One Last Chance Read online

  Claire shifted her weight from one foot to another, contemplating.

  Griffin watched her. He had to admit, she looked just as good as he remembered. Maybe better. A momentary pang swung through his gut. If he hadn’t been such an idiot ten years ago…

  She narrowed her eyes, a deep frown etched into her forehead. “To be clear,” she said. “If I agree to share a room with you, that is all I’m agreeing to. I’m not agreeing to be your ship buddy. Or your tour companion. We share the room to sleep and change and that’s it. You have any other ideas, you can forget it.”

  Griffin couldn’t help but smile, even though he knew it would irritate her. “I don’t have any other ideas, Claire. Just offering you a way to stay on the cruise.”

  She stared at him and he knew she was trying to read him, trying to decide if he had some ulterior motive.

  He did, of course, but it was far less sinister than she was thinking. He’d missed her, plain and simple. The only reason he’d decided to come on the cruise was because of her. He’d checked the roster on the reunion site and saw she was signed up. He waited until the last minute to make sure she hadn’t backed out and had just confirmed his reservation three days before. Getting to share a room with her? That was just an extra bonus.

  “Ma’am, you’re going to have to make a decision,” Susan said from behind the counter. “We need to certify the final passenger manifest and if you’re going to be joining us, I’ll need to add your name.”

  She tugged on her earlobe and her mouth twisted as she thought. He remembered her pulling on her earlobe like that in high school. He remembered her yanking the crap out of it when he’d first asked her out.

  “Come on,” he said. “Just come. I won’t even talk to you if you don’t want me to.”

  “When have you ever been able to keep your mouth shut?” she asked.

  “Not ever,” he admitted. “But I’ll try. For you. If that’s the way you want it.”

  “What I want is my own room,” she said, then sighed. “But I guess I’m sharing yours.”

  FOUR

  “You gotta admit, this is pretty nice,” Griffin said.

  Claire tossed her bags on her bed. “See? You’re already talking to me.”

  He rolled his eyes. Okay. She was going to be difficult. He should’ve known.

  “Sorry for pointing out the obvious,” he said.

  The room was cool, though. He’d purposely chosen a stateroom with a view and a small balcony. He knew he’d feel claustrophobic without a window. He needed the sun and the air. It had cost nearly double what the lower dungeon rooms went for, but he could afford it now. He was at the point where he was turning down freelance offers, picking and choosing who he wrote for and what he wrote about. The syndicated column had given him the freedom to splurge on things from time to time and this seemed like a good time to indulge.

  He pulled his clothes from his backpack and stuffed them in the drawers of the dresser. He set his overnight bag in the bathroom, kicked off his sandals and laid down on the bed he’d chosen.

  “What are you doing?” Claire asked. She’d unzipped her bag and was pulling things out, making neat little piles on the second bed.

  “Uh…relaxing?”

  “Don’t think you can just lie there and stare at me and get me to talk to you,” she said, a hand on her hip. “It’s not going to happen.”

  “I’m not having to do anything to get you to talk to me,” Griffin said, raising an eyebrow.

  She started to say something, then stopped.

  He raised the eyebrow higher.

  She opened her mouth again, but nothing came out. Then she made a face and shook her head. “Whatever.”

  Griffin chuckled and closed his eyes.

  He heard her shuffling around, opening and closing drawers, clanging hangers in the closet.

  “You weren’t on the list,” she finally said.

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Griffin?” she said. “You weren’t on the list.”

  He opened one eye. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

  She sighed, exasperated. “Just answer the question.”

  “It wasn’t a question. A question usually begins with an interrogative.”

  “Good God,” she said. “Fine. Why are you here? You weren’t on the list.” She raised her own eyebrow. “That clear enough for you?”

  “Two questions,” he said. “Excellent.”

  She turned away, but he thought he saw the beginning of a smile before she did.

  “I signed up late,” he explained. “I had some work commitments I had to take care of, stuff I wasn’t sure I could get done in time. Turns out I could, so I decided to come.”

  That, of course, was a partial truth, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to blurt out that she was the reason he was there, particularly when she was still appalled to be sharing space with him.

  “Was that true?” she asked, turning back around and sitting down on the edge of her bed. “The travel writer thing?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t remember you writing in high school,” she said.

  “What do you remember me doing?”

  “Breaking up with me.”

  He felt the heat rise in his face. Her pointed look made it worse.

  “I did a little bit,” he said, dodging the conversation. “In notebooks and stuff. Nothing serious. When I was done with school, I didn’t want to get a job. I wanted to travel. I wrote a couple of things and it just snowballed.”

  She folded her arms and crossed her legs. “So, what? You’re like big and powerful?”

  His eyes lingered on her legs for a moment before they moved back to her face. “Big and powerful? I don’t know. I write a column. People get screwed over, they write to me, I help them.”

