25. Eliana
TWENTY-FIVE
“Romance in the Shredder House – Honestly, who gave this girl a job?” Maliah exclaims, her mouth full of avocado toast as she leans over the kitchen island peering down at Meghan’s latest work. A picture of Griffin and I coming out of the lower level of his boat is printed on to the front page.
“Griffin Jones finds love amidst his return to The Saltwater Shredders with the team’s new Social Media Manager, Eliana Ward.” I read out loud, looking over her shoulder at the article. “How did she even find out my last name?”
“That’s actually a really good question because I didn’t even know your last name until now.” She stuffs the rest of her toast into her mouth, standing upright as she flips through the paper. “She must have really looked into you.”
“This girl needs a hobby. She’s literally obsessed with Griffin, it’s getting scary.”
“Who’s obsessed with me?” Griffin’s voice floats down from the staircase as he makes his way down the stairs.
“Your psycho ex-girlfriend.” Maliah tosses the newspaper article to him before picking up her tea and walking up to her room.
Griffin walks over to me, kissing my forehead, before he places the newspaper on the island and begins to read the stupid article. I watch as his jaw tenses and his brows furrow.
“I’m sorry.” His nostrils flare as he stares down at the photo of us on the front page. “It’s because of me that she dragged you into this.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. I knew the photographers were there before we went to the main level. This doesn’t bother me at all, so don’t let it bother you.”
He runs a hand through his hair, releasing a long breath, before he grabs the paper and tosses it into the recycling bin. His expression is remorseful as he turns back toward me. I can see the doubt written all over his face as he stares at me, probably wondering if I can handle this lifestyle.
“Come here,” I say, pulling myself up until I’m seated on the island counter.
He walks over, his head hung low, stopping in front of me. “I should’ve known she was going to start following us around.”
I sigh and pull him towards me, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck. He places his hands loosely on my hips as he looks into my eyes.
“Once we have our disguises, we won’t have to worry about this anymore,” I tease, playing with the soft hair at the base of his neck, “are you up for a surf lesson today?”
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Actually, I was thinking we should get our disguises instead.”
My brows furrow in confusion. “But you have surf practice with Gabriel today. Would we be back in time?”
He clears his throat. “Of course we will.”
Unease settles in my chest as I watch him busy himself with a stack of mail, his eyes distant. He hasn’t surfed since Tuesday, and today’s Sunday. He told Gabriel he wasn’t feeling well on Wednesday and Thursday and then we both left for his boat trip on Friday, returning last night. He wasn’t at the morning practice today either.
I don’t want to take part in him skipping out on another practice, especially since I should be working on the campaign seeing as I blew it off this whole weekend, but I can tell he shouldn’t be alone right now. His spark is gone, and I want to find out why.
“Okay,” I say, hopping off the counter.
He looks up at me, relief written all over his features. “Great, let’s leave now.”
Bluewater Bluffs isbeautiful with its large snowcapped mountains and vibrant wildflowers. It’s a bigger town than Saltwater Springs, but the community still seems tightknit. We walk hand in hand along the cobbled roads as we pass a café, the smell of fresh bread and desserts float in the air and my stomach grumbles in response.
It took us longer than expected to get here. Mostly due to Griffin driving extra careful the whole way while his thumb brushed circles on my thigh. Ever since telling him about the accident, he’s been more cautious on the roads. I don’t mind it, it’s sweet that he cares enough to do that. However, because we got here late, we skipped lunch, and my stomach is not happy about it.
“Do you want to grab something to eat?” He gestures to the café.
I nod. “It smells amazing.”
He opens the door for me, a bell above the door chiming softly as I step inside. Honey-colored wooden beams crisscross along the ceiling while large shelves line the walls, displaying local coffee bean packages.
The smell of vanilla mixed with coffee engulfs me as I walk towards the counter, my eyes travelling to the glass display that has flakey croissants dusted with powdered sugar, chocolate scones, and an array of cookies.
As I make my way to the counter, my mouth begins to water as I gaze at the array of baked goods. Eventually, I come face to face with a cheerful red-head, her apron dusted with flour.
“Welcome to Sunrise Café, what can I get you today?”
I look up at the chalkboard menu that hangs over her head and thank my lucky stars when I see a wide selection of sandwiches, my stomach growling in approval.
“Hi,” I smile at her, “can I please have a turkey and avocado sandwich?”
“Is freshly baked ciabatta bread okay with you?” she asks, punching in my order on her tablet.
“That’s perfect. Can you also add a medium chai latte with a vanilla shot to my order?”
“Done and done.” She looks back up at me with her big brown eyes, smiling.
Griffin clears his throat and walks up beside me. “Is the roast beef and cheddar on sourdough any good?”
She smirks. “I wouldn’t be selling it if it wasn’t.”
His lips pull up into a polite smile. “Alright, I’ll get that then, with a medium black coffee.”
He pulls out his wallet and pays for us both, intertwining his fingers with mine when he finishes. We watch her put together our sandwiches, wrapping them in parchment paper before sliding them over to us along with our drinks.
