“Repeat that, please.”
“I think you heard me.”
“How old is this fucking chick?” His voice is cold and hard, the tone I associate with conversations that revolve around his brother or his family.
“Twenty-two.” His silence makes me anxious.
“A twenty-two-year-old virgin in Vegas?”
“She didn’t want to give it up to an asshole.”
“Guess she fucked that up, huh?”
“You’re not helping me here, Linc. What the hell am I going to do? Under any other circumstances I might walk away, except I took something important from her, and I don’t want to be the asshole who becomes vapor and a shitty memory. And I really like her.”
“Do you actually like her or is this about you reliving your own first whatever? I mean, I can understand if that’s it, especially after what happened with Imogen.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with Imogen.”
“I’m not trying to be a dick. I just know that she fucked with your head. It makes sense that you’re trying to get over it. I want to make sure you’re invested in this girl—woman—for the right reasons. I got your back, cousin. Whatever’s going on here, I’m with you, but if what you’re telling me is true, you need to tread carefully.”
“I don’t want to screw her over.”
“I’m less worried about you messing her up than I am about you developing some kind of guilt complex and making bad decisions as a result.”
“This isn’t about me, Linc. She’s different. I can’t just walk away. I don’t want to be an asshole, so I need to find a way to fix this, even if it’s just her acknowledging that none of this was intentional.”
Lincoln exhales loudly. “Oh shit.”
“Oh shit, what?”
“She already has you by the balls.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I hate it when Lincoln pulls this dramatic bullshit.
“You’re talking about her like you’re in a relationship with her.”
“It’s not a relationship.”
“You took her virginity, yes?”
“Yes.” I almost heave the word. It was fine last night, before I knew I’d had some kind of interaction with her sister. But now, with time and more perspective than I like, I realize that ghosting her would make me the kind of man I loathe. More than that, I don’t want to ghost Cosy.
I want to be more of her firsts. I don’t want to be the guy she remembers as the one who took her virginity after he slept with her sister.
“You’re kinda fucked, dude.”
“Thanks for nothing, Linc.”
I’m about to hang up on him when he says, “Wait.”
So I do, because I have no idea what I’m supposed to do, and any perspective that isn’t my own would be great. Both of my brothers are in successful relationships in spite of their less than stable and shining pasts. My parents have been together forever and seem as solid as ever despite the number of their friends who have either been divorced or pretend they’re happily married when really they’re miserable. Add to that my own failed engagement, and I feel like maybe I’m not so awesome at relationships.
“She’s young.”
“She’s of legal drinking age in all states,” I say defensively.
“Yeah, I get that. But I mean, she’s not cynical like women our age can be. Or at least she shouldn’t be. If you want to win her back, you need to woo the fuck out of her.”
“Okay. I can do that. I can woo Cosy.”
“Hold up. Her name is Cosy? Like, let’s get cozy by the fire?”
“Yeah, or tea cozy, but the British spelling.”
“Are her parents fucked-up hippies or something?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t met them. Can we get back to the wooing plan?”
“Buy her flowers, candy, whatever she loves. Haunt her world if you have to. She’s too young to be jaded by experience, especially if you’re her first. She’s going to want you to be better than the fuckhead who screwed her sister and then her, so you need to do nice things for her to show her you’re serious.”
“Jesus. I really am an asshole.”
“You’re not, but the circumstances aren’t great. You need to work it hard if you want to sway her to your side. Her sister could be the clincher, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“If she feels slighted, you’re probably screwed. But you can’t control that, and you can’t contact the sister, so you have to work the Cosy angle.”
That’s not what I want to hear, even though I can understand. “I can do that. I think, anyway.”
“Twenty-fucking-two, Griffin?” Lincoln huffs his annoyance.
“She’s different. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about her.”
“You mean other than a tight ass? And I’m not saying that to be a dick, but Imogen did a number on you, man, and I think this is you trying to find someone safe who’s not going to shred your ego or your trust like that again.”
He might be right, at least partly, but it’s more than that. “I don’t expect you to understand, but if you met her . . . It’s like she’s all the things I’ve ever wanted packed into one human being. She’s not full of pretense and bullshit. It doesn’t matter that I have to go back to New York eventually. I don’t want to leave things like this.”
“Call the florist, then, cuz, buy chocolate, and get ready to grovel. And trade in your damn car. You can’t be picking her up in the ride you screwed her sister in.”
Chapter Eleven: So Sorry, Stalker
Cosy
Sundays are particularly hopping at STW, which means two things: I’m too busy to fixate much on the fact that Griffin has slept with my sister, and I’m not working on my own. Helix is on with me today, so at least I have company for my misery.
I like Helix; she’s actually the one who got me the job here in the first place. She’s also the one who taught me how to separate “embarrassed me” from “sales me.” Once I had that down, my sales commission tripled. I met her when I was registering for classes sophomore year. She was a freshman, but I had a first-year course I still needed to complete and we ended up in the class together. Despite the fact that I’m off on some adventure or other half the time, she and I have still managed to remain close.
