I tune back in as Nev launches into one of her spiels. “You should definitely go out with him again if he calls. I mean, no guy your age is going to wine and dine you the way this guy will. Plus, if he’s in his thirties, he should know his way around a clit.”
“Wow, you’re really selling it, Nev.”
“I’m just saying, Cosy. If you’re already swooning this hard over a kiss, imagine how good the sex could be. You get a guy with experience, and he’s not just going to jackhammer his way to Jizzville.”
Not the most eloquent way to put it, but once again, she makes a good point.
Chapter Five: Wine and Dine
Cosy
I’ve just gotten settled in bed—I took a shower and gave myself a hand in the sexual frustration relief department—when my phone rings. It’s after midnight.
I pick it up with the intention of sending it to voicemail, except Griffin’s name flashes across the screen. “Hello?”
“Hi, Cosy.” His voice has that raspy quality I associate with sleep, or maybe sex. I wonder if he did the same thing as me when he got home, wherever that is. I imagine him stretched out on his bed in a pair of boxers, or nothing at all.
“Um, hi.” I bite my knuckle and press my knees together.
“You answered.”
“I said I would.”
“So . . . at the risk of killing any game I might’ve had, I wanted to tell you that I had a great time tonight.”
“You realize calling me two hours after you dropped me off flushes all your game right down the toilet.” I’m glad he can’t see me since I’m smiling like an idiot.
“Yeah, figured as much. But the phone was already ringing, so hanging up wasn’t an option. Are you busy tomorrow night? Or tonight, I suppose, since it’s technically already tomorrow.”
“Um . . . I work until eight.”
“Eight is good for me. We could have a late dinner, I get to pick the place this time, though.”
“I haven’t even said yes yet.”
“You haven’t said no either.”
It’s a solid point, but I still keep him hanging for a few seconds, as if I’m debating my answer. “I can do dinner, but I have an early morning the next day, so I need to be home before midnight.”
“You don’t have a curfew, do you?”
I laugh. “No. And if that was an indirect way of asking if I still live with my parents, the answer is no, I live in the apartment on my own.” Most of the time, anyway. “But I’m cranky on less than six hours of sleep, and no one needs to be subjected to me when I’m overtired.” I also want to avoid having to turn him down should he want an invite up or suggest going back to his place. I don’t care how hot he is, or how good that kiss was, I’m not putting myself in a position where I have to try not to get naked with him. Partly because I think I might want to, and that freaks me out.
“Noted. I’ll choose the location accordingly. Can I pick you up at work to optimize our time together?”
“Sure.”
“Great. See you tonight at eight. Sleep well, Cosy.”
“You too, Griffin.”
I decide for once maybe I should take Nev’s advice and enjoy this for what it is. We’re both looking for someone to have fun with, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
* * *
Over the next couple of weeks I see a lot of Griffin. We do all the normal date things, glow-in-the-dark mini putt—where 50 percent of the time we golf and the other 50 we make out in the dark. We discover we have the same love for action movies and agree they’re best experienced in the theater, we go for dinner a bunch of times, alternating between high-end expensive places with bottles of wine that cost hundreds of dollars (which is insane) and my favorite diners.
Usually by this time, any guy I’m seeing would be pushing for sex. But not Griffin. He might be waiting for me to make a move. Goodnight kisses turn into heated make-out sessions in his car, but my sister seems to be extending her stay on my couch, so inviting him up isn’t an option, and he has yet to ask me to come back to his place.
It’s a rare Saturday when I don’t have to work, and Griffin has some kind of surprise planned. When I ask about the dress code—there have been a couple of occasions in which I was not adequately prepared for the level of class he’s subjected me to—he tells me casual is good.
“Your casual or my casual?” I ask as I flip through my sundresses.
“Is there a difference between my casual and your casual?” I can hear his smile.
“You wear shirts for bands you’ve never heard of as an attempt to appear younger than you actually are, Griffin. Yes, your casual and my casual are different.”
“How about shorts and a tank? But you could bring a dress for later if you want.”
“Later? What’s happening later?”
“Dinner. It’s an all-day affair, and you may be inclined to change.”
I’ve never been a huge fan of surprises, but I’m trying to humor Griffin, and he seems excited about whatever it is we’re doing. However, going in blind means I don’t have the first clue what to bring or wear. “So do I or don’t I need to pack an extra outfit?”
“You don’t have to pack anything. I’m just throwing out suggestions because I know you don’t like to be unprepared, and you get all annoyed with me when I offer to buy you something to wear.”
I prop a hand on my hip and glare at the phone. “If you’re referring to the dress from last week, it’s because it was ridiculously expensive.”
“You thought it was pretty.”
“I also think diamonds are pretty. That doesn’t mean you should buy me one. And for the love of God, do not buy me a diamond because I said that. We’re not at the stage where jewelry is an appropriate gift.”
“You getting yourself all worked up over there?”
“I can hear you grinning, you know that, don’t you? Keep it up and I’ll cancel on you unless you tell me what we’re doing that requires two damn outfits.” That’s a complete lie. There’s zero chance I’m cancelling this date.
