by S London
I'd never tell my girls this, but I'm happy to be on Griffin's arm. He makes me feel like I'm the only woman he sees. And when I see him, my heart opens wider to love. Every heartbeat, from this moment forward, is for Griffin Phillips.
I hear the front door open and I smile, surprised that he's returned earlier than expected. Not that I know how long it takes to run 7 miles, but he's only been gone about 20 minutes.
"Take a shower, Teddy Bear. Breakfast should be ready by the time you're finished."
The next thing I know there's a blaring sound, a fire alarm whistle is going off and I'm staring down at the stove wondering if I'm about to burn my boyfriend's apartment down.
I only have on Griffin's T-shirt, I don’t even know where my drawers are, but I'm ready to run outside screaming “Fire” when I see an older woman with a whistle in her mouth.
Pause. What the hell is going on?
"Hey!" I yell. “Who are you?”
A thin, elderly woman, late sixties is my best guess, judging by the non-ironed pants and floral top, is standing before me, her eyes wide. I walk towards her thinking maybe she's Griffin's housekeeper. She seems really upset to find me here. I relax and actually start to laugh. I take a step towards her. And she picks the whistle up, again.
“Help. Help. I feel threatened.” She already has a cell phone to her ear, and I’m flabbergasted. “Yes, my name is Patricia. A big, black woman has broken into my house. Please send someone.”
I look around. Is she talking about me? Apparently, Patty’s feeling jiggy with it because she’s emboldened enough to label me, not big, not black, but big and black. I’m the one naked except for a T-shirt. My only weapon is a plastic spatula. What the hell about this scenario constitutes a threat?
“Calm down,” I say, turning off the heat beneath the skillet. “This is my boyfriend's place.” Okay, I'm stretching it a bit, but I'm hoping it'll do the trick and Police Whistle Patty will calm down. She doesn’t.
“Stay back,” she screams. Now the heifer is tearing up, and I’m shaking my damn head. I think to myself this shit can’t get any worse. Well, the cosmos has a fucked-up sense of hilarity because there’s a knock at the door, before a huge, blond god, with eyes that don’t miss anything, steps in. The cops have arrived. Dayum, it’s déjà vu.
I cut my run short opting to return home. To Fiona. Last night I learned she's in between job opportunities. Instead of feeling down about the abrupt termination, she's using the time to complete her manuscript. I love her spirit. Without a job waiting for her in San Diego, she can stay longer. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. My heart's pounding in my chest. What if she says no?
She won't.
She can't.
I won't let her walk away from us without giving our connection, dare I think it—our love—a chance to marinate.
Around the corner and I see a police cruiser in front of my house. Fiona. What if something happened to her? I ran farther than I intended, wrapped up in my thoughts, but I push my achy legs to get to her.
I burst through the door of my house and I see my Aunt Patty and a younger male police officer, blonde-haired with his blue eyes roaming over Fiona’s shapely legs.
She's standing there in my T-shirt, her gorgeous ass and thick thighs, the ones made to wrap around my waist, on display. I can tell Officer-Too-Damn-Friendly was enjoying the show.
“What the hell is going on?” I bellow.
Aunt Patty rushes to greet me at the door. “Griffin, thank goodness you're here. I found this person in your place. I called the police and your mom is on her way over.” Patty shoots daggers at Fiona. “Arrest her,” she snaps. “I told you that my nephew doesn't know her.”
Fiona’s expression is blank, but there’s no missing the barely contained anger.
“Don't touch her,” I snarl. “That's my girlfriend.”
The officer looks from me to her in confirmation. Fiona says nothing.
“Fi.” I step to her. “You okay?”
She looks so damn fierce. I want to take her in my arms and soothe the hurt away.
“Yes.” Her voice is hard and she's not so much looking at me as looking through me. This is not good.
“Officer, there's been a mistake. This is my house.” I point to Fiona. “That is my woman.”
The male stripper cop takes his eyes off Fiona to address me. “I have the lady's identification, sir. Can you show me some ID?”
