Present Day
“Here goes nothing.” It’s been seven days, one hundred sixty-eight hours, ten thousand and eighty minutes since I walked out of my wedding venue with Griffin. I kept my head up, eyeing each and every passerby. They could think what they wanted. They did, by the way. The slew of nasty calls, texts, and voicemails that have been riddling my phone all week has not been my idea of fun. Zach’s mom calling me every name under the sun. Clearly, her son hasn’t fessed up to the reason of our demise. I get it. When Griff escorted me out, I was a hot fucking mess. Still, there’s no need to call me a gold-digging slut. Then there was Mel’s dad, God love him. Apparently, my ex-best friend fessed up to her shenanigans with my ex-fiancé, not all of the details but some. Funnily, her dad called, saying he’d hoped we’ll eventually work our friendship out but if not he understood. Sadly, I’m not angry with him. It’s Mel I’m upset with. I had to respond to Jack, letting him know that his family would still very much be a part of my life, but as for Mel and my friendship, it was over, so over, especially because she hijacked the honeymoon Zach and I went half and half on. Well, let’s just say, a notification of a payment received for my half was also sent to my phone. At least I’m not losing more money as well as a vacation. The fucking douchebag and douchebagess are currently on what would be our honeymoon. As if I didn’t want to get away from this damn town and run away.
Zach left without a backward glance, the same thing he obviously did with our relationship, only he’s reaping a shit ton of rewards he doesn’t deserve. Now, I’m here to thank a man who helped me when no one else could. A man who made inappropriate jokes to cheer me up while keeping me flush in the tequila while I got shit-faced drunk and passed out on his shoulder. I could have simply called or texted Griff, except I couldn’t. Two days ago, my mom, Evelyn, and Aunt Catherine intercepted my cell phone. They noticed me picking up the colorful floral-incased phone, looking at it, and setting it facedown. Multiple times. By the fourth time, Aunt Catherine swooped in, read a few of the texts Zach’s mom fired off, and confiscated the device. Between the man inside the double doors, my mom, and Aunt Catherine, they’ve been the light in this dark tunnel. When Zach left with Mel, he left me with everything. I had to make sure all the gifts we received were returned, as well as deal with the fallout of a few other things. You know, like my lease that’s up in another month and how I’ll be homeless since my landlord already has my place in a contract when I leave. My one saving grace is the two-week vacation I took from work. It’s given me time to get shit in order, or not so in order, and hopefully, by the time I’m back to work, this small coastal town will have something else to talk about.
I pull the door open and take a step inside, the door closing behind me, secluding me in the dark bar. Cedar planks the walls and ceiling. Beer and alcohol neon signs litter the walls along with posters that look to be decades old. My eyes take in the patrons lingering at the bar and the high-top tables. A waitress is wiping down the bar in my peripheral vision. She gives me a slight nod. I do an awkward finger wave. Great. More embarrassment floods my body once again, adding fuel to the fire. My mind tries to pull up the memory of my time with Griff after he whisked me away from a nightmare. I asked for his phone, made the call to my mom. Between her and my aunt, they helped put out the fires. Meanwhile, Griffin had me loaded up, seatbelt secured, plopping the bottles of tequila in my lap I pilfered on our way, and we were driving. It’s not like I stole them; they were technically from my wedding, which both parties helped pay for, myself included, because while Mom did as much as she could, there was no way we could keep up with the Joneses and the way Zach’s mom liked to throw money out the window on frivolous bullshit.
My gaze doesn’t land on the man I came here for. Maybe coming here was stupid. Maybe I should leave well enough alone. Or maybe I should pull up my big girl panties. My voice of reason comes in loud and clear, which means I’m going to listen and make my way to the bar. At least to ask the bartender where Griff is. If she says he’s not here, then I can move on, write a thank-you card, and mail it to the bar I’m currently inside, aptly named High Tide Tavern.
I’m slightly underdressed compared to a few of the patrons. Most are in jeans, nice shirts, and boots. The tank top and cut-off jean shorts with a pair of flip-flops really don’t mesh well with a bar. Open-toed shoes, beer bottles, and the possibility of a bar fight—my feet would be toast. Hopefully that doesn’t happen, and I can come out unscathed. Plus, it’s not like I’m here during last call. It’s the early afternoon and in the middle of the week.
“Hi, welcome to High Tide Tavern. What can I get you?” the bartender asks after I finally shuffle my feet to the bar, where no one is sitting. She looks at me quizzically, as if I don’t belong, a fact I’m very well aware of.
