15. Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
I catnapped most of the ride back to Newport in the black truck with my dark sunglasses covering my red eyes. Ryan drove, while Ezra snored softly next to me, and Cole kept up a running commentary of the bland scenery along Interstate 5. The guys didn’t comment on my morose attitude, so they either know what went down, or think I’m being a sulky girl for some reason. I don’t know which is worse.
Last night I stayed up until the sun was creeping into the sky, unable to keep my eyes shut or fall asleep for the life of me. I may have cried my eyes out and threatened myself with bodily harm if I didn’t get my shit straightened out, fast. Now that I’ve admitted I have feelings for Griffin, even if they are all about wanting him, and not quite sure about why, he’s all I can think about.
And that fucking kiss .
I had to partake in a little ménage a moi to even begin to put out the raging flames intent on consuming me. I came until I cried and still found no fulfillment or satisfaction. When I finally fell fitfully to sleep, I dreamed of his kiss, but this time I was surrounded by the disapproving faces of our teammates who called me a whore, a slutty drift groupie, a cock tease. I woke up with puffy eyes and a raging headache that made me curse my alarm clock.
Griffin didn’t even look at me when we loaded into the trucks. I immediately slid into Ryan’s and waited for the guys to get their act together. Without speaking, they sorted themselves out, and I wasn’t surprised when even Wyatt chose the other truck over being in here with me.
Last night, he put me into a cab and sent me back to the hotel, alone, after I admitted my feelings for Griffin to him. I don’t blame him for being less than friendly now. I know he has—had?—a thing for me, and still, I trampled on his kindness like it didn’t matter when I spilled my secrets. I managed to not sleep with Griffin, but I still ruined everything for myself. Nothing with the team will be the same now that this tension is out there and acknowledged.
I want to kick and wail and say life is stupid and unfair, but I know I’m the reason for my own troubles. Dad would tell me to grow some balls and figure out a way to make things work. So thoughtful, Daddy, because a woman totally needs balls to have a simpler life.
Now that I sit in my apartment and think about the weekend, all I want is to have a big fat do-over. I swear I will never dance again when those guys are around. But funny enough, loud music is leeching through the thin walls from Wyatt’s apartment. It’s Sunday night, doesn’t he have work in the morning? Oh wait, probably not. I found out that Wyatt is a freelance graphic designer and web developer. He takes clients and jobs as they come and balances them out around his drifting schedule.
Cole, and now Ezra, since he isn’t at S all sugar, with a little spice.”
My stomach feels like a pit of snakes, writhing, biting, and coiling inside me. He’s so cavalier and unconcerned for my feelings, or Wyatt’s. I want to take back that kiss, lock it up, and never give it to him. But, fuck my life, it’s out there, and this is what he thinks of it. Regret, hot and sweaty and uncomfortable, sits on my chest and suffocates me.
“You don’t deserve her. All you do is hurt her. What do you think is going to happen when you get tired of her, just like everything else? You think she’ll actually stick around? No. She’s going to pack up her broken heart and leave the team, taking all of the attention she’s brought to us with her. Then where will we be? Looking at a broke future without drifting, that’s where. And it will all be your fault, just like everything else.” Wyatt’s voice is icy cold and deeper than usual. I imagine him facing off with Griffin and my palms slick over. I lean my head gently against the door and pray this doesn’t get out of hand. Just one more thing to add to the list of problems I’ve caused by not staying strictly professional.
“You don’t know anything about me.” Griffin’s voice is guttural and dark, and I can just imagine the intensity of his face that must match it. Suddenly, he sighs. “This is all bullshit. Turn your fucking music down.”
His heavy steps take him up the stairs to his apartment somewhere on the second floor. I’m pretty sure he lives in one of the two apartments that face the U courtyard, while Wyatt’s and mine make up one of the legs that point to the Back Bay.
“Bastard,” I hear Wyatt say, quieter now that Griffin is gone. His door closes, and his music is turned off. Apparently, he made his point and no longer sees a need to keep it blasting.
Poor guy. I guess we both got screwed over by Griffin. But for very different reasons.