Griffin

by Marie James

  “Wake up.” I kick the mattress with my foot, but he doesn’t budge.

  If he weren’t breathing so heavily, I’d wonder if he was dead.

  “Griffin.” I shake the mattress with my foot, refusing to lean in and touch blankets he’s made love to someone on. I’m surely not going to touch his naked flesh. “Griffin.”

  He grumbles something, but only stirs slightly.

  I should leave him, but there’s no satisfaction in walking out of here without him knowing that I’ve been by to see him. I head to the kitchen and fill a glass of water to the brim before returning to his bedside.

  “Griffin!” I holler as I toss the cold water on his back.

  I expect him to scream and cuss, but instead, he’s off the bed and grabbing me by the arms. I’m flat on my back on the bed. Wetness seeps into my clothes, and I pray it’s only the water I’ve tossed on him. The alternative makes bile rise in my throat.

  “Get off of me!” I yell. “Don’t touch me!”

  Tears stream down my face when I finally open my eyes to look up at him.

  “Ivy?” Confusion forms two lines between his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “Pl-please get off of me.”

  He releases me immediately, and I’m off the bed the next second. I’m almost to the front door when his hand clamps on my wrist.

  “Don’t leave,” he begs, and the pain in his voice makes me sad down to my soul.

  “I can’t stay here while y-you’re—” I wave my arm up and down, indicating his naked body, but I don’t look at him.

  “Let me get dressed.”

  I don’t know why I wait, but it’s only a minute or so before he’s back in the main room fully dressed.

  “Why did you throw water on me?”

  The begging tone from earlier is gone, and in its place now is agitation.

  “You wouldn’t wake up.” He huffs as if I’ve just managed to ruin his life. “Why are you pissed at me?”

  I face him head on, and he turns, accepting my challenging stance and raises the bet by clenching his fists.

  “I don’t like being ignored,” he seethes.

  “I haven’t been ignoring you. I’ve taken a job at the school for the summer. Plus,” I jab my finger close to his chest without actually touching him, “the phone works both ways.”

  This has to be the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.

  “I needed you.” The words are a perfect reenactment of the fantasies I’ve pictured in my head for years, but the anger in his voice isn’t the emotion I’ve always imagined.

  “Seems you found a replacement. For your sake, I’m glad you at least used protection.”

  I try to slide past him toward the front door, but he blocks my path.

  “Of course, I used protection. I don’t fuck without it.” A slick sneer tilts his lip on one side. “Are you jealous?”

  “Jealous?” I huff.

  I wouldn’t call what I’m feeling jealousy. To be jealous would mean that I would prefer that whoever spent time in his bed was me instead. I can’t imagine that sort of thing with Griffin because I don’t have everything from him that I’d need for that to happen.

  He doesn’t care for me.

  He hasn’t promised to put my feelings first.

  Nor, has he vowed to love me for the rest of my life.

  All components key to getting me to fall into bed with any man.

  “I’m not jealous. I’m leaving.” I try to pull my arm from his grasp, but his grip is unrelenting. “You’re going to bruise me.”

  His warm fingers release me.

  “Ivy, I—”

  “I came by to get your mom’s plate,” I lie after seeing the dish right where he left it on the table by the door.

  “She wasn’t…” He pauses, his hand swiping over the top of his head. “It didn’t mean anything.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I remind him, but I’m reluctant to walk out and leave him.

  If I’m being honest with myself, just the sight of the used condoms on the floor breaks my heart, but hearing him talk about someone else just reaffirms how different we are and how I should give up on any hope of there ever being anything between us.

  “Okay, well, have a good night.”

  “Stay.” The one word stops me in my tracks, and he doesn’t even have to put his hands on me this time.

  Chapter 15

  Griffin

  “If you plan on drinking, I won’t stay.”

  My eye twitches with the ultimatum, and it takes a serious moment of reflection for me to choose.

  “I won’t drink,” I promise. “We can order a pizza or something. Watch some more Antique Roadshow like we did last night.”

  “Three nights ago,” she says.

  “Huh?” My mind is already distracted, wondering how I can slip out and clean the used rubbers off the floor in the bedroom.

  “It was three nights ago, Griffin. I was here on Sunday. It’s Wednesday.”

  “Really?” The question comes out before I can hide my confusion.

  I know I brought Cara back here on Monday, but I have no idea where Tuesday went. “What time is it?”

  Ivy looks at the screen of her phone. “It’s almost four.”

  “In the afternoon?” She nods. “Grab a seat. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Praying she doesn’t leave, I grab a change of clothes and the used condoms off the floor and head to the bathroom. I flush my shame down the toilet and jump under the scalding water.

  What reason does she have to stay? Why are things easier when she’s around? What the hell did I do to lose over twenty-four hours?

  Just the missing part of my life is enough to make me rethink the amount of alcohol I’ve been drinking.

  The soap and hot water wash the feel of Cara’s lips from my body, but the shame deep in my gut only grows more as I towel off and dress.

  “I ordered a pizza,” Ivy says as I reenter the living area.

  The TV is on, the volume low as she looks up at me.

