One Last Chance

by Shelby Gates

  It was his turn to blush. Not from embarrassment, but from desire, because if he’d had his choice, right at that moment, that’s what they would’ve been doing.

  “Well, isn’t this sweet?” Emily appeared table-side, a vision in white. Dylan Mercado stood next to her, his arms folded over his chest.

  “Hi, Em.” Griffin greeted her. “You look nice.”

  She looked down at her dress, smoothing the almost-sheer fabric that clung to her hips. Griffin looked a little closer and was pretty certain the dress was the only thing she was wearing.

  “I do, don’t I?” she said, smiling.

  “Come on, Em.” Dylan tugged at her arm.

  She pulled away, scowling. “Give me a minute.” She turned her attention back to Griffin and Claire. “How did you do this?”

  Griffin sipped his drink. “Do what?”

  “Hello? The table.”

  He shrugged. “I asked.” He gave her the same response he’d given Claire but his tone was clipped, not playful.

  “Sweet,” she repeated, her eyes narrowed. She turned her attention to Claire. “I’m surprised you came down for this.”

  Claire shifted in her seat. “My ankle feels a lot better.”

  Emily laughed. “Oh, I didn’t mean your ankle. I seriously doubt you even hurt it, to be honest.”

  “Come on, Em.” Dylan scowled.

  Her eyes shot daggers at him. “In a minute!” She put her hands on the table and leaned close to Claire, her eyes level with hers. “I’m talking about being here. At a dinner. And a dance. With him.”

  Griffin felt Claire stiffen.

  Emily’s laugh was full of malice. “You must be a sucker for punishment, Claire. Wasn’t one time enough? One time for him to let you think he was taking you to the dance and then make a fool out of you by breaking up with you?”

  “That’s enough.” Griffin’s voice was calm but, inside, he wanted to throttle her.

  “Oh, sorry,” Emily said, her face a mask of innocence. “Did I ruin the surprise?”

  “There is no surprise,” Griffin snapped.

  “The only surprise,” Claire spoke slowly, her eyes dark with anger, “belongs to you, Em. Finding out that Griffin isn’t interested in you. Doesn’t want you.”

  Emily flushed scarlet.

  “Geez, what a bitch,” Dylan said, glaring at Claire.

  His words had a slight slur to them and Griffin noticed his blood shot eyes. Probably drinking since he woke up. But that didn’t give him an excuse to be an asshole.

  “Watch your mouth, Mercado,” Griffin said, angling his eyes at him.

  “I’m not watching anything,” Dylan said. “You wanna try and make me?”

  Griffin looked at Claire. She shook her head, rolled her eyes. Her way of telling him to let it go. He didn’t want to, but he would. For her. This was supposed to be her night and he wasn’t go to upset her.

  “You did always have that eye-roll thing down,” Emily said, smirking.

  “And you always had that vapid, airhead thing down,” Claire shot back.

  Griffin smiled. Emily was venturing into battle unarmed if she wanted to try and have a war of words with Claire. She’d end up mortally wounded.

  “Let’s go,” Dylan said, pulling on Emily’s arm. “She’s an idiot.”

  Griffin stood. “Feel like going for a swim, Mercado? Right over the side of the boat?”

  Dylan puffed out his chest and stepped into Griffin. “Good luck trying, Benson.”

  “Griffin,” Claire said. “Just let them go.”

  Griffin turned to say something to her, but Dylan’s fist smashed into his jaw instead.

  Griffin took a wobbly step backward, surprised, tasting blood in his mouth. He looked back at Dylan, just in time to duck the second sucker punch headed his way. He regained his balance, took two steps forward and tackled Dylan, taking him down to the ground. Dylan grunted beneath him, the air leaving his lungs as he landed on his back, Griffin’s weight pressing him to the floor. Griffin struggled to get his right arm free, then dropped his fist right into Dylan’s mouth. Blood immediately stained Dylan’s teeth and lips and his eyes glazed.

  Emily screamed and hands pulled at Griffin’s arms and back and he was lifted off Dylan. Dylan stayed on his back, out of it. Griffin was breathing hard, his chest heaving, but his arms were pinned back and he couldn’t get to Dylan.

  He took a look around and realized he was now the center of attention in the dining room, all eyes focused on the commotion. Several of the ship’s staff members helped Dylan off the floor, propping him against the wall so he didn’t fall again. Emily made a face at him, unsympathetic to his bloody mouth. He slurred something unintelligible and the staff helped walk him out of the dining room.

  The arms on Griffin relaxed and his breathing started to return to normal.

  “Are you alright, sir?” another staff member asked him, standing next to him.

  “I’m fine. I’m sorry for the…disturbance.”

  “It’s alright, sir,” the staffer said. “I was near the door. I saw that he swung first, when you weren’t looking. And he also reeked of alcohol.” The staffer paused. “But your mouth, sir.”

