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vivianna
“Your cup is going to break.”
I hate how just hearing Griffin’s voice eases some strain in my chest, even when he’s the cause of it. “Screw off,” I say. He tries to play it off with a little laugh, but if Griffin Andrews thinks I’m about to make this easy for him, he’s got another thing coming.
“Hey.”
My lips draw into a line, waiting.
“I wanted to walk around the city, clear my head and all, but I got lost. And by the time I got back to the Villa, I was already running late and undressed.” I can tell he rushed, what with the way several top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, and the way said dress shirt isn’t even tucked into his pants.
His face is earnest, open. He seems genuine as he can be.
I missed you today, I think. “You’ve been buggin’ today,” I say.
“I know. I should’ve called. I was being stupid.”
Agreed, but I don’t say that aloud.
“Real stupid,” Griff says, but his head is cocked a little to the side and he’s got that dumb, slight grin on his face and I sigh. “Now can we go do some karaoke?” He reaches out to me, and I stare at his open hand.
I should make this really hard for him, but I can’t let the weirdness between us screw up our chances of winning, so with a prolonged exhale, I allow him to tug me to my feet and drag me to the mic to sing.
Furthermore, we sing badly to a whole bunch of pop songs that were probably the shit five years ago, and I push down the resentment to the back of my head. Even though I’m frustrated with Griff and this chasm he’s opened between us, I’m more satisfied with cooling down, especially while our exes are watching.
Still, after the rush and sweat and laughter of every song is over, the awkwardness worms back between us. It’s more subtle this time, with the drinks and the calmness providing a steady anchor to any escalated emotions.
So, with our friends, we sing and dance and laugh until some odd time at night. We’re one of the last few couples to hitch a taxi back to the Villa, and we take the ride in silence.
It’s when we’re back in our room, laying down on our bed and separated by our pillow divider, that the dam breaks and the emotions are out.
“Cameras aren’t here, tell me the real reason why you ditched me today.” I don’t beat around the bush, looking into Griff’s eyes. We still haven’t bothered changing into pajamas. The thought of wriggling out of my black dress makes me want to poke my eyes out.
Griffin opens his mouth, then closes it in response. He’s damn lucky they don’t record us this late. “I know I screwed up.” Which I wasn’t expecting, but I appreciate him owning up to it. “I can get caught up in my head, and that’s what happened this morning. I’m sorry.”
I let him continue, watching the lighting cast a glow on his angular features as he speaks. “It feels like this entire competition for me has just consisted of worrying about what’s next. And it’s not just the challenges we have to be good at, it’s selling the relationship. It feels like I just have to be hyper-aware of everything I’m doing all at once. I can usually handle it but I don’t know, shit just got overwhelming today.”
“I get it,” I sigh. “I feel that way too. It’s not like I joined the competition with the intent of faking my way through. Now I’m here. With you. And my biggest comfort has been the fact that you’re there too.” It’s my first time saying so aloud, and as soon as the words leave my lips, I realize that they’re true. “So, yeah. I get where you’re coming from, but it hurt like hell to have you just walk away today like I didn’t even matter. I wish you’d have let me know. I felt...” I trail off. Forlorn. I felt forlorn. But that’s such a weighted, telling word, so I hold it back. I shake my head. “We’re kind of supposed to be in this together, you know?” I crack a half-smile. “How else are we supposed to get back at our asshole exes?”
Griff snorts. He glances up at the ceiling, then at me. “You’re right.”
“Could’ve told you that.”
“I’ll let you have that one,” he says. “Look, I’m sorry, Vivianna. I should’ve told you where my head was at. It was my fault and I’m sorry.”
And then I’m smiling, because his eyes are so solemn that I almost have to laugh, because I’m relieved. He’s being deadass, he means it. “Good that you know.”
“Okay, smartass,” he snorts. “I get it.” A pause. “Did you hold your own at least?” His messy hair is pressed against his pillow and plastered against his forehead. What I would give to yank that hair. I imagine what it might be like to wrap a lock around my fingers and hear whatever sound Griff makes in response.
I wonder how many people have done so. I wonder if Imogen’s one of them for a brief second before pushing the thought out of mind. Christ, Viv.
“I did hold my own,” I finally reply. “Imogen came up to me acting all snarky and smug and I just told her you were on your way.”
Griff’s lips quirk into a grin. “Good. I would have shown up just to spite her and Zander’s dumbasses.”
I shake my head at the ceiling. “I’m pretty sure fifty percent of our fuel in this game is just spite.”
“I like to call it a motivator,” Griff smirks. And we’re back to our push and pull, to our bounce to and bounce off. Like today was just a minor hump in our little quest. And ultimately, it’s clear that proves to be true. But at the very back of my mind is the non-kiss... Griff’s hesitation, the role that moment might’ve had alongside stress and overthinking and anxiety in Griff’s absence today.
Griff’s hazel eyes glint beneath the room lighting, his pink mouth parted as though he’s waiting for any question I have to throw at him, but I keep my mouth shut.
So, the night deepens.
Griff orders pizza “like old times”, and once the pizza arrives, I’m brought back to secret deliveries at the hotel while plans were hatched and banter was incessant.
Before long stares in shared rooms or ridiculous proximity during beach games or cheek-kisses that only elicit more longing.
After cleaning up and changing one after the other, Griff and I settle down on the bed, placing the pizza box on the pillow between us. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we don’t. Griff’s eyes stay on me, his mouth moves. I pay attention to the little things, like the way his hair curls upward in some places and is all over the place after this long day. I pay attention to his laugh, to his dimple, to his little anecdotes about family and work. I think he pays attention to me too, eyes constantly on me, fingers constantly fidgeting.
I try not to think much. Thinking tends to screw things up. But it’s hard not to think, not to think about what else we could be, whatever this flirtationship is dancing around when tomato sauce falls onto the corner of my mouth and Griff reaches out and brushes it off with his thumb.
It’s difficult not to quash the growing buzz in my chest and butterflies in my stomach when Griff licks the sauce clean off his thumb and smiles that crooked smile at me.
And it’s true that I haven’t told Griffin everything, even though we agreed to tell each other everything.
Because in every little movement, every display of idle affection, wanting pools deep in me. And it leaves me to wonder just how it might’ve felt to kiss Griffin Andrews right on the mouth, if he had just properly kissed me today like it seemed he was going to do. Which leads me to realize that kissing Griffin Andrews is not only a deep want on my side, but one that only grows stronger by the second.