“Come on, Cosy, don’t make me ruin the surprise. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”
“Fine, but know I’m not a fan of surprises. At all.”
“Noted, but I think you’ll like this one.” He hangs up before I can say anything else.
I finish getting ready with a stupid smile on my face. I may not like surprises, but I like Griffin, and this is the first time we’re spending a whole day together. It’s barely even ten in the morning, so I don’t expect Nev to be awake as I tiptoe past the couch and open the fridge.
“You off to work?”
She startles me, and I nearly drop the jug of orange juice. “Shit. No. I have the day off.”
She rubs her eyes. “Why’re you up so early if you don’t have to work?”
“Griffin is taking me out.”
“Who?”
“That guy I’ve been seeing for the past couple of weeks.” I’m sure I’ve used his name before now.
“The one with the sweet sports car?”
“That’s the guy.”
She props herself up on her arm, slightly more alert. “Oh, nice one. Have you slept with him yet?”
“No, Nev, I haven’t.” I pour myself a glass of juice and chug it. I could use a coffee, but Griffin will be here in five minutes, and I would prefer he doesn’t meet Nev when she’s wearing a tank top I can see her nipples through.
“Really? But haven’t you been out with him a bunch of times already? What’re you waiting for?”
I’m not waiting for anything in particular. He just hasn’t made a move beyond hands-in-the-pants action. But he’s proven himself very adept with his fingers. I have no interest in sharing any of these details with my sister since she’ll dissect everything, and I don’t need her making me question things when I’m about to spend the day with Griffin. Dinner included. “My roommate situation makes privacy a challenge.” It’s an intentional dig. “You up to anyt
hing today?”
“Frankie called, begging me to come back.” She flops back down on the couch. “I told him I had to think about it, so I’ll probably stay here tonight and then let him pick me up sometime tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you want to go back to him?”
That my sister is dating a guy she refers to as Frankie raises all sorts of flags. He sounds like a mobster. Or maybe his name is Frank and she’s added the ie to the end so he doesn’t sound as old as he is.
I try not to compare my current situation with her regular one. I’m having a lot of fun with Griffin. It’s not about money or his car or whether he can afford to pay for my apartment, which I suspect he could if he wanted, considering how easily he seems to part with money.
“We’ll see. My back can only handle so much of this couch, and I’m hoping to capitalize on how bad he feels since finding a decent job is tough. Even if we do get back together, I give him a month, tops, before I find someone who will take better care of me.” She yawns and stretches. “If you’re leaving, I’m taking your bed.”
I wave her off. “That’s fine. I might be late.”
“Have fun and be safe. But not too safe.” She rolls off the couch and stumbles down the hall to my room. I rush out the door and am grateful when the elevator doors slide open as soon as I hit the button.
Griffin is already waiting for me when I reach street level. He’s leaning against his car, eyes on his phone until he hears the door open. His gaze moves over me in a slow sweep, and he smiles, pushing off the hood to meet me halfway. He takes my bag—an actual purse, not my backpack—and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into him. He drops his head, and I tip mine back inviting him in, but the kiss is disappointingly brief.
“Morning.” He bites his bottom lip, making him look a decade younger than his actual age, and making me feel like we’re almost on even footing.
“Morning.” My voice is ridiculously breathy.
“You ready to have some fun?”
“I’m ready for some coffee.”
“There’s one waiting for you in the car.”
“Seriously?” I cut in front of him and try to open the door, but it only unlocks with his fingerprint.
His chest presses against my back, and his lips ghost the shell of my ear as he pushes my hand out of the way and opens the passenger door, but only an inch since he’s right behind me and there’s nowhere for me to go. “I see what gets you moving.”
“Coffee is my best friend.” I nudge him with my butt, but he doesn’t back off.
His free hand rests on my hip, and his lips travel along my neck. I braided my hair so it’s off my face and out of the way. “Do you have any idea what a temptation you are, Cosy? These fucking shorts are probably going to kill me today.”
“They cover everything.”
“Barely.” He runs a finger along the hem, and I shiver.
“It’s going to be hot today.”
“You only have yourself to blame if I knock out some asshole’s teeth for staring at your assets.”
I turn to face him, trapped between the car and his body. “How very caveman of you.”
He lifts a shoulder in an unapologetic shrug. “I blame testosterone and a fragile ego.”
I laugh, because what other reaction is there. “Since when is your ego fragile? Look at you.” I run my hands over his solid chest. He’s wearing another obscure band T-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. I don’t know how he manages to pair preppy with rocker-hipster and still look posh as fuck, but he does.
His expression shutters for a moment before he smiles, but it seems tense. “That’s a story for another day. We should get going; we don’t want to be late.”
The door bumps my ass, and he steps back, giving me room to move forward, but keeping me in his personal space. I wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull his mouth to mine. Usually I let him lead, probably subconsciously, but today I’m feeling some sort of odd power shift, and I want to take advantage of it.
