CHAPTER FIVE
Caleigh
I just screwed some guy in an alley.
Actually, I just screwed some rich, powerful guy in an alley, which makes it weirder and, if possible, worse.
The fact that it was amazing is not even the point. The point is I don’t go around having sex in public places or with strangers or…pretty much anywhere with anyone ever since college. I haven’t been with anyone since I dropped out two years ago. So, when all those feelings came to the surface, when he took me in his arms and held me, but before that, when he just looked at me, and I nearly dumped his salad on him—he could have me anytime he wanted me. Any way he wanted me.
That was never even in question.
So, when he saved me, when he came after me, it was going to happen. There was never a moment I thought it wouldn’t happen. Him and me. I didn’t think it would be up against a wall necessarily, but I knew it would be somewhere, that it would be tonight. Because there was something between us, attraction or lust or some kind of link, because he rescued me—it didn’t matter what I called it. It was there like chains binding me to him. Like the pull of the moon or the tug low in my belly that I already felt again, the need to be filled by him, by all of him.
I was torn between shameless lust and complete embarrassment. I stooped and picked up my pants and put them on. I looked for my bra in the alley and found it by a dumpster. I pick up the scrap of white lace and its cheap underwire that always jabs me. I turn my back to him and put it on, then retrieve my shredded black blouse and shrug it over me, holding it together in the front. Now, suddenly, I guess I’m modest. Not so modest when I was screaming my head off up against that wall with my legs wrapped around Griffin. A man whose last name I don’t even know. I mean, I could Google it. There can’t be that many super rich hot guys named Griffin in town. But I think whipping my phone out to try and figure out who he is would be even tackier than finding by bra by a dumpster if that’s possible.
He looks perfect. He doesn’t look like the back-alley walk of shame. He looks like a damn cologne ad on the back of Vogue. That devilish dark handsomeness, the looking-for-trouble grin, the dark suit that costs more than my entire net worth. I go up to him and raise up on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. I want to thank him since he saved the day in more ways than one. He rescued me from being raped by Simpson. He kissed me when I was at my lowest point, when I stood in this alley wishing I could just die because there was nothing to hope for. I’ve lost the catering job that was my only meager hope to save money for college. I’ve been treated like garbage by an entitled creep. I’ve run away, and I’ve got nothing good to run to. And he came out that door to find me. Like I was worth looking for, worth saving. So instead of thinking this was probably the second worst day of my life (losing my mom and dad and Josh still ranks higher), I feel like I’m not totally lost for the first time in a long time. Because he found me. Griffin found me.
When I kiss his cheek, he puts his arms around me. My silent goodbye isn’t going to be so brief, it seems. I let him fold me in his arms, and I lay my head against his heartbeat. I feel better than I have in years. I don’t feel alone. I don’t feel like he’s a stranger. He kisses the top of my head, which is sort of a sweet thing to do. He doesn’t look like he would be sweet, but he is. Like how he kept asking me if I was sure, how he made me come again even after he was done. I think I could stand here outside this club forever if he’d stand here with me like this.
I remember I have some shred of pride left, and I pull away, give him a shy smile. I can’t quite meet his eyes. I know he’ll be one of my best memories. That I’ll remember this for years to come when I’m feeling lonely. But I don’t want to cling. I don’t want to hang around until he tells me he has to go meet some woman. Someone he’d be really interested in, someone smart and glamorous and beautiful, who could be more to him than a pity fuck behind a bar. It stings to think of it like that, so I think of it again. To remind myself how far apart we are, to remind myself that someone like me could never be with someone like him.
I turn and walk toward the street, giving him a halfhearted wave goodbye. I’ll go to the bus stop and wait. I have a plan: going home, taking a shower, crying, and eating Chips Ahoy.
I’m blinking back tears and holding my top shut. Before I make it to the sidewalk, his hand is on my arm. I feel a rush of relief, even if he’s just being polite. He turns me around, drapes his jacket over my shoulders. It’s warm from his body heat, the silky lining sleek against my torn cotton shirt. It feels so good. I thank him, tell him it’s a nice thought but I’m headed for the bus.
“No,” he says.
“No?” I blink at him.
“I’ll give you a ride. Make sure you get home safely.”
There’s no room to argue with him, and I don’t want to argue anyway. I want five more minutes or ten just sitting near him and breathing in the cologne and the salted caramel smell of his skin. He takes out his phone, and seconds later we’re getting into a black Town Car, a driver holding the door for me. The interior is leather and there’s warm air from the vents and soft jazz from the speakers. It’s like rich person heaven in here. I sink into the seat gratefully.
He doesn’t ask me where I want to go or where I live. I don’t tell him. Instead, Griffin slips an arm around my waist and pulls me to him, kissing my lips. At first he nips at them gently, teasingly. I lick his top lip playfully and get the hot, wet slide of his tongue in my mouth as payback. I feel the heat pool low in my belly, and I want him again already. It’s like there’s still a pull I can’t resist, even though the sexual tension should be gone now that we’ve done it.
Nothing seems to have dulled the sparks I feel, the fireworks that flare behind my eyelids when he kisses me. His fingers pry the elastic out of my ponytail so my hair falls free into his hands. I feel him weave his fingers through my hair, soothing my scalp and making me tip my head back. He uses the opportunity to kiss my neck and my toes curl.
“Tell me your name,” he says against my throat.
“No,” I say, “I know this is only one night. Let’s not pretend it’s anything more or less than that. Don’t spoil the—the magic of this with our real lives. We won’t look for each other that way. We’ll let this be perfect as it is—”
“I knew you were a romantic,” he says with a sort of growl. He captures my earlobe in his teeth and a sharp sensation of wanting jars me. I hold his head down, not wanting him to stop.
I’m already attached to him, connected. Like he understands what I need. I don’t need to fool myself into thinking he wants anything to do with me after tonight. I won’t give him my number and then spend months being disappointed when he never calls. I’d rather be a perfect memory than a girl he doesn’t bother to text back.
“I have to call you something,” he says, “So I know what name to scream.”
I feel that down to my toes when he says it. I get to be with him again tonight. I get to make him scream. It feels like an unexpected gift.
“Call me anything you want.”
“Kate,” he says decisively, and I’m surprised how close that is to my real name. I wouldn’t care if he called me Ethel, though.
“Griffin,” I say.
“It isn’t fair that you know my name and I don’t know yours,” he says, nuzzling my neck.
“It isn’t fair that you’re so gorgeous and so far out of my league. Who cares about fair tonight?” I tell him.
I don’t hesitate. I wrap my arms around him, pull him down over me. He slides me down beneath him on the seat, and I stretch out to full length. I love feeling his weight on top of me, his legs twisted up with mine, all that body contact. I arch against him as we kiss. It’s easily the hottest kiss I’ve ever had, but it’s more than that too. The way he kisses me, the way he cradles my cheek in his hand make it feel like he’s kissing me, and not just anyone. My shirt’s fallen open and his jacket is underneath me somewhere. My breath comes faster. I rise against him, my breasts rubbing against his muscled chest. I don’t want fabric between us. I don’t want anything between us.
The car stops and he sits up, pulling me into his lap.
“I live in this building. Will you come upstairs with me?” he says.
I don’t stop and think. I do what I want for once, and I say yes.