She worked to harden her heart toward him. “Get lost, Griff.”
This time he addressed her directly, looking right in her eyes. “I've never loved anyone but you.”
“Awww…” Roberta and Pauline said in unison.
Something shifted in Steph's heart. She felt the truth of his words. She had loved him once. Was there still some small part of the Griff she used to know deep inside him? The man she loved before the rock ’n’ roll machine ate him up and spit him out a star?
And then just like that she lost his attention. Roberta and Pauline rushed him for autographs that Griff happily signed, chatting with them amiably. He posed for some pictures with cell phone cameras.
Her heart closed against him. She’d wasted an entire year waiting for Griff to come back to her, even as the evidence mounted that she’d been abandoned. And the women he’d been with, splashed all over the tabloids, without a peep from him. No remorse, not even the decency to keep his affairs out of the press. It had devastated and embarrassed her. Finally, two years after he’d left her, she’d managed to get a new job in Clover Park, moving away from the town where everyone knew her and Griff’s sordid story, to a town where no one knew her at all. She’d never mentioned him, had even gone so far as to cut her hair short to look different from before, in case any old pictures of them were circulating from the brief time when she’d been in the spotlight with him. (Once she felt comfortable, with no gossip circulating about her in town that she’d ever heard, she let her hair grow out again.) She’d started a new life for herself and refused to look back.
And now, five years later, the divorce papers finally made Griff realize he loved her. It was too late. Too damn late.
~ ~ ~
The next day Dave still didn’t have anything great planned for winning Steph. In desperation, last night he’d Googled “romantic things men can do” and called his sister, both of which had been less than helpful. The Internet had come up with stuff like roses, jewelry, and chocolate. But he was competing with a rock star, so he knew he had to go big. His call to Christina had been a complete disaster. As soon as she heard the name Griffin Huntley, she was like a derivative of velocity—pure annoying acceleration, going fast in one direction. Their conversation went like this:
Chris: “I want to meet him.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“No.”
After several rounds of that, Chris proclaimed, “I’m not just saying this because I’m hot for the guy! I sincerely want to help you. I can distract him while you make your move on Steph.”
“Look, it’s not gonna happen. I wouldn’t wish this guy on any woman and especially not my sister.”
“I can handle myself.”
“No.”
They went a few more rounds before he finally threatened to hang up on her. That prompted Chris to yell, “Do something specific to Steph, not something you got off the Internet!” which was also less than helpful. What specific thing would blow Steph away? She appeared to have it all—a nice apartment, a nice job, a nice cat. What could he possibly give her?
At lunch, he took his dilemma to the teachers’ lounge with his three closest women friends, all battle-worn veterans of the singles scene—Michelle (Social Studies), Courtney (French), and Julia (Language Arts). Usually he just listened to his friends chat about parents, the administration, and what was up with whatever reality TV show they were watching recently, but he was going up against a rock star. He needed the big guns, the big ammo. He needed these three.
He cleared his throat in a brief pause in the conversation over whether or not Clive should’ve given the pearls to Jennifer M. last night on some show he’d never heard of. “Ladies, I need your advice about…” He coughed and pulled at the collar of his button-down shirt. “Love.”
Michelle, Courtney, and Julia turned to him with equal looks of shock.
Courtney shut her gaping mouth with a snap. “Is it Stephanie? Are you going to pop the question?”
The women exchanged looks of glee. He quickly filled them in on the rock-star problem.
“I don’t know, Dave,” Julia said in her thoughtful tone. “It sounds like a bad situation all around. Why don’t you wait until she’s divorced before you do anything?”
Courtney disagreed. Loudly. “She said it was over. Why should they suffer because her soon-to-be ex is an asshole?” She glared at the other two women before turning back to him with a smile. “Can I meet him? I love Twisted Star.”
“Er…” he stalled.
“I know what Dave is going for here,” Michelle said. She was a former cheerleader, current cheerleading coach, and very gung-ho and perky. “You want to wow her with something romantic. Am I right?”
“Awww,” the women chorused.
His ears burned.
“Try a massage,” Michelle said. “Women love massages. Especially a foot massage after a long day of being on your feet.”
“What if he can’t get her alone with Griffin hanging around?” Julia said. “I think maybe something nice like doing a chore for her. One time my boyfriend, Mike, cooked and washed the dishes. It was quite nice. An act of service shows love.”
Courtney made a face of disgust. “Isn’t that the same guy that peed in your sink when you were using the bathroom?”
“That doesn’t change the act of service,” Julia snapped.
“Peeing in the sink changes everything!” Courtney exclaimed.
Dave rubbed the back of his neck and wished the ladies would keep the volume down. People were starting to listen in. He didn’t want everyone to know about this awkward situation he’d found himself in.
“Maybe a hike and a picnic,” Michelle suggested, her eyes lighting up. “Or a long bike ride.”
“Camping!” Julia exclaimed.
“A nice hotel with room service!” Courtney exclaimed.
He looked at the table. None of those things sounded quite right. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
Julia put a hand on his arm. “Hey, this is Dave we’re talking about. Sweet is his strong suit. He should do something sweet.”
