3. Blue
THREE
Blue
I don't speak again until we're in... our room, content to let Griffin think I didn't hear his little quip. But the second the suite door shuts behind us, I'm on him. "Rules are not meant to be broken. At least, not these."
His full lips tilt up in that infuriating grin of his. "Uptight," he sings-songs, drawing out the word.
"Has anyone ever told you you're an asshole?"
He chuckles, which only makes me angrier. "Time and time again."
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me."
"We can stand here and bicker or we can figure out these rules you're so fond of.
Scowling, I cross my arms over my chest, not missing the way his eyes immediately drop to my cleavage. Instinct has me wanting to drop my arms but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
"Fine." I hold up one finger. "First rule: clothing is not optional." I look pointedly at him, my eyes snagging on his bare chest as he drags a hand down from his collarbone all the way across every ridge of his abs.
As if I'm in a trance my eyes follow that movement like a hawk until he reaches down and pops the waistband of his swim trunks against his tanned skin. "I am dressed."
"Hardly," I scoff, far more upset about falling for his tricks than I am his state of undress.
"But it counts." He shrugs and leans his shoulders back against the stucco wall, looking calm as ever.
"Rule two, no hookups."
He snaps to attention. "Now, hold on...that's a little extreme. How about no hookups in the room? What we do elsewhere really shouldn't matter, right?"
Something inside of me twinges at the thought of him getting down and dirty with someone else while I most likely sit here and wallow, but I shove that feeling deep, deep down.
"Fine." I hate the hint of bitterness seeping into my voice. I wasn't like this before Blake, but finding him getting his dick sucked...and well, let's just say Bianca swallowed my perpetual optimism down, right along with Blake's load.
"Anything else?" Griffin sounds so amused that I will myself to relax. To not let this little hiccup ruin my trip.
"Yes. No flirting."
"Vague again, Blue." He shakes his head and pushes off of the wall. "No flirting with who? With the hot little thing I might meet at the bar tonight or do you mean with you? Only one of those is reasonable, baby doll."
"You're insufferable," I mutter, instead of telling him he's right. Asking him not to flirt with anyone is unreasonable, but still. His ego already seems inflated; there's no sense in me adding any extra air.
"What was that?" he asks, stepping closer.
Even in the limited space of our suite, he prowls toward me, like a predator on the hunt. He's all sinewy muscle and golden skin, long lines and kissable lips.
I take a step backwards, and the backs of my knees hit the bed. I collapse down onto the feather-soft mattress, leaning back onto my elbows for support, trying to look unaffected, like I meant to sit down rather than fall.
He doesn't stop until I'm flat on my back with his knees bracketing my legs and he's leaning over me, with one hand planted against the soft mattress next to my head. We're almost nose-to-nose, and I think I've forgotten how to breathe. "Griffin," I squeak and he grins.
"I've got a rule for you," he murmurs, his voice silky soft, like he's not pinning me, a virtual stranger, down to the bed.
I gulp. "Oh-okay."
"No name-calling and no fighting. If we're at one another's throats the entire time, we won't have any fun." The way he says fun sends a pulse of lust straight to my core. This man is trouble with a capital 'T.'
"Agreed." I nod and our noses brush. Something about his nearness sends a flood of arousal through me; it's like he has lust pheromones leaking from his every pore.
That along with the fact that Blake didn't want to touch me with a ten-foot pole and somehow, I've gone from wanting to punch him to wanting to ride him.
This is not good. "Can you...back up? Please? "
He unplants his hand and strokes his fingers lazily over the blue locks of my hair before booping me on the nose. As he stands, I can't help but notice the bulge in his trunks. Looks like this little encounter affected him the same way it did me.
"Wanna hit the pool?" he asks conversationally.
"Um." I swallow, my eyes darting down to his junk again. He catches me and flexes his hips ever so slightly. "Yeah, sure. Yes. Let's go."
I stand up and head for the door. "Blue," he calls my name, humor lacing his tone.
"Yeah?"
"You might want to change into your swimsuit. I mean, unless leggings and a tank are your usual pool attire.” He throws his hands up, palms out. “No judgment here."
