Victoria’s Secret Wish(51)
David’s face got hot. A diversion. He didn’t miss the this trip part, either. He was a temporary toy. His breakfast suddenly didn’t look too appealing.
* * * *
Griffin worked his way down the bar, flirting with chicks along the way. Maybe he’d been right when he said cruising as temp help was the way to go.
David chugged his drink and pushed the empty toward the back of the bar, hoping for a refill soon.
Some girl gave Griffin an openmouthed kiss and pulled his hand into her bikini top. Sheesh. Lots of action down here at the bar today. The girls seemed raring to go for the afternoon contest.
Britt had gone looking for Carmyn and Mark, so they could all watch the contest together.
Some time at the bar sounded good. Britt had been downing shots of fine whiskey all day, and it made him talk a lot. Telling all sorts of stories about how hard it’d been to convince Vic it was okay to be in love again. Stories about punching holes in walls when she’d been seeing “that bugger Wyndham,” and about the little kid they’d taken in until his dad could be located. Vic and Britt as parent types? He didn’t really want to imagine that. Mostly because he could never be in that picture, even the background. Fuck, fuck, he was a moron.
Vic was avoiding them, or maybe just him. That much was clear, regardless of how Britt tried to convince him otherwise. Had she understood what he was thinking–What he was feeling?–that morning? Only a fucking doofus like him would go off on a sex cruise and get his heart tangled up. Only a doofus would screw up fantastic sex and try to twist it into something else.
“Need a refill?” Griffin stopped and leaned toward him.
God, he’d love to ask him about his little encounter with Peyton. But that was privileged info, and it’d be a dead giveaway, ID-ing the couple he’d been playing with.
“Sure. Yeah.”
They didn’t have the bar to themselves this time, so Griffin hurried it up with the drink, not speaking again until he pushed a new glass across the bar. “You got that sad-sack look again, bro.”
Fuck it. He might’ve thought he wanted to talk to Griffin when he headed over here, but now he’d rather not. Get a little drunk, watch a few pussies on the fucking machine this afternoon, then go back to the suite for a romp. No thinking or talking necessary.
“So it’s like that?” Griffin didn’t move away. Looked him right in the eye. “You fell for the married broad, didn’t ya?”
He wasn’t saying. Had no obligation to spill his guts to some horny fucking bartender.
Griffin chewed his lip. “That shit happens. Some guys are cut out for fooling around without getting attached, I guess.” He looked across the deck to where Wyndham and his harem were in the midst of foreplay, Miss Peyton watching from the sidelines. “And some of us aren’t.” With a sigh, Griffin clapped him on the shoulder and started polishing mugs.
So Griffin had gotten tangled up, too? “Cabana girl?” he blurted.
Griffin stopped polishing, cocked his head. Nodded with narrowed eyes. “How’d you know?”
Shit. The surveillance… “Heard it through the grapevine.”
“Bullshit! Did she say something?”
“No, no.” Last thing he wanted to do was mess it up for Griffin and his girl. “I gotta go.” He saw Britt across the deck, and didn’t want him to come over, or Griffin might guess the couple he’d been fooling around with. “Later.”
“Later, bro.”
* * * *
Griffin waved at his swimmer friend–Bo the surfer? He didn’t think so–and collected a couple empties from the counter. One thing about bartending, there was always something to do. He’d supported himself through college in Des Moines working in a bar, and met some of the guys from the firehouse there, which was how he’d ended up changing his major and then becoming a fireman. They’d told him it was a good way to pick up chicks. He guessed they were right, but hoped the ole Rescue Syndrome wasn’t the reason Peyton had it bad for him now.
He glanced over at her, heading into her cabana with an older couple. She winked, pointed at him, then tapped her temple. You’re in my head. Yeah, she’d promised him this morning she’d fantasize about him, no matter who she was with. That was all good. He wasn’t wild about thinking of her with other people all day, but hey. At least if he knew she was thinking about him, he could handle it.
She’d run right up to him in the lounge this morning and kissed him. Said it was a thank-you. It felt like his first kiss ever. He’d told her she didn’t have to thank him, though. Basic human decency should be expected, not rewarded. But the next kiss had been less “thank you” and more “I want you.” They’d gone for it right there in the lounge, hot as all fuck together, and made plans to spend the evening together tonight.