“Hi, actually, I was looking for Griff.” Her eyebrows quirk up toward her hairline. She’s got a slight smirk on her face as if she doesn’t believe me.
“And you are?” Alright, then, maybe Griffin has women coming to his establishment asking for him all the time. Okay, fine, I can’t technically blame them either. Griffin Hawkins is a lot of things. Ugly is not one of them. He’s tall, dark, and devastatingly beautiful in a way most men would cringe at the term. Something tells me he wouldn’t. Griff exudes confidence, a talent I wish I had. Maybe I wouldn’t be standing here stone-cold silent trying to choose my words carefully.
“A friend, actually. Never mind, I’ll see him when I see him.” I shrug my shoulders. There’s no way the bartender is going to tell me where Griff is or if he’s even here. I’ll cut my losses, send a thank-you card like the loser I am, and move on from another embarrassing moment in the life of Stormy Stevens. There’s no reason to wait for a response. I abruptly close the conversation down. The bartender doesn’t say anything else either and goes back to cleaning the countertops. That’s when I turn around. There’s no use sticking around, so I do what any other woman would do: I turn away, hold my shoulders back, and pretend to exude a confidence that’s slowly crumbling. At least from the back it looks like I’ve got my shit together. From the front, well, that’s a whole other story. My eyes are downcast, the dark circles rimming my eyes seem to be permanent these days, and my appetite is virtually non-existent. It’s been a domino effect: lack of sleep, lack of eating, lack of freaking energy. We’ll just tack it on to everything else. Today, I’m going to hop in my car, roll the windows down, jack the air conditioner to the lowest setting, and find a good song to scream-sing to. I’m so lost in my own thoughts, trying to bolt toward the door without seeming like a basket case, I run smack dab into a hard body.
“If the world could just dig a hole and swallow me whole, that would be awesome right about now,” I grumble into the black-fabric-covered chest, hands holding my biceps. The owner’s scent wafts around us—orange, cedar, and oak.
“Baby girl,” Griff’s voice is rough with a raspy tone to it. As if he’s smoked a cigarette or two. Only I know he doesn’t. My eyes snap open, and trace the center of his chest until they meet his, which knocks me off my axis once again.
2
GRIFFIN
The softness in Stormy’s eyes, the way her body shudders with the two words that slipped from my lips all too easily, fuck, it has me on fire. Clearly, that dumbass didn’t make her feel like the woman she truly is or feed into her desires. What would have been her wedding night clued me in—you give the woman a bottle of tequila, and she lets lose real damn quick.
“Griff.” Her eyes open after a beat. Cerulean blue, clear, and glassy, unlike the bloodshot eyes I had the pleasure of seeing while she popped off talking about how Zach couldn’t even get her there. All I could do was grunt, bite back the words threatening to come out, and let her keep at it. She vented all while taking another swig of tequila, not even wincing as the strong alcohol slid down her delicate throat. The woman can handle her liquor, that’s for sure. She tipped her head back, my suit jacket draped over her shoulders, and my eyes watched as it slid down. Fuck me, I had no right to look at the glimpse of skin she was giving me. Stormy’s dress was destroyed; there was no fixing it after I took my knife to it. A knife that now sits inside a drawer in my nightstand, one I no longer use. The way she was sitting, I got the side profile of what I’m sure is the sweetest set of tits a man could get his eyes on. This woman should be off-limits. I’m nobody’s rebound, but it almost had me throwing caution to the wind and say ‘fuck it.’ Much like I am right now. Her body, my body, on the nearest surface has my cock twitching. The hard-on I’ve been walking around with for days on end is more than ready and willing to be let loose. I bet she’s wet right now. The woman gives off fuck-me vibes whenever I’m near, and now is no different. The thought of unbuttoning her jean shorts, sliding down the zipper, the palm of my hand meeting her quivering stomach while moving down until my fingers feel her softness. I’d bet her panties are lace and see through, only adding to my inner turmoil as the tips of my fingers hit the lips of her pussy. Now I’m wondering exactly what her cunt looks like. Are there soft curls, a landing strip, or is she completely bare? I’m going to find out, and fucking soon. It doesn’t matter that we’re in my bar. I’d do it in front of everybody to prove a point to Stormy. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s just been with the wrong man all along. I’d work her until she was a quivering and moaning mess, not stopping until her body is wrung dry and she’s holding on to me to stay standing. Somehow, I manage to keep my hands off the raven-haired beauty in front of me. An act of willpower and strength I usually retain for when I’m on a rescue mission with my crew when the high-speed boat races come to town or we head out of town if we’re needed.