Internally, I facepalm. It would be nice to not look like an idiot in front of this man at least once. "Yup. Changing now."
I grab my suitcase and wheel it into the bathroom behind me. I tug the zipper open and a plethora of string bikinis sit tangled together on top of my clothes. I've never been shy about my body, but suddenly I wish I'd packed something with a little more modesty.
It's not that I don't like the way I look, because truly, I do. But Griffin is built like he was chiseled from marble, while I'm a little curvy, soft if you will.
Oh well. A guy like him probably wouldn't look twice at a girl like me anyway. He probably dates leggy blonde Instagram models or something equally as pretentious.
It's a non-issue, I tell myself as I strip out of my travel clothes.
I grab my favorite two-piece swimsuit and tug it on, making sure all of my important bits are covered.
Well, as much as they can be, given the four triangle-shaped scraps of polyester tied together leave very little to the imagination.
I strut back into the room, borrowing a bit of Griffin's confidence. His jaws hangs open as I breeze past him, wheeling my suitcase behind me.
"That's your swimsuit?" he asks in disbelief, his voice thick with something I can't quite put my finger on.
"Mmhmm," I murmur as I fish my gauzy wrap from my pre-packed beach bag. "You ready?"
When I spin toward him, the look on his face is almost comical. His eyes are wide and his cheeks have a little flush to them, almost like he's already sunburnt. He's huffing and puffing and keeps blinking and swallowing.
"Are you okay?" I ask, suddenly worried he's having some kind of episode.
His throat works as he swallows again, one hand shoving through his hair and the other dropping to adjust himself. "Totally fine."
Oh! Ohhh.
I offer him my cheeriest smile. "Great. Let's go!"
"Where do you wanna sit?" I ask as we approach the massive pool area. There are private cabanas, loungers, multiple grottos, and even some chairs partially submerged in the water. Oh, and a swim-up bar.
"With you on my face," Griffin mutters.
"Excuse me?"
He flashes a quick grin. "Anywhere in this place."
It’s on the tip of my tongue to call him on his shit; after all, there’s no point in us making these rules if he isn’t going to abide by them. But he already thinks I’m an uptight stick in the mud, so I let it slide. Plus, what if I misheard him? How freaking mortifying would that be?
“Well, I want a drink and to catch a little sun before getting wet.”
Griffin chokes and I realize how my words sounded.
I hold up my hands, desperately trying to silence him before he can say anything to make this worse. “Before getting in the water. Wet in the water. The pool.”
His eyes twinkle with mischief as he nods, seemingly letting me off the hook.
He follows behind me as I weave through the sea of loungers, stopping when I find the so-called perfect spot—a double chaise with a built-in table between the two seats and a huge umbrella off to the side. It has a view of the pool, the bar, and the beach beyond.
You’d think living at the beach, I wouldn’t be so awestruck by the view, but… damn. The water of the Caribbean is giving the crystal blue of the pool to my left a run for its money.
“It’s nice, right?” Griffin asks, plopping down onto one of the lounge chairs.
“Gorgeous. Nothing like the beach back home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Florida,” I answer carefully; I’m not about to tell him where in the state I live. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean he’s not secretly a creeper.
He nods. “I’m actually moving to Florida. This trip’s my last chance to unwind before I settle in.”
I’m half-tempted to ask which part, but think better of it. I didn’t tell him for a reason, and maybe he’s doing the same. “It’s a nice place to live,” I say instead, cringing at how lame I sound.
Thankfully one of the dedicated poolside servers stops by to take our drink orders before I can embarrass myself any more than I already have.
We both fall silent as we wait for drinks—a watermelon margarita for me and a beer for Griffin. It’s not necessarily an awkward quiet, but a tense one, fueled by the unspoken attraction lingering between us.
It seems with each barb, with every passing glance, something sparks to life inside of me, tingling and pulsing like a warning—only, I’m not sure if it’s warning me away from the man beside me or toward him.
One thing’s for sure, this trip will undoubtedly be memorable as fuck…