  “That lady knew your name.”

  He shrugged, unsure of what to say.

  “She wouldn’t have given me this trip for free if you hadn’t told her your name.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Maybe not. So…thank you. I guess.”

  “You’re welcome,” Griffin said, pleased that there was finally some civility.

  Claire stood. “But if you think getting me a free cruise is going to make up for ripping my heart to pieces ten years ago, you are sorely mistaken.”

  FIVE

  Getting ready in a tiny stateroom with your ex-boyfriend from high school was harder than Claire thought it was going to be.

  “Are you almost done in there?” She banged on the bathroom door.

  Griffin’s voice was muffled. “What?”

  He’d been in the shower for over ten minutes. She glanced at her watch. The reunion happy hour started at six o’clock. She had less than thirty minutes to shower, shave, do her hair, and put on make-up. She’d never make it.

  She pounded on the door again. “It would be great if you could hurry it up a little.”

  The water shut off and she heard the shower curtain slide. She smiled in satisfaction. He’d listened.

  She rummaged around in one of the drawers on her side of the dresser and pulled out new panties and a matching bra. The drawers and her half of the miniscule closet were full of new clothes. Partly because of her weight gain but partly because, when she’d bitten the bullet and hit the send button to confirm the cruise, she knew she’d need new things. New clothes, a new hairstyle, a new everything. She deserved it. And, she told herself, if this was going to be the kick-in-the-ass she needed to get her life back on track, she’d better get off on the right foot. Even if it meant racking up charges on her credit card that she couldn’t afford.

  “It’s all yours.”

  She looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

  Griffin stood in the doorway between the bathroom and the main cabin, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. A very tiny white towel. His dark hair was wet and tousled, his tanned chest still beaded with drops of water.

  “Where are your clot
hes?” Her question came out as a whisper.

  He grinned. “In there.” He motioned to the dresser she was standing next to and started toward her.

  She lurched out of the way like a tsunami was heading in her direction.

  “I’m…I’m gonna take a shower,” she stammered.

  “OK.” It was his turn to look through drawers. “And hey—I like leopards.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He motioned to the leopard-print lingerie she was holding. Her face colored and she hurried past him. She couldn’t believe Griffin Benson had just seen her underwear. And would know exactly what she’d have on under her dress that night. She stepped into the shower and blasted the hot water. She’d burn those thoughts right out of her head, even if she had to scald herself to do it.

  Twenty minutes later, she was showered and dressed, and working on her hair. She’d stepped back into the main cabin for her make-up bag and found Griffin lounging on his bed, a laptop on his lap.

  He glanced up at her. “Almost ready?”

  His eyes roved the length of her dress and she knew what he was doing. She felt her cheeks color.

  “You don’t have to wait for me,” she snapped. “Remember? We’re just sharing a room. And stop looking at me like that.”

  “Who said I was waiting for you? I’m working.” He resumed typing. “All I did was ask if you were ready.”

  She started to respond but he cut her off.

  “And the price tag is still on your dress.”

  She resisted the urge to scream and retreated to the bathroom. He was right. On both counts. And he was infuriating.

  She ripped the price tag out of the stretchy black fabric of her dress and tossed it in the trash. She raked the brush through her hair and clipped it up, scowling at her reflection in the mirror. She should have had more highlights done. She dabbed on foundation and dusted her eyelids with shadow and lined her eyelids. Who was she kidding? Even if she’d gotten more highlights, even with all of the make-up, she’d only ever be passably pretty. She sighed, took one last look in the mirror, and opened the bathroom door.

  The stateroom was empty.

  He hadn’t waited for her. She felt disappointment settle in her chest, disappointment that she had no right to feel. She pulled a clutch from the top drawer and smashed a lipstick and a container of hand sanitizer inside, seething. What had she expected? She’d been rude and insufferable since the moment their paths had crossed in the cruise line office. If it had been her stateroom and an ex-boyfriend was acting the way she’d been, she would have kicked him out hours ago. Either that or thrown him overboard.

  I’ll behave better, she told herself as she slipped into a pair of black heels. I’ll be less like a viper and more like…a human.

  She teetered in her heels, testing her balance. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything other than flip-flops or tennis shoes. Probably her wedding. She grimaced at the unpleasant memory.

  The happy hour was in the Emerald Isle Bar on the Promenade deck. She opted for the elevator. The stairs were just as close but she wasn’t sure how well she’d fare on those with the three-inch heels strapped to her feet. She took deep breaths as the lift ascended, trying to steady her nerves.

  The elevator door opened and the music hit her. The Backstreet Boys crooned I Want It That Way from inside the bar and she shuddered. She’d never liked The Backstreet Boys.