  “Awesome.”

  “Are you going to finish getting dressed?”

  “Do I make you uncomfortable?” I rub my hand down my pecs, ignoring how much muscle mass I’ve actually lost recently.

  “Those do.” She points at my stomach, and I grin as I look down, sure she’s talking about the ripple of my abs. I flex as much as I can with limited time to prepare.

  “Fuck.”

  My stomach is covered in red and purple hickeys. My shower was so mechanical, I didn’t even bother to look down when I was soaping myself up earlier.

  “Shit.” I turn back toward the bedroom to grab a shirt. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology.” It’s the second time she’s said as much today, but there’s a hint of pain in her voice. There’s nothing I can do to reassure her, so I ignore the emotion.

  “What kind of pizza did you order?” I ask as I make my way back into the room. The hickeys are covered, and I’m choosing to ignore any and all awkwardness.

  “Pepperoni and beef,” she answers with relief in her voice. Seems she wants to forget it all as well. “I made them promise not to get close to it with pineapple.”

  I grin like she expects me to, but the memory of thinking the pizza was poisoned the other night is as real now as it was then.

  “What are we watching?” I sit beside her on the couch. I’m not touching her, but I’m also not crowding the arm of the sofa either

  “There isn’t anything on but the news,” she says with a sigh and hands me the remote. “Feel free to pick.”

  “I need to see about getting satellite out here or something.” I leave the TV on the news, and she doesn’t argue.

  “We have hundreds of channels back home. We could be watching Jack Reacher or some equally badass show on Netflix right now.”

  She flashes me a quick grin before turning her head back toward the TV.

  “But we wouldn’
t be alone.” She freezes at my words but doesn’t say anything.

  A hard knock echoes through the room, and I stiffen, more in shock that I wasn’t paying attention enough to notice someone coming close.

  “Relax,” Ivy says standing. She squeezes my hand, and I’m reluctant to let her go when she goes to move past me to the door. “It’s only the pizza.”

  I can’t see the delivery person, but I don’t miss the hint of appreciation in his voice that has nothing to do with the five-dollar tip she gives him. Lucky for him, she doesn’t engage any more than she has to in order to make the exchange.

  “This smells amazing.” Ivy sets the pizza down on the table. “I’ll grab some plates.”

  As she walks to the kitchen, I notice the length of her khaki shorts. Mid-thigh doesn’t seem seductive, especially compared to the amount of flesh Cara was showing the other day, but damn if my fingers don’t itch to trace her thigh down to her knee to see if she’s ticklish there.

  Oblivious to my perusal and naughty thoughts, Ivy sits back down beside me, this time with her thigh touching mine as she flips open the lid on the box.

  “Look at all of that cheese.”

  “Looks delicious,” I tell her, but the only thing I see is her tongue skating over her bottom lip. The pizza doesn’t even register.

  “One slice or two?”

  “I want both of them.” My eyes never leave her lips, and suddenly, my mouth runs dry with the need to taste her.

  “Griffin? Here.” I look down to see a plate with two gooey pieces of pizza piled on it.

  “Perfect. Thanks.” I take the plate from her hand and settle it in my lap.

  “I had pizza from twenty different places back at college before I actually found one that has sauce even remotely close to Luigi’s,” she says with a quick laugh. Enthralled by her every motion, I watch as she lifts the slice to her mouth. The groan that escapes her throat arrows straight to my cock.

  “It’s delicious,” she whispers after swallowing.

  “I bet it’s the best thing I’ll ever taste.”

  She grins over at me and winks. “And no pineapple.”

  “Right.” My thoughts somehow get dragged out of the gutter and back into this living room where two very platonic friends are enjoying a couple of slices of pizza. As much as I’d like, this isn’t some form of foreplay. She doesn’t have a clue about the innuendo lacing every word I’ve spoken since the pizza arrived.

  “What was the name of the pizza place you liked back home?”

  “Rhode Island.”

  “What?”

  “You said back home. New Mexico will always be my home.”

  My heart beats faster because no matter how many countries I’ve traveled to or how many exotic places I’ve been, I’ve never considered settling anyplace but here.

  “Mario’s, actually.”

  My eyes squint. I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.

  “The pizza place called Mario’s.”

  “That’s funny. Mario and Luigi.”

  She grins wide before opening her mouth for another bite.

  I mimic her actions, choosing to focus on her throat working on swallows rather than the voice in the back of my head trying to convince me that the food we’re eating will kill us.

  She manages a slice and a half before she complains of being too full. I’ve put away half of the pie in that same amount of time.

  “Thanks for ordering,” I tell her as she leans back on the couch holding her stomach.

  “Anytime,” she says, and I can tell she means it.

  This woman owes me nothing, yet here she is spending time with me with no expectations. She hasn’t asked for an explanation as to what happened back in California. She hasn’t questioned my racing thoughts and paranoia. The only thing that she’s asked is that I don’t drink around her. What she doesn’t know is that when she’s here, I don’t need the alcohol. She’s the only thing that has been enough of a distraction to make me forget about it.

