Chapter 16 Griffin
Griffin
“What the fuck is your issue, Griffin?” Sabrina hisses the moment we step inside my room.
I pace my room and refuse to look at her. I don’t answer because honestly? My brain is a fucking dumpster fire. I’m trying to process, and every thought just loops back into a knot of regret and lust and disbelief.
I kissed Jacob.
Like, full on kissed him. I planted my mouth on his and let my tongue swipe into his.
I had my hands on him, felt the tension in his muscles under his clothes, pressed my hard cock against his jean covered thigh.
I pushed him against that shitty party wall and Jesus Christ, if we weren’t at a crowded party with a thousand drunk eyes, I probably would’ve dropped to my knees right there and used my mouth to suck his soul right out through his dick.
And fuck my goddamn life…now I’m hard. Again.
I am so not ready to deal with that.
“Griffin,” Sabrina hisses again in that super sharp voice she uses. I keep pacing because movement feels safer than locking eyes with another living person right now.
She steps in front of me and I don’t stop in time. I literally crash into her.
Her arms, soft and thin, slip around my waist and pull me in like she thinks that’s supposed to fix something. Her face changes in a split second from pissed to this dumb, seductive grin that makes me want to cringe.
“Are you hard for me, baby?” she whispers, leaning up and planting this slow, deliberate kiss right on my neck.
But my cock, that stupid traitorous part of my body, starts deflating almost immediately.
I assume it’s because her words have brought on a very real realization but….I am not hard for her. Not even fucking close.
I’m hard for the man I just fucking kissed.
Oh fuck.
Oh double fuck.
I’m not a cheater. I really am not. I’ve tried to be good, to be respectful, to be a solid human being but by every definition that exists, I think I just fucked up real bad.
“Sab, stop,” I say, voice low and strained, eyes closed as I try to reconcile the sexual part of my body with the emotional catastrophe of my entire existence.
She lets out this awkward loud sensual moan and rubs her body against mine like a cat marking territory. I have to fucking physically grab her by the shoulders and distance myself.
“I said stop,” I repeat, this time more stern.
She backs away from me until my hands fall from her shoulders and then she just stands there with her arms crossed tight over her chest. Her lips are in this angry pout, her nostrils flared, and she just stares at me with this ridiculous mixture of confusion and entitlement that makes my whole body tense right up to my shoulders.
“What is going on?” she asks, voice loud and demanding like she deserves answers just because she asked the question. And I guess…maybe this time she does deserve answers.
Okay, she definitely deserves answers but I already know it’s going to be an absolute shit show. One I probably deserve for being a fucking cheater.
Jesus fuck.
I let out a long, ragged sigh and I grip the back of my own neck like I’m literally trying to hold my skull together from the inside.
“I kissed someone else tonight,” I squeeze the words out in a strained raw tone.
I swear to fucking hell the entire room freezes.
Sabrina literally goes still, like someone hit the pause button, and I can practically see the disbelief in her wide eyes and open mouthed “O” of shock.
“You what?” she finally asks in disbelief.
“I, uh… I’m so sorry,” I admit, and holy shit I absolutely mean it.
I know cheating is never okay. I thought I was one of those guys who was unshakably loyal.
I stood by the fact that I was the kind of man who would never cross that line and betray someone I had promised myself to.
Hell, I was a firm believer that if you were interested in someone other your partner, you should just end things instead of cheating, emotionally or fucking physically.
But here I am, sitting in my own house, having to admit I kissed someone else to my girlfriend of two fucking years.
“Tonight?” she repeats incredulously, like the entire concept is unfathomable. “Tonight at the party? At the party we were both at?”
I nod, “Yes.”
“What the fuck, Griffin?” she hisses like she can’t even wrap her head around it.
Her anger? Completely warranted.
“I know,” I say, because honestly, what else is there to say to that?
“Who is she?” she screams, voice rising and echoing off the walls, and I’m so fucking glad it’s just us here because I bet they could hear her down the fucking street.
“It doesn’t matter,” I mumble, looking down at the floor because the truth is twofold: telling her I fucked up is one thing, but telling her it was with a man ?
She would absolutely choose to weaponize that and drag me through the mud.
That feels like handing her a match and a gallon of gasoline.
I’m not ready to be the punchline of her social vendettas, and I’m not ready to let that piece of me be torn apart by people who don’t understand it.
My sexuality isn’t a fucking gossip piece.
“It so fucking matters!” she screams, voice cracking with fury. “You cheated on me with some whore and you… oh my god-were you hard for her and not me?”
Her final words hit like a punch, and I grimace. Honestly, I don’t even have to voice my answer because my expression is all the confirmation she needs.
“You’re a real fucking asshole!” she screams, spinning toward me with that venom in her eyes.
“I know,” I repeat, flat and hollow.
She scoffs and starts to pace again. Then with this wild, furious glare that could burn holes in steel, she says, “You’re going to tell me who it was. I swear to god I will end this if you don’t.”
And I blink, genuinely confused for a second because in my mind, telling her I cheated was the end.
Like, that’s the part where the relationship collapses under its own weight.
I’m not exactly fluent in dating etiquette, but I’m pretty sure when someone admits they get aroused by someone who isn’t their partner, it usually means the chapter is over.
“Sab…” I say slowly, “I think we are done anyway.”
Her face splits into equal parts disbelief and rage.
“I don’t… I’m not telling you who it was,” I continue with a steady, quiet finality.
“Is this a fucking joke to you?” she hisses, eyes already welling with tears that she fights like she’s embarrassed to let them fall.
“What? No, of course not. I fucked up, I know that,” I reply, exasperation creeping into my voice.
