21. Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
T he post-competition dinner and night out has started out on point. The thrill of our team gaining a top-of-the-podium win is contagious and has all of us hyped up and acting a fool. We are tearing up a dive bar not far from the racetrack and getting lots of attention from fans and other teams who showed up, while annoying the regulars.
I know I promised not to dance around Wyatt and Griffin after last week’s fiasco, but I can’t resist. I have to let go and have fun with the whole team. I have all five of my guys crowded around me on this packed little dance floor. Even Ryan, who prefers to sit back in a booth, is cutting loose and showing us his not-so-killer moves. I’m making a very strong attempt to not end up dancing with Griffin or Wyatt, but they’re each trying to make it happen. I’ve had to shoot Griffin a few looks when his hands got grabby and made themselves comfortable on my ass. He headed to the bar a few minutes ago, and I haven’t seen him since.
But I’m looking now, and maybe I shouldn’t have. I feel my easy smile slip from my face as green-eyed jealousy settles heavily in my stomach.
Griffin has his own sandwich going that doesn’t include Wyatt or me. He’s the luscious center as two leggy brunettes dance up on him. I feel my face grow red-hot as anger builds up inside of me. No. Just, no. I start to head over there to pull the skanks off of him, but stop myself and swallow down my bitterness before I’ve made it two steps.
He’s not yours, Shelby. You were the one who insisted you continue doing what you do when you’re not fucking. I have no claim on him, and he has none on me. Instead of heading toward Griffin, who seems to be really enjoying himself, his hands wandering down the tight body of the girl in front of him as I watch, and head to the bar instead. I had told myself I wouldn’t drink too much tonight, but fuck that shit. There’s no way I can be sober and watch this go down.
The attentive bartender is my new best friend as he quickly serves me two shots of tequila and mixes up my vodka-Mas Boost. It all goes down the hatch, burning and turning my belly into a furnace that wars with the hot anger I’m trying to drown out. Or is it cold jealousy? That green-eyed bitch is not my friend, and I need to learn to lose her if I plan to make this no-strings situation actually work.
I was naive to think Griffin wouldn’t welcome any and all attention from drift groupies, fans, or any woman who finds him attractive, just because we’re sleeping together. Who am I to stop him, even if the thought turns my stomach to a nauseous, angry ball of worms? But if that’s how he wants to play it, I’m game.
I return to my group of guys, minus one but just as fulfilling, full of liquid bravado and the desire to make Griffin feel even the tiniest bit of what I just went through. That is, if he can get his face out of his dance partner’s neck and see for himself. I grab Ryan’s hand and twirl myself under it and into the middle of our group. I bump my hips into Cole’s, trace Wyatt’s dimples with my fingertips, and reach toward Ezra to bring him closer to my jealousy-fueled orbit.
And just like that, I’m their sunshine and focus, the center of their solar system, and I could live for this. I shake my Daisy-Duke-clad-ass in time to the pumping track and raise my arms over my head. I have hands reaching for me, holding me close and moving with me in no time.
I try to lose myself in the music. In the way I have four guys’ undivided attention. In how the bass thumping through the speakers seems to disrupt my heartbeat.
But I can’t.
My brain is mired in jealousy, thinking only of Griffin and his new dance partners. And most likely what he will be taking back to the hotel tonight. Or if he feels like it, fucking up against a bathroom stall. Dirty hoes would probably love that shit.
I can’t do this.
I duck out of the circle, a hand reaching out for me but sliding off my arm as I move away. I slip through the crowd of people, order another drink, and snug myself into a dark corner. I put myself in a spot where I can’t see Griffin, but I still find myself looking for him. I think he actually took his groupies somewhere a little more private. Oh, fucking gag me already .
“Not feeling like dancing tonight?”
I look over at my pity party crasher and nod. My heart speeds up when I realize who it is. “Mason Bauer, right? Nice job on your second place finish today.”
“That would be me. And you’re the S not where anyone can see it. My neck is on display all the fucking time, so it’s off limits.”
He smoothes his hand along the wet spot he left on my neck. “Then let’s go back to the hotel so I can find a place no one will see. Unless you want me to continue this right here... ”
“No, not here.” I look around the very public parking lot. Even though we are safely ensconced in the shadows, anyone could walk past and discover us. “Do you think anyone will suspect we left together?” I grip his biceps and look into his amused face. I wish he’d take this as seriously as I do. It’s not funny. I button my shorts again as I wait for his response. He looks down at me, bracketed between his arms that trap me against the building.
“You left before I did, with another guy. If anyone even noticed, that’s what they will remember.” His voice more than hints at his displeasure with that situation. Shaking his head, he pulls me away from the wall and presses his hand to my back before directing us back to the street where we walk the few blocks to the hotel.
He holds my hand, his thumb skimming over my knuckles while our shoulders bump together as we walk. This is a tiny taste of what life with him out in the open would be like. The walk in the cool air gives me time to find perspective and start overthinking every one of our interactions. Right now it’s nice and normal, but on the heels of our jealous spat and insecure name calling, it feels anything but. The comparison makes me feel all itchy and in need of answers, even if that means I have to dig deep into the wounds we inflict on each other like they don’t actually leave a mark.
“Why do you insist on making me feel like a whore?” I ask as we walk through the hotel hallway to my room. He is sharing a room with Ryan, so it wouldn’t really be good to try hooking up in his room.
Griffin looks over quickly, pulling me to a stop outside my door. I fish in my pocket for my key card and let us in .
“Where the fuck did that come from? I’ve never once called you a whore.”