Griffin finds a cozy booth in the back corner of the cafe, the soft glow of sunlight beaming its rays on our table. We both slide in and unwrap our sandwiches, devouring them in minutes.
“That was the best sandwich of my life,” I say, leaning against the back of the booth as I sip on my latte.
“It really was,” Griffin agrees, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “but it can’t compete with your homemade pancakes.”
A grin stretches the skin on my face, and he leans over with a chuckle, kissing me. I lean into the kiss as he pulls my body closer to his, sliding his hand under the table and across my thigh.
I suppress a shiver. “What are you doing?” I whisper as his hand slides past my skirt, his fingers playing with the edge of my lace panties.
“Stay quiet,” he says in a low voice.
His hand slides along the material of my panties, playing with my clit until the material is soaking. I keep my eyes on the red-head behind the counter as I bite my lip, my face growing warm. I don’t want us to get caught, who knows what this girl might say to the press if she recognizes Griffin. He begins kissing my neck, finding the sensitive spot just below my ear and sliding his tongue across it.
A shaky breath escapes me as an electrifying feeling courses through my body, zapping its way straight to my nipples, and causing them to pebble underneath my thin bra. He moves his lips from my neck and watches me as he slides the material of my panties to the side and sinks his skilled fingers inside of me. My head falls back against the booth, and I close my eyes.
“You’re always so wet for me,” he whispers, working his fingers in and out, “almost like you get turned on just from being around me.”
I bite my lip harder, drawing blood, as the pace of his fingers grows faster. When I open my eyes to find the red-head, she’s nowhere to be seen, so I allow myself to relax as I near the edge, fire pooling in my core.
“I’m going to come,” I whimper.
He shocks me by slowing his movements, causing the build up to fade. My mouth drops open, and I frown at him, earning myself a low chuckle.
“Something wrong?” he asks, his eyes lighting up with mischief.
“Don’t tease me,” I say through barred teeth.
He leans in and kisses me slowly before pulling away slightly and looking into my eyes. “I like teasing you, it allows me to see how much you want me, sunshine.”
His fingers pick up speed but just like last time, as soon as I reach the edge, he slows down. I let out a frustrated groan.
“If you’re not going to make me come, then remove your fingers and I’ll do it myse?—”
He plunges his fingers deep, this time his thumb finding my clit and working it in circles.
“Shhhh…just a little bit more.”
My head falls back against the seat as I start to see dark spots everywhere. He lowers his mouth to my ear, nipping at my lobe.
“Be a good girl,” he whispers, “and come for me.”
The sound of his voice, so commanding and so aroused, is enough to tip me over the edge as I dissolve into pleasure. My thighs squeeze together, making it impossible for him to keep sliding his fingers in and out, as I ride out the rest of my orgasm, biting my lip to keep quiet.
When I finally stop, he slides his fingers out and instead of tasting them, he brings them up to my lips.
“Open,” I hesitantly open my mouth as he slides his fingers inside my mouth, “and suck.”
I close my lips around his fingers, tasting my arousal. Griffin makes sure to take his time as he slides his fingers back and forth across my tongue. I let out a soft moan, watching as his eyes light up.
“Fuck,” he groans, “you’re so sexy.”
A clatter sounds from the counter and both of us glance in the direction to see the red-head watching us with an empty pan in her hands, cheeks aflame. My eyes stretch to their limits as her eyes lock on mine. Griffin quickly pulls his fingers out of my mouth, and she snaps out of her trance, her face still flushed as she drops to the ground and picks up whatever dessert it was that she dropped.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, covering my face in embarrassment as I sink down in my seat wishing the floor would swallow me whole.
I hear his chuckle before I feel his hand tug my wrist away from my face. “Let’s get cleaned up and leave,” he says, sliding out of the booth.
I pretend not to notice the tenting of his grey sweatpants as he stands up straight. He holds his hand out for me, and I take it, sliding out after him and allowing him to escort me to the ladies’ room before he walks himself into the men’s room.
I stare at my reflection as I readjust my soaked panties back in place. I don’t look as bad as I expect, aside from the deep flush of my cheeks, I look normal. I wash my hands and rinse my mouth before leaving the washroom and walking back to our table, finding it’s already been cleared. Griffin stands by the front counter, the sleeves of his black top rolled up, exposing his veiny forearms. He hands the red-head a fifty-dollar bill as he takes a pastry bag from her.
“Keep the change,” he says with a warm smile before turning to find me watching him.
He walks up to me and hands me my half-finished latte before taking my free hand and leading me out of the café. I force myself not to look back at the red-head, wanting to forget that she caught me sucking Griffin’s fingers like a lollipop, but also grateful that it was the only thing she saw.
He intertwines his fingers with mine, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm as we walk towards the clothing shops.
“That was so embarrassing,” I groan, covering half of my face with my latte cup, “I can’t believe she saw us.”
“She barely saw anything, don’t worry about her. She’ll forget about us before the end of her shift.”