  “Claire,” Emily yelled. She lurched toward her, a grin plastered to her face and a margarita clutched in her hand. “Great dress.”

  Claire glanced down at her simple black dress. “Thanks. You look great.”

  And she did. Emily’s blond hair was piled into a soft chignon and the strappy white sundress she wore showed off her picture-perfect tan.

  “I know, right?” she squealed, taking a sip of her drink. “I weigh exactly the same as I did when we graduated.” She leaned close. “Trust me, I don’t think any other woman here can say that.”

  Including me, Claire thought. She just nodded, her lips stretched into a thin smile.

  “You know,” Emily said, eyeing her as she took another drink. “I’m really glad you decided to come.”

  Claire worked her way to the bar. “Oh? Why is that?”

  Emily smiled. “Do you really want to know?”

  A myriad of reasons played through Claire’s mind. Maybe she was dying of some rare disease and had decided to make amends with everyone she’d ever been mean to. Claire remembered Emily’s mocking laugh after the disastrous cheerleading try-outs. The whispers in the hallway as she’d walk by. It had lessened as the years went by but she knew Emily talked about her. Laughed about her.

  Or maybe she’d turned over a new leaf. Maybe she’d gone all New-Agey and knew she needed to confront her past transgressions before progressing in her future. Claire knew more about that than she cared to admit.

  She ordered a rum and Coke and looked at Emily. “Yes.”

  She giggled. “You’re gonna think it’s crazy…”

  The bartender slid her drink across the counter and Claire swallowed half of it in one mouthful.

  “Four dollars,” he told her.

  Claire looked at him. “What?”

  “The drink. Sodas are free. Alcohol is not.”

  She knew what was in the little purse she’d brought to the happy hour. And she knew what wasn’t. Cash.

  He smiled. “We can put it on your tab. Just need your room card.”

  But it wasn’t her room. It was Griffin’s.

  “I’d actually rather pay cash,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “But I’ll need to run to the ATM.”

  The bartender squinted at her. “Excuse me?”

  Before Claire could say another word, Griffin slid in next to her.

  And handed the bartender a room card. “She’s with me.”

  The bartender hesitated, shrugged, then took the card and walked over to his register.

  “What are you doing?” Claire asked, irritated.

  “Getting you a drink,” Griffin said, tipping his own beer in her direction. “It was turning out to be a difficult task for you.”

  “I’m not with you,” she said because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I think that’s been well established.”

  “I don’t need you buying me drinks.”

  “We can turn the receipt into Susan,” he said, grinning at her. “Remember? She said she was going to try and make up for her error.”

  “And I don’t need you running interference for me,” Claire said.

  “Jesus Christ,” Griffin said. “It’s a four dollar drink. But whatever. Go to the ATM and get your cash and come pay me back.” He shook his head, killed his beer and signaled for another as the bartender returned his card. “I’ll make sure I’ve got correct change for you.”

  Claire glanced over at Emily, who was watching them with unabashed glee. She wasn’t sure which one of them she wanted to punch harder.

  “I’ll be right back,” she spat at Griffin, who rolled his eyes and mumbled something she couldn’t understand.

  She pivoted on her heel, took two hard, angry steps away from the bar and felt her ankle roll on the third. It buckled and she stumbled forward. She tried to catch her balance and did a superb impression of Superman as she slid across the marble floor.

  Griffin was by her side instantly. “Are you alright?”

  For once, he wasn’t smiling or grinning. He looked concerned, but that didn’t make her any happier.

  She rolled over onto her back. “I’m fine.”

  “Claire, I think…”

  “I’m fine, Griffin,” she said, cutting him off as she tried to get her feet beneath her. “I’m just…”

  Her ankle gave way again and she landed on her butt. The ankle throbbed like a bass amplifier.

  “Shit,” she whispered, reaching for it.

  She knew Emily, and others, were now gathering a
round and she wished more than ever for Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility.

  “It’s swelling,” Griffin said. “We should get you to the ship’s doc.”

  “No,” she said, her hand still wrapped around her ankle. “I’ll be fine. I’m going back to the room.”

  “What about his money?” Emily slurred.

  Griffin shot her an annoyed look, but she missed it as she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  “Can you walk on it?” Griffin asked.

  “Yes,” Claire said. She tried to push herself up again, but the ankle wouldn’t hold a single ounce of her weight and she sank back to the floor. “I mean, no.”

  “I got you,” Griffin said.

  Before she could object, his arms were beneath her and he lifted her off the floor. He adjusted her in his arms and she had to resist the urge to curl into a ball against his chest. She remembered him picking her up one time in high school, but she couldn’t recall why he had done it. But she remembered how it made her feel.

  Safe. Protected. Deliriously in love with him.

  She didn’t like that she was able to remember that.