I told her about what happened with Griffin—well, apart from the fact that I gave him my virginity. That little detail I keep to myself.
“Stalker alert,” Helix says as the bell over the door tinkles.
Freaking Eugene comes in wearing a white T-shirt that’s at least a size too small with a lot of questionable stains decorating it and jogging pants with a hole in the crotch. “I’m so not in the mood for him today.”
“You can take inventory duty. I’ll tell you when he’s gone.”
“Thanks.” I slip out from behind the cash desk and disappear into the stockroom. I can feel my phone buzzing in my back pocket. I’ve been ignoring all messages since Nev dropped me off for my shift.
The worst part, other than the fact that the guy who took my virginity also slept with my sister—in his car, no less—is that there are reminders of him everywhere in this stupid store. And this is why it’s not a good idea to date customers. Because when the relationship fails, as most inevitably do, I’m stuck with the memory of that person embedded in the stupid double-headed dildos and flavored lube.
Unable to resist the temptation when my phone buzzes against my butt for what feels like the millionth time in the past hour, I slip it out of my pocket and check the screen. Griffin is blowing up my messages. I want to check the content, but then I’ll feel compelled to deal with this and there might be tears. I’m not opposed to crying. In fact, I think it would probably feel good to let out some of this emotional turmoil. But that needs to wait until I’m home from work and I don’t have to worry about puffy eyes and mascara streaks.
“Cosy?” Helix pops her head in the stockroom. “Eugene is gone.
”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“There’s also a delivery for you.”
“What kind of delivery?”
“The kind that comes from a flower shop.”
My chest gets all tight and fluttery. I roll my eyes at my stupid sentimental heart. Still, I’m curious, so I follow her back to the sales counter where a giant, elaborate bouquet takes up the entire counter. “Holy crap.”
“He must really feel bad.”
“It looks like he tried to shove an entire flower store into one bouquet.” I finger the petals of one of the pretty flowers I can’t identify.
“There’s a card.” Helix flicks the envelope with my name on it.
I flip it open and slip the card out.
Cosy,
I’m sorry. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. Please let me try to fix this.
Yours,
Griffin
“More like mine and my sister’s.” I shove the card back in the envelope, but I don’t throw it out, which is the first sign that I’d like him to fix this too. I tuck the note into my purse. The bouquet is too big to leave on the counter, so I put it in the stockroom.
An hour later another bouquet arrives. This time it’s made out of cookies. Helix and I both eat three. She likes the white chocolate macadamia ones the best, and I like the oatmeal raisin ones because they’re chewy.
An hour after that a fruit bouquet arrives with yet another apology note. Every hour another gift arrives, including dinner—a burger and onion rings that I let Helix eat since I’m not hungry—until the store closes. I half expect Griffin to be waiting for me outside, but he’s not.
At home it’s more of the same; except it’s flowers upon flowers. And a spa gift certificate, conveniently located in his hotel. I leave my phone messages unchecked, but I can’t escape Griffin. He’s all over my apartment in apologies.
Nev is out, so all I can do is wallow in my self-pity. And I let those tears I’ve been holding onto out. I want this to be no big deal, but it feels like one. I wonder if Nev’s not here because she feels guilty too. I hate how much I like Griffin and how much this feels like a betrayal on both their parts, when neither of them had any control over it in the first place. It makes no sense, but I have so many emotions tied up in this, I don’t know what to do with them.
The next day it’s more of the same. More flowers, more gifts, and more apologies. I’m working an evening shift at STW that overlaps with Helix again. She’s just finished stocking the magazine section—she lost the rock-paper-scissors game—when the bell above the door chimes.
My mouth goes dry, and my palms dampen. Griffin is in the store, dressed in a pair of jeans and that band shirt from our first date. And he’s holding flowers and a box.
He glances from Helix to me. I look at Helix because I’m not sure I can make eye contact with him. Her eyes are wide. She leans in and whispers, “Is that him?”
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit, he’s hot.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to deal with him or do you want me to?”
“I’ll deal with him.”
“I’ll stay in the back, just in case?” she offers.
“Please and thanks.”
She pats me on the shoulder. “Good luck staying angry at that one.”
She disappears into the stockroom, and Griffin approaches the sales counter. From across the room he looks totally put together, but up close he looks . . . uneasy and like maybe he slept like crap last night, which would make two of us.
“I’m sorry.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell with the excessive number of gifts.” I’m being rude and sarcastic, but I’m also nervous and scared about my feelings for this guy. I think he might’ve been right about the whole it should be with someone special thing because now that’s what I want him to be.
He holds out the flowers. “Can we talk?”
I don’t make a move to take them. The bouquet has to be heavy based on the way the muscles in his forearms flex and strain. Also, there must be at least three dozen roses. “I’m working.” It’s not the best response, but it’s true. I’m overwhelmed and feeling kind of sensitive.
“What time do you get off?”
“I’m closing.”