  “You really do need satellite,” she says with a yawn. It comes on too fast to block with her hand, and her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Here.” She tenses when I lean against her to grab the pillow on the other end of the sofa. I place the pillow in my lap and pat it with my hand. “Take a load off.”

  Her eyes widen, and she seems indecisive for a long moment before she gives in and settles her head on my lap.

  “Tell me about working at the high school. I bet the boys can’t keep their eyes off of you.”

  She chuckles but doesn’t confirm my suspicions. “There’s a new principal. She’s really nice, just incredibly frustrated with the politics that goes with trying to run a school.”

  She continues to talk about her classes, and some of the students she’s encountered, yawning off and on until sleep finally takes over. I don’t run my fingers through her silky brown hair until her breathing evens out.

  Even the warmth of her body and the rhythmic cadence of her breath isn’t enough to keep the demons at bay once the sun sets. With the bottle of whiskey on the floor beside the couch, it’s way too easy to break my promise to her once again.

  Chapter 16

  Ivy

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I apologize to Ms. Lee when she intercepts me in the hallway.

  “You’re late,” she says as she looks down at her watch.

  “It’ll never happen again. I swear.”

  “Make sure of it.” She walks away without a backward glance. Most people would be fired on the spot, but I know she’s in a tight spot with the student to teacher ratio for summer sessions this year. I hate that I’ve added to her stress this morning.

  Waking up on Griffin’s couch when my phone alarm went off was disorienting. I still had to run home and change, refusing to come back to school today in the same clothes I left in yesterday.

  He was nowhere to be found this morning, although I didn’t go looking either.

  I’m raking my fingers through my still-damp hair as I walk into the classroom. Most students have their heads bent over laptops and textbooks, but the person at the desk still manages to look extremely put out with my tardiness.

  “Sorry,” I tell the guy, but he just walks right past me and out the door without a word.

  “Don’t take offense,” a girl whispers beside me. “Coach Roy is like that with everyone.”

  “What can I help you with?” I ask the student rather than gossiping with her about another teacher.

  She explains her confusion, and I busy myself with helping her figure out the equation that’s tripping her up.

  I spend the rest of the extended class period helping students and sitting at the desk during the downtimes. By the time the bell chimes, calling an end to the first half of the day, my eyes are heavy. The kids close textbooks and the tops to their computers and begin to pack their things away. I haven’t been instructed on what to do during the class change, but I do what my teachers did and stand in the hall as students transition. Many are going home, but some are stuck for the second half, needing to get more than one grade up to promote in the fall.

  “Hey, Ivy,” one boy says as he walks up, leading a pack of four more boys.

  “It’s Ms. Anderson,” I correct sternly. I wonder if he can tell how nervous they make me. This group of boys has bothered me all three days so far.

  “You know,” the leader says as he leans in too close to be comfortable. “I’ve always had a thing for older women.”

  I scoff. Older? I’m not even twenty-one yet, but I understand where he’s coming from.

  “Sadly, I’ve never had a thing for little boys.” I cringe at my words the second they’re out of my mouth.

  The other guys laugh loudly at their friend’s expense. I expect some show of violence, a way for this guy to get the upper hand, but he just leans in closer, effectively trapping me against my open classroom door. The hall has emptied since the next s
ummer school session doesn’t start until after a forty-five-minute lunch break.

  “Boy?” he grunts as he tugs up his jeans suggestively. “Why don’t you give it a go, and then call me a boy?”

  “This isn’t appropriate.” My words come out on a rush with absolutely no authority. I hate how small I am. These guys, even at sixteen and seventeen, are already inches taller than I am.

  “Hey! The fuck are you shits doing?”

  All of our eyes snap in the direction of the voice. Relief washes over me as I see Griffin barreling toward us.

  “Get the fuck away from her.” He’d strike fear in them if he didn't have to walk with a lean against the row of lockers on his way to us.

  “Is he drunk?” one of the guys wonders out loud.

  “Go to lunch,” I insist as I step out from behind the leader.

  “Get away from her,” Griffin insists again. “Unless you want your ass kicked.”

  “Ass kicked?” The guy that was in my face takes a step forward. “And your drunk ass is going to do that?”

  Before I can get control of the situation, Griffin grasps the front of the guy's shirt, but he seems more reliant on holding him to stay upright than in a threatening manner.

  “Don’t,” the guy grunts and easily pulls Griffin’s grip off his shirt.

  Without his hold, Griffin stumbles, and as if in slow motion, much the way he did in the bar last week, he topples to the floor.

  The guys laugh harder at the sight of him sprawled on the floor than they did when I insulted his friend earlier.

  “Let me help you,” I offer as I reach down.

  “Get away from me,” Griffin growls.

  “Some fucking hero,” one of the boys hisses with another laugh.

  I watch in horror as Griffin manages to climb back to his feet. I expect him to storm off, but instead, he squares up with one of the boys. When the kid doesn’t back down, Griffin reaches back his arm and slams it toward the kid’s face. His level of inebriation slows him too much, and the kid easily avoids getting hit. Griffin nearly lands on the floor again, and if it wasn’t for the wall catching him, that’s exactly where he would’ve ended up.