  Griffin put a hand to his mouth, then pulled it away. His fingers came back crimson. “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not,” Claire said, standing next to her chair.

  His jaw throbbed and the blood continued sliding down his throat. But this wasn’t the night he had planned and he wasn’t going to let a moron like Dylan Mercado ruin it.

  “I’d be happy to escort you to the ship’s doctor,” the staffer said.

  “No, really. I’m fine.”

  Claire sighed, exasperated. She stepped around the staffer and linked her arm with Griffin’s.

  “Thank you,” she said to the staffer. “I’ll take him.” She glanced at Griffin. “He’s going and we know the way.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Griffin slouched on the examining table, rubbing his jaw. “I’m fine.”

  Claire nodded. “I know. That’s what the doctor just said.”

  “I mean, we don’t need to spend time here,” he said. “I’m a little banged up, not ready for the coffin.”

  “Well, that’s not dramatic in any way.”

  He frowned and the throbbing in his jaw grew. It did hurt, but other than a couple of cuts in his mouth and a very slight loose tooth, he was fine. He just felt stupid for getting into a fight at dinner. He shouldn’t have let Dylan bait him into the confrontation, but hearing him talk about Claire the way he had was more than he could take. He was more furious that the evening had been screwed up, though.

  “Can we go?” Griffin asked.

  “He said he was bringing pain meds,” Claire said.

  “I could just use yours.”

  “Maybe yours are stronger.”

  “Ha.”

  She smiled at him and he felt another disappointed pang. He’d wanted to give her the night he’d taken away from her a decade ago. Instead, he’d given her a low-rent boxing match and more time in the doctor’s office.

  “Dylan did not look…good,” she said. “When they got him up.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve held my temper. It was stupid.”

  “He sucker punched you,” she said. “Big time. I think he was stunned you didn’t go down, considering he had a clean shot and it didn’t work. He might’ve peed his pants a little when you didn’t fall.”

  Griffin gave her a tired smile. “I doubt that. But I’m sorry I ruined the night. I didn’t want to do that.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything. Dylan ruined it.”

  “I guess. But we should be having dinner by the window rather than waiting on Percocet.”

  “Well, we can still have dinner,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve taken care of it.”

  “You what?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “You think you’re the only one
who can arrange surprises on this ship?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “Dinner has been arranged,” she said, smiling. “You’ll see.”

  The doctor returned and handed him the small jar of pills. He gave Griffin some cursory instructions about taking the medication and rinsing his mouth to keep the cuts clean and sent them on their way.

  “Car accident,” Claire said, as they walked toward their room.

  “What?”

  “I’m assuming that people will just look at us together and assume we were in a car accident,” she said. “Me with the limp, you with the busted up face.”

  “Or, we’re really unskilled gymnasts.”

  “Or, MMA fighters! That would be cool!”

  “Or, just clumsy,” he said.

  “Yeah, maybe that.”

  They both laughed as they reached the door to the room.

  “So are we just changing our clothes so we don’t look ridiculously overdressed for the buffet?” he asked.

  She made a face at him. “Look, I look good in this dress and I cannot say that often about anything I wear. So I’m staying in it for the rest of the night.” She paused. “And we’re not going anywhere.”

  “Are you not hungry?”

  She sighed and slid her card into the reader on the door. “Foolish man.”

  She pushed open the door, put her hand on the small of his back and propelled him forward.

  A small table sat in the middle of the room, covered with a white table cloth. Full plates with food were on either side.

  “It looks like our table from the dining room,” he said, disbelieving.

  “That’s because it is,” she said, triumphantly. “The guy who vouched for you? I had a little conversation with him when you insisted on going to use the bathroom to clean up your face before we went down to see the doctor. He got it done.”

  “Wow,” was all Griffin could manage.

  She limped over to the table and took her seat. “Are you coming?”

  He shook his head, laughed and sat across from her. “You are something else.”

  “Yeah, I really am,” she said, grinning, obviously pleased that she’d surprised him. “But this does come with a price.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Uh-oh.”

  He wanted to kick the table out of the way, pick her up and throw her on the bed and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. “What’s the price?”

  She rested her elbows next to her plate and tented her fingers beneath her chin. “I want to know why.”

  “Why what?”

  She swallowed, stared at her fingers for a moment, then at him. “I want to know why you broke up with me in high school.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Griffin reached for the bottle of wine on the table and poured.

  Claire watched him. “Or not.”

  He shook his head. She was just as impatient as ever. He was going to tell her. But he needed a drink to steady his nerves. And to give him courage.

  They’d never talked after the Prom fiasco. He’d broken up with her and two weeks later, they’d graduated. She’d walked out of his life. Forever. And he’d missed her ever since.