“You don’t call me a whore outright, but you make me feel like shit whenever you say things like you did tonight about being insecure and needing a cock between my legs, or throwing myself at every dick with a dollar. Last week, you said I was a cock tease wanting to get off between two guys.” Not to mention he just got me off against a building. I cringe and tip my chin down, letting my hair hide my face from him.
He switches on the light and closes the door as I walk in and kick my heels off into my suitcase. As I stand flat-footed and look up at him I think maybe I should have kept them on to maintain our eye-level height. Even with our height difference now, he barely manages to meet my eyes, his hands squeezing the back of the desk chair. I kind of hate myself for killing the mood by opening my stupid mouth. It would have been a lot easier to just fall into bed and not discuss this. I just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Too bad you can’t hit delete on conversations in real life.
“I guess...I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to make you feel like a whore. It’s just...you make me feel emotions so much stronger than I normally do. You make me bat-shit crazy with anger, or so high and happy and satisfied. You don’t even realize that you do it, you just match my energy with your own and we explode.”
“So it’s my fault you call me sick names and insult me every time we fight?” I cross my arms over my chest, not about to let him get away with this. I’m not into master manipulators who turn a situation or fight around to make you the bad guy. It takes two to tango; two imperfect people who struggle and make mistakes. We all need to own up to our failures and take responsibility.
“Only when you insist on getting on the jock of another guy,” he explodes, his hands flying into the air. “I can’t help that you make me insane with jeal—“ he cuts off before he finishes the word, and looks away with an angry scowl that makes me think he didn’t want to reveal that much.
We are both keeping our true feelings close, not wanting to share our hand with the other. I shake my head sadly. “Can you just try to not say shit like that, please? Don’t make me feel like a slut. I’m good enough at making myself feel bad about what I do or my mistakes, I don’t need you to add to it. It’s so much worse that way.” My voice is steady but small, asking for something that lays me out more vulnerable to him than when I’m naked. I’m admitting that he’s hurt me with his words, when all along I’ve played like they didn’t faze me.
The tension that has raised Griffin’s shoulders eases minutely, his face turning back to find mine. He reaches out to pick up a piece of my hair off my shoulder, rubbing the strand between his fingers. “I can do that. I can try.”
“Thank you. And I’ll try not to make you jealous.” I smile and look at him from under my lashes. At least we found something to agree on, something that unites us as more than fuck buddies. We’ll try for each other. Even if it ties more strings on our relationship.
“Are we done with our heart-to-heart now? I’ve wanted to fuck you all day and my balls are gonna turn blue soon.” Griffin reaches for me, his hands pushing under my top to cup my boobs .
“And just like that, the cocky asshole is back,” I say, laughing as he kneads my flesh. It’s much easier to exist in our physical connection than to test the bounds of the emotional one that is so messy and complicated.
I become hell-bent on making sure his balls don’t turn blue. Pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs, I grip him tightly with both hands until he mutters my name in a string of profanity. When he strips his shirt off, I bite his chest roughly and lick his nipples until he’s rocking into my tightly fisted hands that stroke him.
“You like that, superstar? You want me to mark you this time?” I suck his light brown nipple into my mouth and stare up his chest as he moans.
“Fuck, baby, I don’t want to come like this. I want to be inside you.” He barely manages to break away from me, turning back to his pants for a condom while I strip out of my clothes.
I let him push me back on the bed and bring my knees up to my chest over his arms that trap me flat on my back. When he pushes against my entrance, I can’t help bearing down and fighting the rough intrusion.
“Relax, let me in.” I blink my eyes open at his word choice. He wants more than me physically letting him in. He wants into my life, and ultimately, my heart. I quickly shut down that train of thought before I freak out on him. I’m done raising hell and just want to be fucked.
I breathe out and will myself to relax around him as he inches forward. Even with him fingering me just a short while ago, he’s so big it can hurt if I’m not wet enough, especially in this position. He eases back and then slides all the way in as I relax and we rock together .
It’s true that make-up sex after a fight feels more passionate, more intense than usual. With Griffin, sex is always incredible, he makes sure of it, but when he looks into my eyes tonight, there are unspoken apologies. There are questions about the validity of our actions and feelings. There are accusations, from both of us to each other and ourselves, of what we were willing to do to get under each other’s skin. Neither of us wants to be the one to get hurt, so we guard our hearts and strike first.
Him telling me he loves how wet and tight I am, and me marking his back with my nails and calling his name in release is our way of communicating our otherwise silent desires. I want to live in my delusions that keeping this secret will satisfy my urges while maintaining my precious place on the team. He wants to blow our cover and mark me as his. We both want more, but are stubbornly holding onto the decision to make no-strings sex work. It’s crazy, but I know he feels it too. It’s in the way he holds me tight to him after we finish, how he grips my face and kisses my eyelids, nose, and cheeks reverently.
It surprises me that he wants so much more than I can give him. I had him pegged for a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy. A casual hook-up at best, a “never call you again once he gets it” at worst. He’s the last person I’d expect to say he wants to take our undercover relationship public. I’m still pretty sure I am another goal for him to achieve, a hate fuck to get out of his system after all of our fighting.
But I’m finding out he’s actually tender under the crass. He’s afraid of me walking away even though he pushes me so hard. He’s self-sabotaging and fallible and so am I. Neither of us knows what to do with this, other than to feel it out and make it work even as we destroy it .
But making it work for now means kicking him out of my bed before everyone else gets back to the hotel. He tries to linger, kissing me hungrily, but I push him away and insist he go so he doesn’t get caught leaving my room. When he’s finally gone, the emptiness settles heavily on me.
I don’t think I can do this forever, or even for long.