by Ann, Jewel E
“Turn around.”
She doesn’t.
“Swayze, look at me.”
Like tightening a screw that’s already tight, she turns a tiny fraction at a time.
“Look. At. Me.”
Just as slowly, she brings her eyes to meet my gaze. Her face wrinkles like looking at me causes her physical pain.
I remind myself that I am fifteen years older. I have a doctorate degree. I have weathered the loss of people that I love. I have survived brutal fistfights, broken bones, hockey stick jabs to my ribs, and pucks to my face. I have reprimanded students for cheating on tests and plagiarizing reports. I can handle a text.
“It was a mistake. I’m not upset. You are a grown woman. I need you to be the responsible adult who takes care of Morgan while I’m at work, and you can’t do your job if you’re focused on something as trivial as a text sent to the wrong person. You have to pretend it didn’t happen. Okay?”
She nods, but her grimace stays cemented to her face. “It’s just … I don’t want you to think that I’m …” Her brow draws even tighter as she seems to look for the right word.
“I think you’re great with Morgan. Clearly I’m intrigued by your knowledge of my past. I enjoy your company when we find time to talk. But what you do when you’re not here is not my business or my concern.”
“Thank you.” She blinks and averts her eyes to the floor.
I don’t push her any further. If she asked me what I thought when she sent the text, I too would focus on anything in the room but her.
“You’re welcome. Drive safely. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Emotionally drained from the past week, I drag my tired ass to the door of my apartment building as thunder echoes in the distance.
“After you, lovely.”
I cringe at the creepy, gravelly voice of Doug “Dougly” Mann, Erica’s strange neighbor who entertains a slew of women. He has to be paying them. It’s the only explanation.
“Thanks.” I give him a quick glance as I step into the building while he holds the door for me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him up close, but even now, sunglasses cover part of his face and a gray fedora hides his clown orange hair.
“Everything okay?” he asks as I stop to stare at his face for a brief second.
I never noticed the raised, pearly scar stretching from the right corner of his mouth to the top of his cheekbone. It’s clearly an old scar, but it’s also familiar. I don’t want to feel an ounce of familiarity toward this cringe-worthy man, but I do.
“Cold?” He chuckles.
“What?” I duck my head and hustle the rest of the way inside the building.
“Your whole body just shook like you’re shivering.”
“Oh, did it?” I take the stairs two at a time hoping if I physically distance myself from him, the familiarity will fade as well.
“Would you like to come up to my place for a drink? Maybe something to warm you up.”
Skin-crawling.
Vomit-inducing.
Stranger-danger alert.
“Can’t.”
I fumble my keys to find the right one.
“Can’t?” He towers behind me.
I drop my keys. Before I can retrieve them, they’re in his hand, dangling in front of me.
“Or won’t?”
I should scream. But why? Because I’m scared. Again, why?
My eyes don’t move from the scar, even with my keys dangling in my peripheral vision. I know that scar. “How did you get that scar?” I mutter with what little air is left in my lungs.
Doug traces it slowly with his finger. “Just a misunderstanding. Why? Do you like it? I’ve got other scars if you’d like to see them.”
I shake my head, still mesmerized by the familiarity of that scar. Squinting, I try to see his eyes through his dark sunglasses, but I can’t.
“Sweetie? Is everything okay?”
My head snaps toward the stairs. “Mom.”
Doug steps back. “You dropped your keys, Miss.”
I snatch them and he pivots, climbing up the next flight of stairs.
“We’ll have that drink another time,” he says.
I watch him, feeling frozen in place and even more chilled than I was when he opened the door for me.
“Who’s that?” Mom asks.
“Uh …” I shake my head and work to unlock the door without dropping the keys again. “Guy who lives upstairs.”
“Do you know him well?”
The door opens and a bit of relief washes over me as I step inside and lock it behind us.
“No.” I toss my bag on the counter and wash my hands. After Doug’s close proximity, I feel like I need a shower to wash the essence of his creepiness off my whole body. “With the exception of Erica, I don’t really know anyone in my building. So what brings you by?”
She pulls out a chair to my small round kitchen table and takes a seat while releasing a long sigh. “Sherri called me.”
“Sherri? As in Griffin’s mom?” I lean back against my kitchen counter and cross my arms over my chest.
“Yes. She’s worried about you. And now I am too. Why didn’t you come to me last week when you and Griffin were having trouble?” Her words are laced with as much pain as is shown on her face.
“I wanted to. It’s just …” I love my mom. And after I graduated high school and started college, we were friends. The pressure of being something extraordinary was gone, and we were able to have a normal mother-daughter relationship. But then my dad died.
“It’s about your father?”
I nod.
“I’m still your mother. I’m always here for you. Do you know how it made me feel to have Sherri be the one to tell me what happened?”
“I’m sorry.” I cringe. “I feel like you’re still struggling with dad’s death. I don’t want to be another burden on you.”
“I’m fine, Swayze.”
“You’re not fine. It’s been over a year and you haven’t picked up a camera. You haven’t worked. You haven’t cleaned out his closet. And when we have dinner together, all we do is talk about dad.”