I pull my driver’s license from the phone holster circling my forearm. I go stand next to Fiona. She steps away. Aunt Patty looks between the two of us, an obvious scowl on her face. Why the hell is she in my house, calling the cops on my guest? Well, Fiona’s more than a guest. I want her as a permanent resident. My heart will always belong to her, why not my property?
“Aunt Patty, why are you here?”
“Your mom asked me to come by and pick up another folding table for the bridge game we’re having tonight.”
“The tables are in the garage. You know that. Why’d you come in my house?”
My mom’s older sister has never been married, and she’s sort of a busybody. She’s notorious for imposing her opinions on others, but she’s never so blatantly violated the privilege of holding the keys to my castle.
“Because I saw this big, black woman moving around in here.”
“Whoa,” I bellow. “What the fuck, Aunt Patty?”
Fiona bristles at the verbal attack. “Look here, Patty. I ain’t going to be another big and black.”
My aunt’s face turns fire engine red. “See, see Officer, she’s threatening me. She doesn't belong here.”
Shit. Damn family.
I breathe. “Fiona, I got this.” I face my mother’s sister not believing she’s pulled this Internet meme shit on my lady. “Go home. Don’t come back.”
When she opens her mouth in protest, I point to the door. “Bye.”
The officer uses the radio clipped to his uniform to call in the all-clear. To Fiona he says, “I’m sorry for the confusion, ma’am. Is there anything I can do for you?” His gaze lands on her unbound breasts and I can almost see him salivating.
“No,” I growl. “I have her taken care of.”
The young cop looks doubtful. Not in this lifetime, fucker.
He pulls a card, presumably business, from his left shirt pocket. He extends it to Fiona. She takes it.
What the fuck?
Five minutes later, I usher Aunt Patty—minus my house keys—and the cop out the door. Fiona is too quiet. I don't like it.
“I'm sorry about that. My aunt really messed up.”
She looks at me and starts to laugh. I laugh too.
“I never saw this happening.” She looks at me and turns away.
Fiona walks into the bedroom and I follow behind her. Thinking we can have a quickie before the wedding, I kiss her cheek and she pulls away, but she’s still in my arms.
“I'm going to take a shower. Come with me.”
“You go ahead.”
I turned to walk out and she heads to the closet and starts pulling out her clothes.
Not just her bridesmaid’s dress. All her clothes.
I grab her wrist. "Hey, what are you doing?”
"I'm leaving." There's a tremor in her voice, and it's then I realize she's shaking. Did I miss something? “And when I get to wherever I’m going, every post you ever sent me is going to be deleted.”
I wish I could erase the sharp pain that cuts through me, but it’s too late. I’m so into this woman, that at the mention of her leaving, I’m crippled, back in that fucking wheelchair.
"Why?" I try to hold on, but she shoves me away. Blood is pounding in my ears as I try to hear what she's not saying.
"I know you don't get this, but I was terrified just now. Terrified that I might be arrested the day of my best friend's wedding. Or, maybe that cop wouldn’t have taken me to jail, just shot me before you ever made it back.” That guy would’ve taken my Fiona to his bed. Can’
t she see there was no danger to her?
“Fiona.”
“It was Endurance all over again, but worse. Cops. Someone telling me I don’t belong here. And... I don’t."
The warmth seeps from my veins. What is she saying?
I see the tears glistening in her eyes. And I reach for her as she lifts up her hand and stops me.
"You and I are a false balance sheet. We don’t add up. I told you we were all wrong for each other. And I was right."
No. This is all wrong.
“Listen to me,” I plead. “I know this is happening fast and it’s scary, but...” I swallow, because my own fears are exposed too, “so is regret.”
She looks at me with sad eyes. “Sometimes, regret is better than heartbreak.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fiona called an Uber™. She didn't want me to drop her off anywhere. Rather, she doesn’t want me to know where she’s going. It's like five hours before I need to be at the wedding, and I have a shit load of groomsman errands to run, but I’m edgy. Her manuscript is on my nightstand. I pick up the stack of papers and start to read. It's okay, I tell myself. I'll fix everything at the wedding. But two hours later, I get there, and everyone's looking for Fiona.