“Something an asshole rock star would never come up with,” Courtney said. “Though don’t tell him I said that. I would love to get his autograph or something.” Her cheeks turned pink, which was very unusual for Courtney.
“I’ve got it!” Michelle said. “He could write her a love poem. Yes?”
“Je serai poete et toi poesie,” Courtney said dreamily. “It means: I’ll be a poet, and you’ll be poetry.”
“Ladies, I’m a math teacher,” he said patiently. “Poems aren’t my field of expertise.” He was never going to win Steph over at this rate.
“Have you heard of Fibonacci poetry?” Julia asked.
“Fibonacci?” Dave asked. “As in the numerical pattern that’s often found in nature?” The Fibonacci sequence was a pattern where each number was equal to the sum of the two numbers before it—1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21. The recursive sequence described spirals such as sunflowers and conch shells. He loved the Fibonacci sequence.
Julia smiled. “Exactly. We’ve been experimenting with it in class. You use the Fibonacci sequence to write a poem. Each line of the poem has the number of words in the sequence or you could do the number of syllables.”
“I’ll do the words,” Dave said. “That sounds easier. Thank you. This is something Griffin will never be able to top.”
The women gave him smiles that looked a little worried.
“What?” he asked.
“You’ll do great, sweetie!” Michelle said.
They all nodded and smiled enthusiastically. Maybe a little too enthusiastically, but that was them. He felt good about their talk.
~ ~ ~
Griff waited outside of Steph’s house after school the next day for her to get home from work. Mandy had gotten s
ome good shots of him and Steph yesterday and last night when he sang to her, so he didn’t need to stay. The thing was, now that he’d seen Steph again and met Dave, he had to hang around. The way Dave looked at Steph made Griff crazy. That was his wife. Sure, he hadn’t been around in a few years, but facts were facts. Legally, she was his. He smiled to himself as he watched Steph pull up in her VW Beetle. He’d forgotten how feisty she was. Like a breath of fresh air after all the jaded women he’d been with in L.A.
He really did want another chance with her. And wouldn’t that be even better press for him? The rocker and his hometown girl getting back together? Maybe even renewing their vows in a big splashy ceremony? Not like the first time in that dinky church she and her mother went to.
He was about to get out of the limo when Steph knocked on the window. He stepped outside.
She put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
“Well, I don’t want to see you,” she huffed.
He gave her a slow smile that melted hearts everywhere. “Can’t you spare one minute to talk to your husband?”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t consider you my husband. I don’t even know you anymore.”
He stepped closer, into her personal space. She flushed and took a quick step back.
“You remember me,” he said in a low voice. “Us. We were good together.” He stroked her hair and smiled, in case Mandy was still snapping pictures with her telephoto lens. Always looked good to have a smile when you were with a beautiful woman. And Steph, even after all these years, was still stunning. He wanted her just as much as he had before. The sex had always been great. That had never been a problem for them. It was just that he found it hard to be faithful when there were so many other beautiful women eager to bed the famous Griffin Huntley. It was a weakness he’d try to work on, if Steph gave him a second chance.
“If you want to talk about the divorce, I’m all ears,” Steph said. “Otherwise, you should just go back to whatever seedy hotel you came from.”
He held her chin. “I’m at the Four Seasons, babe.”
She jerked her head away from him. “Of course you are.”
She strode up the front porch steps. He followed.
She stopped, hand on the doorknob. “I swear I will call the cops if you try to force your way upstairs with me.”
She was bluffing. The Steph he knew would never do anything to hurt him. She loved him.
He grinned. “What if you just invite me in?”
“What if I don’t?” she said before slipping inside and shutting the door behind her.
Griff went back to the limo for a temporary retreat. Okay, so it would take some time for Steph to warm up to him again, but damn if he was going to let that geek waltz in here and steal her away. He’d wait him out. He was not going to lose Steph to a guy like that.
~ ~ ~
Dave spent an hour after school composing his first ever Fibonacci poem and thought it came out pretty good. He considered the best delivery system. In person, he could just hand it to her. Or he could slip it under her door. Or put it in the mailbox. No, to be romantic he had to go in person. Even better, he’d climb a ladder and recite the poem outside her bedroom window. Just like Rapunzel, except without the freakishly long hair.
After a brief stop to pick up some roses to go with the poem, he embarked on his quest for the fair maiden. Within minutes, he was beginning to question his Rapunzel idea. The ladder proved difficult to tie on top of his car, and he had to drive twenty-five miles per hour the whole way so it didn’t fall off. But it would all be worth it, he told himself.
He pulled up in front of her place and immediately saw the limo parked out front. Damn. Griffin had gotten there first. Still, he wouldn’t give up. Just another hurdle on his quest. He untied the ladder and pulled it off the top of his car. Opening the passenger-side door, he reached for the flowers on the seat. The ladder slipped a little from his grip. Too heavy. He was going to drop it. He set the ladder gently on the front lawn.
The sky was overcast, and he prayed the rain held off until he completed his task. The weather report hadn’t said anything about showers. If Dave believed in signs, this would’ve been a bad one. But it was simply a drop in atmospheric pressure combined with the Gulf Stream. It was getting dark with all the storm clouds, and he hoped there was a light around back by her bedroom. He stuck the flowers down the front of his gray fleece jacket. Some petals came loose and fluttered to the ground.
