutes. I dig into my food, spare glances at Griffin. He’s got the tattoo of a rose on the back of his neck. I only notice when he bends it down to eat.
Griffin seems to be the type of guy to have multiple tattoos for the hell of it, but his henley and slacks don’t allow for any more of them to be visible.
My eyes dart right back to my food the second he looks up. He doesn’t seem to mind my deliberate effort to scan for tattoos. He rolls up one of his sleeves, exposing the rest of a sleeve tattoo, all intricate curves and flowers. “I have one more here.” He then vaguely gestures toward his clothed chest area. “That’s the only other one I have.”
“Didn’t know I was that overt.”
“You come across as very expressive,” he says. I can tell he’s biting his tongue, and something devious flashes across his eyes.
“What?” I ask, blinking. “What makes you think that?”
He pauses the movie I hadn’t even realized he was watching, and turns to me. “You know that you make sounds while you sleep? I don’t know if it’s humming or lip-smacking or what.” He does a little demonstration too, as though I’m not already tempted enough to throw myself off a moving train.
I cover my face with both hands, as I burn an absurd amount. I’m more than extremely fortunate for my deep brown skin. Reese says that embarrassment is a choice, but I’m certain that decision has been premade for me.
And Griffin, well, Griffin is laughing his ass off. After a beat, he pries my fingers off my face, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t tell anyone.”
If this is Griffin’s attempt at seeing just how much he can humiliate me until I beg the airline staff to change seats, he’s winning. I haven’t even arrived at the stupid-ass Lovebound set yet, and I’m already taking Ls.
“You and your white flag. Go ahead and keep it,” I say, collecting myself. Griffin’s fingers leave mine as a snort leaves his nose.
He raises his eyebrows once. “I’ll extend a palm branch next time, Vivi.”
Now that he’s learned my name, he’s having too much fun with it. And no one calls me Vivi— it’s always been Viv or Vivianna. Griffin, however, is certainly one of those guys who constantly consider themselves the exception. He badly needs to be humbled.
“No need, Griffin.”
“Gotcha, Vivi.”