He sets the flowers and the box of chocolates on the counter. “I can wait.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Griffin.”
“Please, Cosy, I’m only asking for a few minutes. I feel awful about this whole thing.” He looks so distraught and tired.
I don’t want to feel bad for him, but I can see the conundrum. “Fine. You get three minutes, but not now. After work.”
“Okay.”
“And please stop sending me gifts. It’s bordering on stalkerish, and I have literally no more surface space in my house for flowers or vases, and I’m halfway to a sugar coma thanks to all the cookies and chocolate.”
A hint of a smile quirks up the corner of his deliciously full lips. I’m slapped on the vagina with memories of what he did with his mouth the last time we were together, before I found out about Nev. How has my life been turned upside down so quickly? His expression sobers when I don’t return his smile.
“No more gifts.” He gives me the Boy Scout salute.
“I’ll see you when my shift is over.”
* * *
The second I turn the OPEN sign off, Griffin appears at the door. It’s locked, so he stands there with his hands in his pockets, looking contrite and nervous.
I sent Helix home with the most recent flowers half an hour ago while I procrastinated with closing up, but I kept the chocolates because they’re Godiva and second only to orgasms. Griffin looks down at my purse, possibly noticing the absence of the giant bouquet of flowers. I cross my arms over my chest as if it’s going to somehow protect my heart. “Okay, I’m here, go ahead and talk.”
“Can I drive you home?”
“No.”
He looks around nervously. “Is your sister picking you up?”
“No.” Nev isn’t very good at being on time, so I don’t rely on her for things like rides.
“How are you getting home?”
“The bus.” God, this is uncomfortable. I don’t know what else to do, and I can’t seem to look at him directly, so I start walking across the lot, toward the bus stop down the street. I don’t see his pretty black car anywhere.
Griffin rushes to catch up. I don’t expect it when he jumps in front of me, so I stumble right into his solid chest. He smells good, which is not something I’d like to notice at the moment.
He grabs me by the shoulders, gently, thumbs rubbing over the bare skin next to my tank strap. Goose bumps flash down my arms and legs. I hate that such simple contact affects me in such a profound way. I also feel like I’m on the verge of tears.
“Please, Cosy. Let me drive you home. After that, I’ll leave if that’s what you want.”
Taking the bus at night sucks, which is the only reason I give in. It has nothing to do with the way his pleading tone makes my heart feel all scratched up. “Fine. You can drive me home.”
“Thank you.” Griffin guides me back toward the store. The only car in the lot is white and sporty.
“What happened to the Tesla?”
“I traded it in this afternoon.”
I stop walking. “Why?”
“I didn’t want to make the situation any worse with a bad memory.”
“All I have to do is look at my sister and the bad memory is right there in three dimensions, Griffin.”
He closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them, all I see is sadness and defeat. “I know I can’t take it back, but if I’d known you existed, I never would’ve let anything happen with your sister. I don’t do one-night stands as a general rule, and I actually have no memory at all of sleeping with your sister because I was so messed up. I get that this probably makes it worse and not better, but I meant it when I said I want to fix this, Cosy,
even though I don’t think I can.”
I rub my forehead. How screwed up is it that neither of them can remember sleeping together, and until yesterday morning I probably would have classified having sex with Griffin as one of the most memorable nights of my life. And it still is, just not for the reasons I’d like. “I can’t unknow this, Griffin. And that’s the problem. If it were anyone other than my sister, it would be a lot easier to get over.”
“Does that mean there’s a chance you can get over it?” He looks so damn hopeful.
“I really don’t know.” But as I stand here, looking up into his distressed, remorseful, gorgeous face, I think maybe I’d like to at least give it a shot.
He nods as if he understands. “I like you, Cosy. A lot. Probably more than I should. I haven’t had this much fun with anyone in a long time. And I think maybe it’s the same for you, or was, so if there’s even the slightest chance that you’d be willing to try to get past this with me, we could see if we can make this work? Maybe? If you want to?”
“I wish you hadn’t slept with my sister.”
“I wish the same thing, Cosy. All I remember from that night was doing shots and her wanting to check out my car. That’s it. The rest is a fog. I don’t want you to regret being with me.”
I sigh. Freaking Nev and her stupid car-sex bucket list. “I don’t regret having sex with you. I seriously doubt any other first experience would be that amazing, and you were super sweet. It’s . . . really damn awkward, Griffin.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” He drops his head, but he’s still looking at me, all remorseful and annoyingly sexy.
“I believe you, and me too.” I consider my conversation with Nev yesterday morning, all the things Griffin has done over the past twenty-four hours and his contrition. Is this whole situation unfortunate and weird? Definitely. But I think I’ll regret it more if I don’t at least attempt to let it go. “I can try to get over you having bad judgment and sleeping with my sister before you knew I existed.”
He stares at me for a few seconds, as if he’s trying to figure out what that means. I know I am. “Does this mean you’ll let me take you out for dinner again?”
The Shacking Up Series Page 71