His fingers dig into my hip, and our tongues dance for several long beats before he finally pulls back. “I probably look like the worst stereotype in the world right now. Get in the car please, Cosy.”
I don’t fight him on it. There’s coffee in the car and lots of time for making out in places that aren’t the middle of the street. Griffin tosses my bag in the back and slides into the driver’s seat. He taps the coffee in the front holder. “This one is yours. I hope I got it right.”
I buckle up and pick up the takeout cup, taking a test sip as he pulls into traffic. It’s a latte, and it’s exactly how I like it. I check the sticker on the side. One pump of vanilla, nonfat, double espresso. “Good work.”
He grins and shifts gears. I don’t know why even that makes me hot. “I did okay, then?”
“You did better than okay. This is perfect.”
“You’re perfect.”
I snort. “Oh my God. You need to drop all the lines today. The surprise and the latte are enough.”
“It’s not a line, Cosy. If I had a checklist with boxes to tick off, you would be the person who appeared at the end of the quiz as my perfect match.”
I have no idea what to say to that, especially since he doesn’t crack a smile.
He threads his fingers through mine. “Sorry, I’m being all serious. I’ll stop. You look delicious this morning, and I’m excited to spend the day with you.” He kisses my knuckle.
“I’m looking forward to spending the day with you too. Wanna tell me where we’re going now?”
“Not a chance. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough, anyway.” He gives my hand a squeeze as we merge onto the freeway.
It isn’t until we pull into one of the popular and very exclusive helicopter landing pads in the area that I finally realize what his plan is. “Oh my God! Are we being tourists today?”
He shifts into park and cuts the engine. “Have you been on a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon before?”
“Oh my God! No way!” I’ve always wanted to, but it’s so expensive and dropping $500 so I can fly over a giant hole in the ground seems like a very frivolous expense since the crater has essentially been in my backyard my entire life.
“Yes, way.”
I unbuckle my seat belt and awkwardly try to hug him—it’s not easy with the stick shift and the confined space. He laughs and his lips find my neck.
“Come on, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us, and we don’t want to keep the pilot waiting.”
I reluctantly untangle myself from him and get out of the car. It’s not fiery-pits-of-hell hot today, but I’m still glad I wore my hair in a braid to keep it out of my face. We sign some paperwork, and we’re introduced to the pilot, Vern, who walks us to the helicopter pad. I expect there to be other people joining us, but apparently it’s just me, Griffin, and the pilot.
“Don’t they usually fill the back?” I motion to the empty seats behind the cockpit.
“They accommodate private tours when requested.” Griffin helps me up into the cockpit and climbs in beside me.
I can’t even begin to fathom how much it would cost for a private helicopter tour over the Canyon and I’m not about to ask because it’s rude, even though I’m tempted.
It turns out that we’re not just flying over the Canyon; we also land in it and have a romantic lunch. There’s even champagne.
I’m already on my second glass. “This is delicious, by the way. The only other time I had champagne, it tasted like goat piss.”
“And you’re familiar with what goat piss tastes like how, exactly?”
“I’m not. It just tasted awful, like I imagine goat piss would.” I shift around, making myself more comfortable—in Griffin’s lap. The picnic table is rough on the back of my legs—at least that’s my excuse for using him like a chair.
This is the point where Vern tells us he’ll be back in an hour.
“Do you think I made him uncomfortable?” I whisper, in case so
und carries in this rocky fishbowl. I might be tipsy and feeling bolder than usual. Also, this is probably the sweetest thing any guy has ever done for me. My sister may have been right about the wine-and-dine thing. I imagine if he goes to this length to set up a surprise date, sex with him must be pretty fantastic.
Griffin fingers the end of my braid, expression unreadable. “If anything, I’m the one who makes him uncomfortable.”
“Why would you think you’re making Captain Vern uncomfortable when I’m the one sitting in your lap?”
He drags a gentle finger across my jaw, causing goose bumps to rise along my skin. My body buzzes with restless energy that I can’t do anything about right now. Unless I feel like becoming an exhibitionist. It’s something to consider.
“Look at you.”
I’m wearing a tank that boasts the Animals of the World. It’s a series of cartoon images with ridiculous names for each animal. I’ve paired it with shorts that Griffin seems to think barely cover my important parts and a pair of beat-up Chucks. He said casual, so I went casual. “He thinks you picked up a homeless chick and took her out into the middle of the desert?”
He rolls his eyes and snorts a laugh. “No, Cosy. He thinks I’m taking advantage of a college student. He thinks I’m throwing glamour and sparkles at you and that I’m going to use your body and steal your virtue.”
“First of all, how can you know what he’s thinking unless you’re some kind of mind reader? Secondly, he has no idea I’m a college student. And third, where the hell are these sparkles you’re throwing at me?” I’m trying to lighten things up because I know Griffin is hyperaware of the decade of difference between us, and whenever we’re out together and people give us a second glance, I’m sure that’s the first place his mind goes—not my short shorts or how motherf’ing gorgeous he is. No. It has to be the ten years and hint of crow’s feet separating us.
The Shacking Up Series Page 65