“He’s my husband and your father. What’s wrong with remembering him?”
“He was your husband.”
“Swayze …” Her lips tilt downward.
“I loved him too. I miss him too. But it’s like our relationship is nothing but memories of the past. If you showed any interest in my life now, my job, my relationship with Griffin, basically anything, then maybe I would have felt like your shoulder was the one I needed to cry on last week.”
The woman before me breaks my heart. She’s not even fifty and she’s acting like an eighty-year-old widow waiting out the rest of her life. My mom is beautiful. Guys have always looked at her. I may not have seen my parents all over each other with grand displays of public affection, but I saw my father stare down more than one guy who dared to look too long at her.
“You don’t understand.” Her head drops, eyes cast to the floor.
“Then make me understand. Let me help you.”
“I have a psychiatrist.”
I laugh. “I know. And clearly he’s doing a great job.”
“Swayze …” Her eyes cut to mine.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you last week. Griffin and I made up. But there’s a lot going on in my life right now that I want to share with my mom. Not the grieving woman who meets me for dinner once a week, but my mom. The one who used to roll her eyes at me picking out sexy bras and panties when I got my first boyfriend in college. You bought me a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant for my nineteenth birthday. For two years between my second year of college and dad dying … you were the coolest mom—the coolest friend—ever.”
“I’m not trying to be this way. I just feel like I can’t find my direction.”
I nod. “I know. But you’ll never find it if you spend all of your time looking back. You don’t have to forget
him. You just …” I shake my head. “I don’t know. I guess you need to find a way to embrace the living a little more.”
A sad smile tugs at her lips. “I’m sorry. I’m going to try to be better.”
“Okay.” I match her sad smile.
“I was cool.” Her face lights up. “Wasn’t I?”
I chuckle. “The coolest. The kind of cool that would have embraced Griffin instead of losing her shit over his tattoos and ‘steroid’ muscles when we first started dating. The cool version of you would have whipped out your camera and snapped a million images of his body to the point of completely embarrassing me.”
She laughs a little. “I miss that mom of yours too.” As I walk toward her, she stands and we hug it out.
I had no idea how much I really missed and needed my mom until this moment.
“This Thursday we talk about you. That’s it.” She pulls back and presses her palms to my cheeks.
“We talk about us.”
She nods. “Deal.” After kissing me on the forehead, she grabs her purse and opens the door. “I love you. That much has never changed. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“Whoa … Krista …” Griffin’s voice sounds from the stairwell. “It’s not Thursday.”
“Very funny, young man. I’m allowed to see my daughter on other days too.”
He chuckles, pulling her in for a hug that makes me giggle because I know she didn’t see it coming.
“I’m glad you two are good.” She gives him an awkward smile as he releases her.
Griffin glances at me.
I shake my head. “Your mom told her. Not me.”
A wrinkle of pain pulls at his brow when his gaze returns to my mom. “It was a bump. We’re good.”
She heads down the stairs. “I’m glad. Call me anytime, Swayze. Even if it’s not a Thursday.”
“Bye, Mom.”
Griffin steps inside my apartment and closes the door, leaning back against it with his head turned to the side.
“I wondered if—”
“Shh.” He holds a finger to his lips and presses his ear to the door. “Okay. She’s gone.”
I giggle. “What are you doing?”
He tugs at the button to his jeans, giving me a heated look as he pulls down the zipper. “On your knees.”
I shoot him the hairy eyeball. “Really? You just embraced my mom. It was a special moment. I had tears in my eyes.”
“It was special. I had tears in my eyes too. Now … on your knees.” He releases himself from his briefs and strokes his cock, but it seems plenty hard without him needing to stroke it anymore.
“You did not have tears in your eyes.” My gaze stays glued to his hand fisted around his cock. And because I want to … I kneel in front of him.
“Happy … fucking … birthday to me.” He moans as my tongue circles the head of his erection. His fingers thread through my hair.
I take him partway into my mouth and look up at him.
Griffin smirks. “Tell me about your day, babe.” He really wants to know. That’s indisputable. However, this is also his way of dragging out this blowjob for the next fifteen minutes. But one of the most endearing things about him—his genuine interest in my day—is the reason I can’t do this. He should have just tilted his head back and enjoyed my mouth wrapped around him.
I sit back on my heels and laugh, covering my face with my hands. It’s a long, hearty laugh that seems to last forever. When I finally catch my breath and peek up, Griffin has something between a smirk and a scowl affixed to his beautiful face. He’s tucked himself back into his briefs, but his jeans are still unfastened and his sinewy, tattooed arms cross his chest.
“I’m sorry.” My hand flies to my mouth to cover up my giggles that negate the apology I just gave him.
“You look it.” His eyes narrow as he zips and buttons his jeans.
I feel badly. I really do. Every inch of Griffin is perfection. There’s not too many women who wouldn’t give their right nipple to have what’s right in front of me. My craving for his body is real, but so is the embarrassing day I’ve had.