“And now you’re going to break up with me?” she says, letting those tears fall with this dramatic quiver in her lips that I honestly can’t tell are real or fake.
Oh fucking fuck fuck fuck.
“I think… Sab,” I begin slowly, “it’s been a long time coming.”
Her eyes narrow and she angrily swipes at the tears on her cheeks.
“Because you don’t do anything fun! But apparently you’re a lot of fun for random whores at parties!” she screeches, punctuation not included. “Oh my god, how many times? How long have you been cheating on me?”
“Jesus, Sab,” I say, voice low and exhausted, “just this once. I told you right away.”
“Oh, well, thank you for the consideration, you fucking prick,” she spits back, dripping sarcasm.
I sigh, tilt my head back, and grip my hair at the base of my skull.
“I really am sorry,” I say, and I mean it. “I would never intentionally hurt you.”
She laughs at me in this ugly, incredulous bark and it’s like someone chucked a bucket of ice water on the moment. “I’ve been faithful for two fucking years and it turns out I was with a cheating, lying piece of shit.”
I just nod and don’t argue. I figure letting her have her anger is what she needs right now. She’s entitled to be mad. Hell, I would be fucking furious at that kind of betrayal. I hate myself for letting it happen and I hate that I hurt her.
“I hate you,” she says, voice thick with hurt. “Everyone is going to know you’re an unfaithful piece of shit.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, because newsflash: I already know, and pretending it doesn’t sting would be bullshit.
I’m well aware that my cheating is going to be circulated.
Sabrina is never going to be the kind of girl who takes the high road or avoids drama.
I don’t blame her and I can appreciate that she is honest about the fact that she is going to tell everyone.
Again, she has that fucking right after what I did to her.
She shakes her head, face screwed up like she’s trying to spit every emotion in the world all at once, and then she tells me, “Fine, you want to be done. Then so fucking be it. But I swear it was me that ended it because you’re a fucking terrible lay.”
And then she fucking sails out of my room.
For a minute I just look at the closed door because holy hell did that conversation punch me right in the gut.
She’s gone.
And all I fucking feel is relief.
I just broke up with my girlfriend, and all I want to do is text Jacob.
Did he… is he okay? Did he leave the party? Did he go home with that clueless baseball player he was talking to?
Fuck.
Now I’m spiraling like a goddamn psychotic hurricane of insecurity and regret and I don’t even know where the hell to start.
Fuck. My. Life.
Instead of texting the guy like a normal human, I text Hughie, like the coward I absolutely am.
Griffin: Hey man, did you go to the party tonight?
His response comes almost immediately because Hughie, unlike me, actually functions like a human being.
Hugh: Nope. I stayed in.
I decide to be a fucking lying piece of shit again tonight because honesty is for people who aren’t drowning in half formed feelings and jealousy.
Griffin: Oh, okay. I saw Jacob and wanted to make sure he was home safe. He looked a little tipsy.
He, in fact, did not look tipsy at all. He looked beautiful and turned on and flushed and hard…and fucking shut up brain.
I watch the bubbles pop up and disappear a few times before he finally responds, which means he's thoughtfully processing. Or he’s walking to Jacob’s room to see if he came back to the apartment.
Hugh: He got home about twenty minutes ago.
And of course, the relief is there, but now that fleeting comfort has this ugly little fucking echo of did he come home alone or with baseball fuckboy.
I need to know if that baseball dude walked him home. I need to know if he brought him back to the apartment to relieve some tension. I need to know if he’s with someone, or touching someone, or if that stupid kiss meant anything to him at all…like it did to me.
I type before I can stop myself.
Griffin: Oh great. I’m glad his boyfriend got him home safe.
I scrub my eyes and groan because holy fucking hell I sound like a degenerate stalker.
Hugh: What boyfriend?
Hugh: Jake doesn’t have a boyfriend.
Well… fuck. Now I feel like I just outed the guy or something.
I didn’t actually out him, I know he came out to Hugh freshman year and got guarded so hard that anyone even thinking a homophobic thought would’ve been body checked into next week but still.
I feel like a massive douche for even mentioning some random baseball player. It’s not my fucking business and I shouldn’t be out here fucking gossiping with Hugh just to get information about the guy I’m obsessing over.
I backpedal with all the finesse of a man hanging off a cliff.
Griffin: Oh uh…the baseball player he is seeing. Or hanging out with. Probably just friends or something.
Hugh: HA, they aren’t seeing each other. Danny is basically obsessed with Jacob. That’s nothing new.
Hugh: I’m pretty sure they are just friends.
White hot jealousy floods through me. I can totally understand Danny (what a fucking douchebag name) being obsessed with Jacob. But I don’t fucking like it. I don’t like that he touched him or danced with him. I don’t like that he had his fucking lips on Jacob’s neck.
I have to choke back pure anger like I’m swallowing boiling coffee.
Get a fucking grip on yourself, Griffin.
Griffin: Ah, okay cool.
It’s the lamest response ever.
And then silence from Hughie.
It makes sense because what the hell is he supposed to say? I was ambling through awkward, creepy territory, prying into someone else’s business because my brain is still trying to process that last fucking kiss and what the hell it meant to me.
I have no right to know shit about Jacob. And that, right there, realizing I have no fucking right to be this involved, hits me harder than any slap I could’ve given myself.
Because I was being a fucking creep.
I was prying.
I was insecure.
I was jealous.
I had no say in what Jacob does with his life.
I need to stop this absolute nonsense before things get worse. I need to stop asking about him or talking about him. I need to stop everything that has to do with Jacob because I need to focus on myself. Hockey, school, and then the draft.
It’s everything that matters.