One Last Chance

by Shelby Gates

  He removed her hand from his thigh and slid off the stool. “Thanks, Em, but I’m gonna pass. Enjoy the rest of your drink.”

  Her jaw dropped and Griffin smiled as he swam away.

  FOURTEEN

  Claire lay flat on her back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The smooth white surface served as a screen, one which her mind used to project the image of her kissing Griffin on the beach, over and over again.

  How could she have been so stupid? What had she been thinking?

  But she knew exactly what she’d been thinking. That Griffin Benson was back in her life for the first time in ten years. That Griffin Benson had his arms wrapped around her again and she’d never felt more protected or more cherished than she had when she’d been in his embrace. That Griffin Benson’s lips had grazed her skin, that his breath had blown hot in her ear and there was nothing she could do to stop herself from kissing him.

  And then she’d gotten spooked, worried he’d break her heart again, and had freaked out. Told him she was sorry. Went from hot to cold in five seconds flat.

  Why couldn’t she just kiss him? Why couldn’t she just have a casual fling with him, just see where the rest of the weekend went?

  Because he was Griffin Benson. And he was the only man she’d ever loved.

  The doorknob to the room twisted open and Claire sprang to a sitting position. Griffin strolled in, a drink in his hands.

  “Hey.” She offered a tentative smile.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “What…what are you doing?”

  He lifted his drink. “Happy hour.”

  “Oh.”

  He held the drink out to her.

  “For me?”

  He nodded. “Figured I’d bring happy hour to you tonight. You know, so you don’t have a repeat of last night.”

  Her brow furrowed but she managed a smile. Why was he being nice? He’d been furious with her an hour earlier.

  She reached for the drink and took a tiny sip. It was both sweet and sour and absolutely delicious.

  “What is this?”

  Griffin shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, what did you order?”

  “I told the bartender I wanted something special.” He looked at her, his expression a mixture of tenderness and determination. “A special drink for a special woman.”

  “Oh.” Claire took a huge swallow, hoping it would stem the butterflies rising up in her stomach.

  “Look, about the beach,” Griffin began.

  Claire held up her hand. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. It shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I’m not,” he said.

  She started to speak but it was his turn to hold up his hand, silencing her.

  “Look, we’ve always had something, Claire. Always. I don’t know what you felt when we kissed, but I know what hit me. Chemistry. Just like ten years ago.”

  Her face reddened and she looked away.

  “Not saying it to make you feel weird or uncomfortable or anything. Just stating fact.”

  “Okayyy…”

  He smiled. “OK. So we’ve acknowledged what happened. There’s nothing to be sorry about. We kissed. It was nice. Right?”

  Slowly, she nodded.

  “OK.” He let out an exaggerated breath. “Whew. Glad we got that out of the way.”

  “Out of the way of what?”

  “Out of the way of the rest of the night.”

  “You’re confusing the crap out of me.”

  “Am I?” He grinned. “Sorry. I just figured we have two nights left on this cruise. We’re sharing a room. The last thing we need is something stupid hanging between us. Discuss, move on. Right?”

  Again, she nodded.

  “So now we move on.” He opened the closet and stood there, examining the contents. He withdrew two of her hangers.

  With two dresses attached.

  “Which one do you want?” he asked, holding them out to her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “For dinner. We’re going to dinner. You and me.”

  “Griffin…”

  But he didn’t let her finish. Instead, he set the hangers down on his bed and sat down next to her.

  “Do you want to know one of my biggest regrets?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. She was pretty sure she knew what it was. His broken engagement. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I’m going to tell you.” His eyes locked with hers. “Prom.”

  Her mouth dropped open. And then she cringed. She didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to re-live the memory.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve wished I could take it back?” he asked. “Wished I could take back what happened that night?”

  When she didn’t respond he continued.

  “A hundred times. A thousand. I was an idiot. And I was an asshole.” He reached out his hand and tipped her chin so she would look at him. “And I’m sorry.”

  She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he was sincere. Breaking up with her two days before Prom had been the worst heartbreak she’d ever experienced. Not because she had the perfect dress she suddenly couldn’t wear or because she’d missed out on the most important night of her high school career. No, it was because she was missing out on the biggest thing in her life. Him.

  “Tonight is the Captain’s Dinner,” Griffin said. “This is as close as I’m gonna get to being able to make it up to you. And I want to. I don’t deserve for you to say yes. But I hope you will.”

  Claire studied him. His eyes were locked on hers. Hopeful. Sincere.

  And suddenly, it didn’t matter that Griffin had been engaged or that she’d been divorced or that she had no idea what might happen once the cruise ended on Monday. Only one thing mattered. That she said yes.

  So she did.