“You need something?” The last time I saw Stormy, she was toasted, dozing off on my shoulder on the beach, the discarded bottle of tequila near her feet, and I know it was time to call it a night. I carried her to my truck, got her settled in the passenger seat with her murmuring that she just wanted to feel, and it wasn’t anything about emotions. Nope, Stormy left me speechless, talking about how she’d like to be fucked long and hard, hair pulled back as she’s fucked from behind and experience an orgasm that Zach could never give her. I’m no damn saint. I thought about taking her up on the offer. That’s also when I got another glimpse of her tits. Her dress dipped lower, and it took all I had to back the fuck away. She may not have said, ‘Griff, take me to bed,’ but with the vibes she was giving off, it was awfully tempting. I drove her home, carried her inside her apartment, and put her to bed. Stormy at least was cognizant enough to give me the code to her door, which pissed me off even more. What if I were someone else? Would she be just as willing?
“To talk to you.” She raises her hands, and hovers them near my body, as if unsure if she should touch me out in the open where prying eyes can see. Newsflash, I don’t give a flying fuck what people think. If Stormy wants to touch me, then goddamn, she can touch me any way she wants. I move a step closer, taking away the decision when her palms lie flat against my abdomen. My abs flex and her fingers clench into my muscles.
“Here or somewhere else?” I’ve heard the rumors, and noticed Stormy hasn’t been out and about like she usually is. The random appearances she once made are gone. It didn’t go unnoticed either that my niece and Zach aren’t in town, adding fuel to the fire in the way of the rumor mill. The dust should have settled. It hasn’t yet, and that’s because of this small fucking coastal town, sinking its claws into gossip and not letting it go.
“It doesn’t matter.” The shrug of her shoulders says more than she’s letting on. Christ, right now, there’s a hesitance when she didn’t have any the last time I saw her. It was also when I placed her in bed, her wedding dress sliding further off her body, and she didn’t once think about using her hand to hold it up. I also realized she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath, the fabric dipping so low I now know the color surrounding her nipples. The only reason I didn’t take her up on her offer after she told me one too many times how she’d like to actually come with a cock inside her instead of a vibrating toy, was how inebriated she was. And believe me, it was fucking hard to hold back. Stormy’s display of her tight body ended too fucking soon. She fell backwards, head hitting the pillow, arms spread wide, eyes closing, and was out like a damn light. The only sound in the room beside my heavy breathing was her soft sighs. There was nothing left for me to do. I wasn’t going to stick around. She was far too much temptation, and if she woke up the next morning, forgetting about the whole night, yeah, I didn’t even want to think about that. I went to her kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, rummaged enough to find some pain reliever, and set it on her nightstand. My eyes landed on her one last time. She was out, hadn’t even moved when I put the blanket on top of her. My fingers grazed her collarbone, and I knew it was now or never. I walked out of her apartment like the fires of hell were on my heels and I couldn’t trust myself to do something too fucking dangerous. I hit the button on her keypad, heard the deadbolt click into place, tested the knob, and haven’t seen her since. Until today.
“Barbie!” I call out to my lead bartender, the one who runs the bar when I’m out for a couple of days every now and then.
“Yeah, Griff?” she responds without looking up from pouring a beer from the tap.
“You good for a bit?” I came in early to work on some paperwork and relieve her when I was through.
“As long as I’m off by five, I’m good.” She glances up after placing the glass in front of Rodger, one of the old timers who comes here every day after he’s off his shift.
“Appreciate it.” Stormy’s hands cling to my stomach still. She doesn’t look over her shoulder or anywhere else besides my chest.
“No problem,” she replies. My hand finally goes to Stormy’s, holding them to my chest as I take a step backward, opening the bar door with my back.
“Come on, we’ll hit the beach.” She nods, loosening her hold on me when the sun hits us. She squints her eyes, and I take my sunglasses off the neck of my shirt, handing them to her, and pull my hat down lower to shield my own.
“Thanks. I won’t take too much of your time.” Our bodies gravitate toward one another, my hand going to her lower back as she puts my sunglasses on.
“I’ve got plenty of time for you, Stormy.” She doesn’t stutter in her steps, but I do hear her quick intake of breath, and a grin takes over my face. It seems she likes that I speak my mind, a damn good thing, too, because I’ll be telling her exactly what I want once we’re down by the beach.
3