He holds out his hand. A look of aggravation still clings to his face. I take it and he helps me up. Curling my hair behind my ears, I suck in a deep breath to chase away the giggles.
“I thought I texted you this morning about a blowjob.”
Shaking his head, his perturbed expression intensifies. “You didn’t text me.”
“I know, I said I thought I did. I accidentally sent it to Nate instead.”
His head cocks to the side. “This better be a joke, and it’s not a funny one.”
“It’s fine.” I laugh. “He’s not upset. It was just really embarrassing.” I grab his shirt and lean up for a kiss, but he pulls back.
“You sent a suggestive text to another man. It’s not fine.”
“What is your problem?”
He brushes past me, resting his hands on his hips, while he looks up at the ceiling. The frustration rolling off him almost suffocates the room. “Why do you think if my opinion differs from yours that it means I have a problem?”
“This is about your birthday again. Maybe we should talk about it now.”
“No.” He turns. “This is about the text you sent your boss. What did it say?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Where’s your phone?”
I roll my eyes and grab my phone, clicking onto my message screen. “Do you want to see it?”
“No. I trust you. Just read it.”
“Hope you’re working hard knowing that my mouth will be wrapped around your cock later. xo”
“That’ll do it.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“That’ll do what?”
“Paint an image in his mind that he won’t forget anytime soon.”
“What? No. There’s no image to paint. He knew it wasn’t meant for him.”
“Did you write my name?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you say, ‘Griff, hope you’re working ‘hard’ knowing my mouth will be wrapped around your cock later?’”
“No.”
“Then for at least a brief moment, he thought about your mouth wrapped around his cock. And he’s not going to stop thinking about it anytime soon.” Griffin shakes his head. “Not gonna lie … that doesn’t make me too happy.”
My head whips back. “Well, I’m so sorry that doesn’t make you happy. It thrills me to have my boss thinking I rock his baby all day and suck cock all night.”
He rubs his mouth.
“Are you grinning?” I move closer as he steps back and shakes his head. “Yes, you are.”
The back of his legs hit the sofa, and I lunge at him. His hand falls from his face to catch me as we tumble onto the cushions. Sure enough, he’s grinning.
“Not funny.” I straddle him, fisting his shirt as he shakes with laughter.
“Baby … you’ve never sucked my cock all night.”
“Stop it.” I surrender, burying my face in his neck while he wraps his arms around me. “It was meant for you. It was meant to be sexy. But it turned into the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
“You’re a mess.” Griffin rests his hand on the back of my head and rubs my back with his other hand.
“I know.”
“But you’re my mess.”
I lift my head, searching his eyes for a glimpse of the man who tried to kick me out of his life a few days ago. “But I think you’ve known that I’m a mess since the day I didn’t have money to pay for tampons, wine, and my junk food cravings.”
He nods, stroking the back of my hair.
“So why was forgetting your birthday—having a bad week—the end for us?”
Discomfort flashes in his eyes that squint a fraction. “I was going to ask you to move in with me.”
Ouch. The wounds on my heart start to tear open again.
“I thought we’d go to dinner,
take a long ride on my bike, and find a spot to watch the sunset. I wanted to tell you about my promotion. I wanted to hear about your week because I knew you were not yourself. Then I wanted to tell you how crazy it was for us to live apart when I spend most of my waking hours thinking about the next time I’ll get to see you.”
“I’m sorry.” I hate the way those words sound. Every fiber in my being means them, but they still sound like hollow words filling space and quickly evaporating.
Meaningless.
Forgotten.
Invisible.
“I know you’re sorry.”
“But you don’t forgive me?”
He rubs his lips together and shakes his head. “It’s not that. I forgive you. It was just a moment that gave me pause. You weren’t the girl I wanted to ask to live with me. You weren’t the girl I’d been missing all week. I feel like I’m losing you to another man’s past. It’s a fucking awful feeling to see you suffer and not know how to fix things for you.”
“I don’t need you to fix anything for me. I just need you to hold my hand sometimes as I try to figure this out for myself.”
He sits up a little, and I slide off his lap onto the cushion next to him.
“How can I hold your hand when I can’t reach it? That’s my point. On Friday I realized your answer to a shitty week was distancing yourself from me. What happened to the girl who said I made her feel safe? What happened to the girl who fell into my arms after a long day and said one hug righted all the wrongs?”
This love thing hurts. “I guess I didn’t look at it like that. You have been my pillar of strength. You still are.”
“And you’re my greatest weakness because I let you into the part of me that’s unguarded.” He takes my hand and presses it to his chest.
Griffin has defined love for me in ways I never imagined. I’m not sure I realized his real role in my life until I was faced with the possibility of not having him in my life at all. The day I chased him down the hall to his bathroom, I was chasing the part of my heart that broke off and gave me the middle finger while saying, “I belong to him, not you.”
My hand curls, fisting his shirt. “This messy girl is going to mess up—a lot—because I’m young and stupid. You weren’t supposed to come into my life until I had it together. You’re the guy who is supposed to appear after a string of bad decisions. But here you are, watching me stumble around the craziest self-discovery. If I don’t lose you, it will be a miracle.”