  FIFTEEN

  Claire stood in the bathroom clad in a black lace bra and matching panties. She stared at the dresses hanging in front of her and tried to decide. The burgundy satin or the midnight blue chiffon. She knew dark colors looked good on her. Brought out the color in her cheeks and her lips, made her hazel eyes more green than brown.

  She slipped into the burgundy one first and tugged at the zipper on the back. A good portion of her extra ten pounds had manifested in her chest and she finally had cleavage worth noticing, especially in this dress with its plunging V-neckline. But maybe it was too provocative. She stepped out of it and tried on the chiffon. A cloud of blue settled around her. Despite the dark color, she looked soft and feminine. And beautiful. She twirled once, resting her injured foot on her leg, and let the fabric drift and billow. It was perfect.

  Satisfied with her dress, she brushed out her hair and tried to apply her make-up but her shaking hands wouldn’t cooperate.

  What was she doing? What had she agreed to?

  She’d said yes to Griffin Benson. Yes to a date.

  After she’d poured her heart out to him on the beach. After she’d kissed him. What was she thinking?

  He’d mentioned the kiss. The chemistry. Claire allowed herself to remember, to feel the heat of his lips, the flick of his tongue against hers, and she trembled. Yeah, there was definitely chemistry.

  And then he’d mentioned Prom. He’d said he was sorry. That it was one of his biggest regrets. And that he wanted to make it up to her.

  Did she believe him? She tried for the fifth time to apply her eyeliner. He’d sounded sincere, she thought. He’d looked like he meant it. But she still wasn’t sure.

  It doesn’t matter, she told herself as she wiped away the crooked line she’d just drawn. It’s dinner. And a dance. Two old friends from high school. That was it.

  “I can do this,” she whispered to the woman looking back at her in the mirror. “I want to do this.”

  She steadied her hand and tried again with the black pencil gripped in her hand. This time, it worked. Satisfied with her reflection, she limped from the bathroom to the main cabin an
d rummaged in the closet for her black ballet flats. She knew she couldn’t manage heels but she was bound and determined to wear shoes to the dinner. Even if she still had to use the crutches to get there.

  Griffin had offered to wait for her.

  “No,” she’d said. “I need to shower. Get ready.”

  “You sure?” he asked. “How will you get down there?”

  “I’ve gotten very good at limping,” she told him. “And I’m practically an expert now with crutches.”

  “Yeah. Absolutely. You could like teach a class or something.”

  “Maybe I could work for a crutch manufacturer.” She smiled. “You know, handle their marketing. Test new designs.”

  “We can start putting your resume together tomorrow.”

  Their banter was so easy, so effortless. She’d never had that with Jared. She’d never had that with anyone.

  “I’ll get dressed out here while you get ready,” he said. “And meet you down there? You sure you’re OK with that?”

  “Yes. I’m OK with that.” And she was.

  Claire took one last look in the mirror. She took deep breaths, focused on her breathing and closed her eyes. Her heart slowed and she felt the uneasiness lessen. She was OK with meeting him at the dinner. She was OK with going.

  And she was going to be OK with everything. At least, she was going to try.

  SIXTEEN

  Griffin was too nervous to actually drink the bourbon and Coke in the glass next to him on the bar.

  He’d gotten dressed and gotten out of the stateroom so she could have her time getting ready, just like she’d asked for. And in hindsight, that was a good thing because, otherwise, he might’ve just stood there, hovering, scaring the crap out of her.

  He spun the drink on the bar and kept glancing at the door. She wasn’t there yet and the dining room was filling. Formal dresses, high heels, jackets, suits, ties everywhere. He’d first been tempted to go without a tie because he despised them, but decided that if he was really treating this like a Prom, he needed to dress the part. So, dark suit, pale blue shirt, dark blue tie. Shaved and he’d actually put some stuff in his hair to make it look like he cared about it.

  Another couple walked in the door. Not Claire.

  Shit.

  He downed the drink in one swallow, the bourbon numbing his lips momentarily and warming his throat. He motioned at the bartender for another.

  He wondered for the hundredth time if maybe she was setting him up for a little payback. Say yes and then not show. Leave him hanging. Make him feel like a fool.

  Like he’d done to her.

  No, he hadn’t stood her up back then, but he might as well have. Breaking up with her right before the dance was just as bad. So stupid.

  The bartender slid the drink next to him.

  He wouldn’t have blamed her. He deserved it. But it would sting. Like a mother.

  He picked up the drink, stared into the ice and alcohol. He would’ve killed for a time machine to take him back, to let him fix his stupid eighteen-year-old brain and not make such a colossal error in judgment, one that clung to him for a decade. Eighteen-year-old males were all idiots and he was the ringleader. He just wanted to go back and scream, “Hey Dummy! The girl of your dreams is RIGHT THERE!”