I sigh. “I really hope so. I will literally die of embarrassment if she tells the press and we’re in tomorrow’s paper again.”
He chuckles and then comes to a stop in front of a thrift store. “Why don’t we try in here? I’ve never gone into one of these places before.”
His eyes scan the mannequins displayed behind the window before he opens the door, ushering me inside as he follows close behind.
“You’ve never been thrifting before?”
He shakes his head and excitement explodes in my chest.
“Okay, this might be the best day ever because I love thrifting. Grab a cart.”
I run to the accessory aisle, Griffin trailing behind slowly. We sift through a large pile of oversized sunglasses for almost thirty minutes, and I watch as he tries some of them on, his brows furrowed in concentration. He eventually finds a pair of aviator glasses that he likes, tossing them into the cart before we continue to the hats.
I glance back at him and notice a subtle limp in his walk that wasn’t there earlier today. “Is everything okay with your leg?” I finally ask.
He hesitates, looking like a deer caught in headlights, before he looks to my left and picks up a wide-brimmed summer hat and places it on my head.
“This is the look,” he says, forcing a smile.
I try not to let his avoidance bother me because his lack of response is confirmation enough that he’s not okay and his leg isn’t either. It’s becoming increasingly difficult for him to conceal it now and I know we’ll have to talk about it. I don’t want to ruin the moment, so I pick up a colorful scarf instead and toss it around my neck, posing for him before I blow a kiss.
He laughs, flicking the brim of my hat, before he picks up a navy-blue baseball cap and puts it on. Who knew something as simple as a hat could be a turn on?
“I think we nailed it,” I giggle, “let’s pay for this and get some ice cream by the beach.”
The setting sunpaints the sky in shades of orange and pink, reflecting on the ocean surface. Griffin and I sit on the beach, watching the waves slowly crash to the shore as couples walk side by side with their shoes in their hands.
“Who comes up with the names of ice cream flavors out here? Beach berry Blast? Coastal Caramel crunch? It’s like the towns are trying to outdo each other with the weirdest flavors.”
Griffin laughs, the sound warming my insides. “It’s all part of the fun of living in a coastal town, everything is a competition and everything is beach themed.”
“I can see that.” I laugh, crossing my legs at the ankles as I lick my ice cream.
We sit in silence as we finish, the sound of the waves filling the silence. When we finish, I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and resting my head atop.
“Griffin?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you tell me what’s going on with you? With your leg?”
He’s quiet, his face unreadable as he stares out at the water before he sighs and frowns down at the sand.
“I went to see the physiotherapist,” he pauses, his Adams apple visibly bobbing, “my leg is getting worse instead of better.”
My heart sinks for him. “What does that mean for surfing?”
“It means I won’t be surfing in the Qualifiers.”
I swallow past the thick lump in my throat as different emotions flicker across his face.
Pain.
Sadness.
Uncertainty.
Fear.
I reach over and grab his hand, wanting to comfort him the best way that I know how to.
“Will you be able to surf professionally again one day?” I know the fear of losing surfing forever was what held him back from putting his full effort into practice.
“If I complete the new recovery plan the physiotherapist put together for me then I should be able to, one day.”
I begin tracing circles across his palm, distracting myself from the tightness building in my throat.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice cracks at the end.
“I wanted to, believe me I did,” he releases my hand to remove the hat from his head and run a hand through his messy hair, “but I was scared that once I said it out loud it would become more real.”
“Has it?” I ask.
“Yeah, it has,” his voice quiet, “but at least now we have no more secrets between us, so I guess there’s a positive to this.”
My stomach churns as guilt claws its way up my throat. Now would be the perfect time to tell him that I ran away from a town that was convinced I was their bad luck charm.
I need to tell him.
No,my voice of reason speaks up, he’ll blame you for everything that’s gone wrong since you joined the team. He’ll believe you really are a bad luck charm.
I let fear make the decision for me, choosing to press my lips together and nod in agreement with him as he pulls me closer. As much as I want to tell him about the articles that have haunted me, it could risk everything I’ve worked so hard to build here.
I could lose my place here.
I could lose Griffin.
One day, I’ll be able to tell him, but today isn’t the day—no matter how badly I want to tell him the truth.
I scooch over and snuggle into his side as he wraps his arms around me. We sit there until the sun disappears past the ocean and then return to the car, driving home while snacking on the strawberry Danishes he bought at the café.
Finally,back at the house and freshly showered, I take a seat in front of my laptop, waiting for Griffin to finish his shower. I open Instagram and notice there’s an unread message waiting for me.
As I open the message and begin reading, my world tilts on its axis. At the start of the message is a picture of one of the original newspaper articles that were written about me years ago. Town’s Bad Luck Charm, Eliana Ward, Causes 0-5 loss for the Wildcats. I close the picture and re-read the message written underneath it.
Leave the Shredders by Monday or this goes public. Do you want to be the reason they lose, too?
The tightness in my chest makes breathing impossible, my eyes becoming blurry while I read the message over and over.
It’s time to leave.