Siah, with her willowy frame and reserved demeanor, is the first one to approach me. "Where is Fiona, Griffin?”
The steel in her voice, the unspoken threat in the gentle tilt of her head surprises me. If I provide the wrong answer, the promise of retribution flashes in her midnight eyes. Who the hell is this woman? The metamorphosis is downright unnerving.
Mandy walks out of a door marked Clergy Only and rolls up in my face.
“I'm ripping your damn stuffing out, Teddy,” she rails, “if you've hurt her."
Wait. What?
My lungs seize and my heart pounds in my chest. "She's not here?"
"No,” Siah adds. Her eyes move from my head to my feet, a strategic assessment of possible vulnerable areas to bury a blade. “And she's not answering her phone.”
I assumed Fiona would seek out her friends. Fuck. Now I’m worried. I’m ready to bolt for the doors and go find her.
Lucy comes running up, Ramsey close on her heels. "Fiona,” she breathes. “She just pulled up outside."
I breathe a sigh of relief. Fiona glides in and she's wearing a fitted royal blue dress that hugs her breasts and her ass and fishtails down around her ankles. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I can't wait to have my arm around her walking down the aisle.
"Fiona," I breathe her in. I walk up to her and bring her into my arms. “Woman, you took twenty years off my life. Where’d you go?”
Yeah, I’m that guy. My overprotective streak at her being out of my sight is boiling over. I rake my hands up and down her arms, feeling for what? Injuries?
She looks good. No, great.
“Griffin, don't pretend we were more than what we are. This wasn’t love. It was sex.”
“Don't tell me what the hell this is for me. I do love you. I trust you with my heart.”
Fuck. I sound stupid, but I don’t care. She’s walled up, more than ever before. What the fuck can I say so she’ll hear me?
She rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Griffin.”
“We need to talk,” I snap.
The wedding planner appears, announcing we all need to get into our place.
“I don't want to talk. Let's just get this done.”
I grab her hand tight. It’s as if I can feel her slipping away.
“Fiona, I’m in awe of you, Babe. We can fix this.”
“There's nothing here to fix. I’ve been down this road, red and blue lights flashing, too many times. I leave in the morning. It's been real.”
“Dammit, woman.” I’m a little animated for a wedding, and we both receive a few glares from the audience. “Don’t let past lies steal our future,” I angry whisper. “What we share is real.”
The organist starts to play.
Lucy turns around. “I know we’re in a church,” she snaps, “but you two are this close to getting your asses kicked by me. Now, both of you shut the hell up.”
Fiona points at me. So, now I’m the problem? The first bridesmaid and groomsman, Deja and Hatcher, start down the aisle.
“Fiona, let me love you.”
“Griffin,” she says through gritted teeth, “if we ruin one of my best friend’s wedding, I’m going to cock punch you.”
Okay, it’s time to adjust my cup and shut the fuck up. Fiona nods as if everything copacetic. She’s stiff next to me. As we move down, I try to keep my eyes straight ahead, but I keep focusing on her.
“Stop looking at me,” she hisses under her breath.
“Then say you’ll talk to me when this is over.”
She turns wide eyes on me. “We’re in the middle of a wedding and you are fucking up the pictures.”
“I don't give a shit,” I mouth. “Truxton’s got his. I'm trying to hold on to mine.”
The first pew is steps away. "I'm not yours, Griffin."
“The hell you aren’t,” I declare.
We reach the end of our bridal journey, and the music signals it's time for us to go to opposite corners. When I don’t release, Truxton’s eyes widen into a: “Dude, I’m going to beat the hell out of you” gesture. Reluctantly, I let go.
I stand beside my best friend as the ceremony goes by in a haze. I watch Fiona. She stares out at the crowd, unseeing.