He lifted the ladder, and the roses crushed into his throat. He shoved the flowers further down his jacket with one hand and awkwardly made his way to the back of the house with the ladder, the petals tickling his neck. He heard a car door slam behind him.
“Just ring the buzzer, man.” Griffin appeared in front of him. Apparently, he'd still been in the limo. Maybe Dave would have the first chance at Steph. “You're going to slide right off the back of the house.”
Dave stepped to the side, determined to stick with his plan. “I can do this without any advice from you. I just need the right angle and some traction. It's simple physics.”
Griffin rolled his eyes. “I'll ring the buzzer.”
“No!”
Griffin ignored him and bounded up the front porch steps, hitting the buzzer.
“Who is it?” Steph asked.
“It’s your honey,” Griffin sang.
Dave dropped the ladder on the front lawn and sprinted up the porch steps. He leaned into the intercom speaker. “It's Dave.”
“And Griff.”
“Just Dave gets in.” Steph hit the buzzer.
Dave opened the door. “You can go now,” he told his nemesis.
Griffin inclined his head. “Good luck.” He strolled down the steps, heading for his limo.
Dave took the stairs two at a time, secretly relieved he didn't have to actually climb the ladder. Without someone to keep it steady, it really could've slid off the back of the house. He couldn't keep up with Griffin if he was in traction.
Steph opened the door, and his mouth went dry. She wore an oversize Columbia sweatshirt with leggings.
“Columbia,” he said reverently. She looked so sexy.
“Yup. Come on in.”
She stepped back from the door, and he followed.
“I’m sorry about Griff showing up here,” Steph said. She stared at his chest. He looked down, and the flowers poked his throat again.
He unzipped his jacket and pulled out the crumpled roses. Some petals stuck to his white sweater. He handed her the flowers. “For you.”
She buried her nose in them. “Oh, Dave, they're beautiful. Thank you.”
“Sorry they're a little squished.”
“It's fine. Let me get a vase for these.”
He followed her to the kitchen, his mind racing with all the romantic things he was supposed to do, because now that he was here he felt like the poem wasn’t going to cut it. He really wanted to touch her. That Columbia sweatshirt made him so hot. He could give her a foot massage! Michelle had said women loved massages. And the feet were one of the top erogenous zones—another very informative Google search—without being too demanding right up front. He was sure slow and steady would get him where he needed to go with Steph. A guy like Griffin was all flash and moved like a race car. Women liked a man who took his time. That much he knew from his women friends.
While he pondered how to get her out of her pink striped fuzzy socks, he heard a tapping.
Steph turned her head toward the back of her apartment. “What was that? It sounded like it was the window.”
“Probably just the blinds. I'll check on it.” He made his way toward the sound, wishing it was just the blinds.
He stopped at Steph's bedroom window and pulled up the blinds. Wishing had never worked for him. He came face-to-face with Griffin standing on his ladder. This guy played dirty.
“What the—Griff!” Steph exclaimed from behind him. She o
pened the window. “What are you doing?”
Dave peered out the window. Someone in a hoodie was holding the ladder for the jerk. Griffin wasn’t as dumb as he’d hoped.
Griffin went whole hog for the fairy-tale effect. “Oh, fair Steph. Roses are red—”
“Get in here! Are you crazy?” Steph grabbed his arm and tugged.
Griffin climbed in the window, looking mighty pleased with himself, and stood next to Dave. A flash of fury ran through Dave. Griffin had managed to give Steph a poem before he did on his ladder. It was the stupid “roses are red” poem, but still. That had been his plan.
Griffin went on. “Roses are red, Steph is fine—”
“You could've been killed!” Steph shouted. She gestured to Dave. “At least he was smart enough not to risk his life on a ladder.”
Dave’s ears burned.
Griffin hitched a thumb in his direction. “It was his idea.”
Steph turned to him, eyes wide.
Dave shook his head to deny it. Then rallied to his own cause. “I planned to give you roses on a ladder like Rapunzel, and he convinced me not to.” He jabbed a finger at Griffin. “You stole my idea! I had a poem all ready to go, and it was much better than his.” He yanked it out of his pocket and handed it to Steph.
Griffin smirked at him. Dave’s hands turned into fists. He’d lose in a physical altercation, he knew it, but damn, he’d love to just sock that smug look off his face.
Steph read the poem to herself and stared at it. Griffin snatched it from her fingers and read it out loud:
“Smart
Beautiful
You have
The total package
Many talents in one person.”
Griffin scoffed and leered at Steph. “I’ll show you a package.”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Dave snapped. He snatched the poem back and gave it to Steph again. “It’s a Fibonacci poem. You remember the Fibonacci sequence? One, one, two, three, five…” He trailed off at her confused expression. “It’s quite beautiful. Like you.”
Griffin snorted.
Steph rubbed her temples. “I’m getting a headache.”
“Yeah, Dave,” Griffin said. “Get lost. She has a headache.”
Almost Married Page 5