  “Give me a minute.” He uncorked the bottle and poured the merlot into the empty wine glasses.

  He handed her a glass. “First,” he said. “A toast.”

  “Another one?” she asked.

  “You can’t ever have too many toasts.” He held his glass up and looked at her. “To new beginnings.”

  Her brow furrowed but she clinked her glass against his and took a small sip.

  And waited.

  “OK,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Where do I start?”

  “Well, since we just toasted new beginnings, I’d say that’s a good place to start. You know, the beginning.”

  He nodded. “Right. OK.”

  He took a deep breath. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He felt like some punk high-school kid, getting ready to ask out the girl of his dreams. He smiled at the analogy. Because here he was, sitting with the girl of his dreams. And she had no idea that’s what she’d been to him. What she still was.

  “Did you know I had a crush on you in high school?” he asked.

  “A crush?” She thought for a minute. “No. We dated, Griffin. Remember?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I remember. But did you know I had a crush on you? Like, before we dated?”

  She shook her head. “You did not. You never even looked at me.”

  “I looked at you all the time.”

  “No, you didn’t. You teased me all the time.”

  He sipped his wine, letting the alcohol touch his cuts, sting them a little. “I teased you because I liked you.”

  She considered this. “Why?” she finally asked.

  “Why did I like you?”

  “Yes.”

  He lifted one of the lids from the dishes and a rush of steam escaped. A plate of sauteed shrimp, drenched in butter, resting on a bed of rice. He picked up the platter and handed it to Claire.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t really like seafood.”

  “And seafood probably doesn’t really like you.” He scooped a piece of shrimp with a large spoon and set it on her plate. “Try it.”

  Tentatively, she picked up the shrimp. “How do I eat this? Just pop the whole thing in my mouth?”

  He smiled at her naivete and marveled at how her lips pouted in the shape of an O as she contemplated it. “No. Hold it by the tail and bite off a piece. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. But only if you like it.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him as she took a bite. He watched with satisfaction as her expression changed.

  “OK,” she said after she swallowed. “That is good. Really good.”

  He smiled. “Told you.”

  She took another tiny bite. “Yep. You did. Now tell me why you liked me.”

  For a million reasons, he thought. The way you listened when I talked. The way you smiled at me, like I was the only person in the room. The way you took the jokes and the teases and gave them back ten-fold. The way your eyes glittered when you spoke about things you cared about, and how I wished over and over they’d sparkled like that when you talked about me.

  But he didn’t say any of this. He didn’t want to scare her, didn’t want to overwhelm her. He needed to start small. “Initially? I thought you were hot.”

  Her cheeks flushed.

  “Look, I was a high school boy,” he said, grinning at her. “Hot girls got my attention. I looked at you across the room and I thought you were really attractive.”

  She looked away from him.

  “And then, when we got to be friends, you made me laugh,” he explained. “You talked to me. And not like you were just killing time.”

  “You talked to everyone,” she said. “You weren’t exactly a wallflower.”

  “Maybe. But it felt different when I talked to you.”

  She picked at the food with her fork, but didn’t say anything.

  “But you always had a boyfriend,” Griffin said. “Always.”

  “They weren’t serious.”

  “Didn’t matter,” he said. “You were with someone. And they were different than me.”

  “Different how?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. They didn’t go to St. Andrew’s, you know?”

  She ran her finger along the rim of her wineglass. “No. A lot of them were in college.”

  “Exactly,” Griffin said. “So, I just figured we were friends and that was it. Didn’t keep me from liking you, but I wasn’t going to put myself out there, either. Plus, I figured if I asked you out, it would just screw up the friendship and believe it or not, I really cared about the friendship. I liked seeing you every day. That mattered to me.”

  “It mattered to me, too,” she said, her voice a little quieter. “But then you finally asked me out. Why?”

  “You were free,” I said. �
�You weren’t dating anyone.”

  “And that was it? I just needed to not have a boyfriend? What about all the worries about ruining the friendship?”

  He leaned back in the chair. “I figured it was either do or die. Year was winding down. It was my shot. And I’m pretty sure you wore a skirt that day and I couldn’t stop looking at your legs.” He smiled. “So I decided to take a risk.”

  She smiled, but shook her head. He knew she didn’t like hearing complimentary things about herself. She’d never been comfortable with it and he’d always wondered why. He wanted her to see what he saw.

  “And you said yes,” he said. “And I think I was sky high the rest of the day. Couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t wait to get to the weekend to actually go out with you. But then I went into panic mode, trying to decide what we should do.”

  “Oh, please,” she said, frowning. “You don’t have a panic mode.”

  “Oh, I do and I did,” he countered. “Maybe I didn’t show it to you, but trust me. I was totally worried I’d bomb.”

  She stared across the table at him and his heart fluttered. How had he gone ten years without seeing those eyes?