The minute this shit is over, I'm taking her onto the beach. I have to convince her how much I love her.
After the minister pronounces the I Do’s. The guests bum rush the processional. Hugs are given, handshakes are returned. I catch a whiff of Fiona’s pear scent. Spinning on my heel, I do a three-sixty in search of her crown of braids.
Nothing. I can’t see her. I work my way ahead of the crowd scanning the people around the bride and groom. Fiona is nowhere to be found.
I turn to Lucy and I ask. “Where's Fiona?
“She left.”
“To go where?”
Back home. Tightness grips my chest; it feels like I’m losing air. It’s after six. Why the fuck is she trying to leave a day early? Sirens and alarms clamor in my head, raging loud, a hundred oven timers signaling: she’s done with me.
No. I won’t let her quit. Because I can’t. Not now. Not ever.
I pull out my phone, frantic to see her social media page. What I see there makes my blood ice over. Fiona’s made a new connection on N2U. I recognize his blond, pretty boy features. It’s that fucking cop.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’m online, checking the two airlines with flights leaving from Daytona Municipal Airport. She wouldn’t fucking cheat on me. Asshole Robocop went looking for my girl. As soon as I get my hands on her, we’re both closing down those fucking N2U sites. Dammit, I might revert back to a motherfucking flip phone.
There are no flights departing Daytona Beach tonight. I exhale... finding an inkling of calm in this fucking shit storm. That leaves Orlando or Shell Cove airports.
Which one?
I love Fiona. She needs to hear me say that I get her, on a soul-deep level. I understand what’s important to her and what makes her feel vulnerable. She’ll never hear the word ‘no’ from me without an explanation or us talking through our options. I won't make the same mistake. Now, I need to make a decision. Which direction do I take? I close my eyes, seeking a connection across the distance. Come on, baby. Show me where to look.
My girl loves the city and I'm thinking the Shell Cove-Jacksonville may be a little too sleepy for her. I floor the Lexus™ gas pedal and I'm headed down Interstate-4 Orlando. She can get a direct flight from there to San Diego.
I'm already in the terminal when she walks in. I don't think she sees me at first, and I'm glad because I need a few seconds to get my shit together just in case the blue and white followed her inside.
Just then she turns. We see each other. And it takes me back to the first time I saw her a
t baggage claim. She's wearing another one of those sexy ass dresses that clings to all her curves in the right places. Those thick calves are oiled and smooth and I can feel them pressing into my back. She's wearing a pair of neutral-colored strappy sandals that crisscross their way up her legs like Roman sandals on heels. I'm instantly hard.
Before I know what's happening my legs are carrying me to her. I stop when we’re face-to-face. Neither one of us says anything.
“How’d you get here?” she asks, her voice breathy.
I lean in, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Mad Max©-mobile, remember?”
“You shouldn't have come, Griffin.”
“And you should have stayed,” I breathe. We’re at an impasse. This is my turn at-bat, and I have no intention of striking myself out.
“I read your manuscript.”
She gives a sharp inhale and I can tell that she's surprised.
“So?”
Lifting my hand, I run my thumb over her lower lip, smearing her lipstick. Yeah, I want to mess her all up. Why? Because she’s wrecked me and I need some visible sign she’s torn up too.
“So,” I whisper. “I especially liked the part when she tells her teddy bear that she loves him.”
She swallows when she realizes I really did read the story.
“It’s fiction.” She looks away, but not before I see how much it was real for her. For us.
“It's our story,” I insist. “You wrote about us. Last night you wrote me and you into existence, Fiona.”
“Griffin,” she sighs. “Don’t put yourself through this.”
“Now, I’m lying?” I look at her, incredulous that she would deny what she feels for me. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t fucking love me. Because I fucking love your crazy ass.”
She tries to turn her face away from me. I won’t allow it.
“Tell me,” I demand.
“Fine,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “I started out writing what I wanted...” Her voice softens, “but then I met you and it inspired me to write what I had.”
Her lip quivers, but she sucks it between her teeth.