  He jiggled the ice in the glass, watched it swirl in the booze and soda. But there was no time machine and he couldn’t take it back and now she was going to pay him back in full and he just might spend the rest of the night trying to relieve the bar of all their bourbon.

  He raised the glass to his lips.

  And there she was.

  His heart thumped hard against his chest and he lowered the glass.

  Griffin had seen a lot of things in his life. Been all over the world and seen amazing places and people and witnessed plenty of things that made him stop and pause and think about how lucky he was.

  But he could not recall feeling any luckier than he felt right at that moment, staring at Claire.

  She’d picked the blue one and, somehow, he’d known that was going to be the one. It fit her the way a dress should fit a woman, hugging all the right places. Her hair was a mass of curls, framing her face. She was wearing more makeup than he was used to seeing on her, but it wasn’t overdone. It just accentuated her eyes and cheeks and the entire effect was more than he’d ever dreamed when he closed his eyes at night.

  She was stunning.

  She’d ditched the crutches, but was still favoring the ankle. She looked around anxiously and he stepped away from the bar toward her. She spotted him and after a moment, smiled at him, making a goofy face, like she couldn’t believe they were all dressed up.

  “The blue one,” he said, coming up next to her. “I had a feeling.”

  Tentatively, she reached out and ran her fingers down his tie. “Yes. Clearly.”

  “You look…incredible.”

  Her eyes met his. “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “No crutches?”

  “They didn’t match the dress.”

  “I should’ve painted them.”

  “Yes. But you fell down on the job, so I’m just going to hobble around all night.”

  He offered his arm. “You could hang onto me.”

  She took his arm. “I’m not sure I’ve ever done the weird-linked arms thing. At least not since I was, like, six and played Red Rover in my backyard.”

  He laughed. Beautiful. Funny. Smart. She was it. It all started and ended with her for him. How he’d known that ten years ago, he wasn’t sure. But maybe real life could sometimes be like it was in the movies.

  “You actually aren’t walking that badly,” he said.

  “Adrenaline. It’s gonna hurt like crazy tomorrow.”

  “Adrenaline from what?”

  “From going back in time,” she said. “And from seeing you there, waiting for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Just wondered if maybe you’d ditch me again.”

  He winced. “I’m sorry.”

  She smiled at him. “I know you are. But some things are hard to shake.”

  Yes, they were, he thought. Yes, they were.

  They made their way across the dining room to a table for two near the window.

  “How?” Claire asked, her eyes wide. She knew the drill with cruises. The Captain’s Dinner was a big event, with round tables of eight usually set for the evening. There were tons of those, all filled with alumnae. In fact, there was only one table for two in the entire dining room. The one he was leading her to.

  “I asked.”

  Her lips twitched. “And Griffin Benson gets what Griffin Benson wants?”

  Not always, he thought. But he was going to do his best to get what he wanted—what he needed—tonight. Her.

  “Something like that,” he said.

  The ocean shimmered down below, the small whitecaps gleaming in the moonlight. He helped her get settled in her chair and took the seat across from her. His heart was in his throat, but he didn’t know how to tell her that. It was like being back in junior high school, when he didn’t know how to talk to girls. She was doing things to him that he was not used to. He was used to being composed, in control, poised.

  Claire was taking all of those things and turning them upside down.

  “So, if this really was the Prom and it was ten years ago, what would we be doing right now?” she asked after their server took their drink orders.

  “Hmmm,” he said, thinking. “Probably drinking beer in the back of a limo.”

  She thought, then nodded. “Yeah, absolutely. And I’d be freaking out about spilling something on my dress at dinner. Thinking that if I got too buzzed, I’d splash food all over me.”

  “And I’d just be thinking about going back to the hotel room with you after the dance.”

  She blushed.

  “I’d probably be trying to touch your leg or something, too,” he said. “Not under your dress, but you know. Getting the message across.”


  “Yeah,” she said. “You never had a problem getting the message across.”

  “No?”

  “No. Loud and clear.”

  The server brought the drinks. Another bourbon and Coke for him and a glass of red wine for her.

  “And then I would’ve worried about dancing with you,” Griffin said.

  “Dancing? Why?”

  “Because I’m a hideous dancer.”

  She smiled, sipping from the wine glass. “Oh, we are totally dancing tonight then.”

  “For you, I’ll dance,” he said. “You can even make fun of me.”

  “That’s a given. I hope you’re awful.”

  He laughed. Such a wiseass. And so damn beautiful.

  “So I would’ve been worried about that, which means I would’ve had a couple more beers,” he said. “Which means I probably would’ve been a little more brazen.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Probably would’ve tried to start making out with you in the limo.”

  She stared at him over her wine glass. “I would’ve let you. Probably would’ve let you get your hand under that dress, too.”