The tension in the room is thick, crackling like static, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction as Griffin’s reaction confirms everything you already knew. His jaw is clenched tight, and his stormy eyes are locked on you like you’re the only thing that matters.

“I’m not jealous, doll,” he scoffs again, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. His arms are crossed over his chest, his broad shoulders tense, and the way he’s avoiding your gaze only makes it more obvious.

You arch a brow, arms folded to match his defensive posture. “Oh, really?” you challenge, your tone light but laced with amusement. You know exactly what buttons to push, and Griffin’s are so easy to find it’s almost unfair.

“Yeah, really,” he snaps, waving a dismissive hand as he drops onto the couch, pretending to be bored. But you don’t miss the way his fingers twitch or his jaw ticks.

Without missing a beat, you glance at Grant. “Grant, meet me in my room in five,” you say casually, your tone sweet but deliberate. Griffin’s entire body stiffens, his head snapping toward you. His fingers drum against his thigh—agitated, restless. You can practically see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the way his chest rises and falls just a little too quickly.

“Not jealous, huh?” you smirk, tilting your head as you meet his gaze, your tone teasing and light. You know you’re playing with fire, but the way he’s reacting is too delicious to resist.

In a flash, Griffin’s on his feet, eyes dark and possessive. He closes the distance in two strides, his vibranium hand wrapping firmly around your wrist. His grip is gentle, but there’s no mistaking the firmness in it, the way he’s making it clear he’s not letting you go anywhere, unless it's with him. “My room. Now,” he growls, his voice low and commanding. The intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch, and you can’t help but smile.

Yeah, not jealous at all.