“So he can see my face and see that I was here at his rich, shitty party. Once he sees me and knows I was here, then I can bail.” Malcolm looked at his watch. “If I can get the fuck out of here within the next thirty minutes, I can still meet my girlfriend for a movie. Don’t you have shit you’d rather do than be here, Riley?”
There was nowhere that I’d rather be than at Griffin’s place. But I had to blow it off and pretend like I was annoyed with being here too. I glanced in the direction of the food tent and saw that Yvette was looking at me. When she noticed that I was looking at her, she slowly licked the bottom of her lip before she wrapped her plump lips around the glass.
“I figured that since I spent the money to rent a tux that I might as well get use out of it,” I explained. I looked back toward the house as people mingled in and out. “Hopefully, he’ll show up soon,” I said, hopefully without sounding too eager.
“Oh, he’s been out and around,” Malcolm said.
“Yeah? Are you sure? I haven’t seen him yet,” I recalled.
“I’m sure. I came out here to get something to eat and drink while Chase, Jeff, and Mike were inside. Mike sent me a text saying that Griffin saw them inside, and he thanked them for coming. They already left, and now I’m stuck waiting for him to grace me with his presence. He does this at every party.”
“What?” I paused and sipped from my glass, so I didn’t sound too desperate for information. “What does he do?”
“Disappears for a while. He always goes to his study off and on through the evening. Probably bangs someone.”
I held the glass to my lips and let the liquid slowly fill my mouth. It prevented me from saying anything smug about Griffin banging anyone. I didn’t care who he had fucked; I hated all of them.
“Want to come inside with me and see if we can spot him?” Malcolm asked.
I went inside with Malcolm, and we strolled around the lower level. Mentally I burned everything into my memory and took it all in. Each time we passed the stairs, I could hear people laughing and could tell lights were on in the upstairs. Malcolm told me Griffin had a game room upstairs with a pool table and things like that.
“Maybe he’s up there,” I suggested. I was dying to go up there and snoop.
As I was looking up the staircase, Malcolm discretely bumped my arm with his elbow. When I looked at him, I saw that his eyes were focused down the hall. Griffin had just exited a room and was walking toward us with an annoyed look on his face. He didn’t look like he wanted to be interrupted, but he stopped when Malcolm said something.
“Mr. Evans, awesome party, as usual. Thank you for the invite,” Malcolm said in a total suck ass tone.
“You’re welcome, Malcolm. I hope you’re having a good time,” Griffin said and then shifted his attention from Malcolm to me. “Riley, thank you for coming.” With that, Griffin smiled and headed outside.
Fuck! That was it? Was that all he was going to say to me? I thought maybe we could talk about more of our similarities. Maybe the business program at Michigan, or the football team, or our cars. Was that really it?
“Alright, man, let’s go,” Malcolm murmured.
I wasn’t fucking leaving. Not without something more from him than a generic thanks for coming comment. I told Malcolm to go on without me and that I wanted to at least eat. After Malcolm left, I wandered around the house a bit and found myself taking a chance upstairs. As people laughed, drank, and played pool in the enormous loft, I went in search of a bathroom. All of the rooms had doors partly opened and with lights on in them, except for a room at the end of the hallway. That room’s door was open, but it was dark inside. I knew it was Griffin’s room.
I was just looking for the bathroom. That was what I’d tell anyone who caught me and asked what I was doing.
Casually, I walked down the hallway toward the darkened room. I pushed the heavy door open and saw his bed. Quickly, I ducked into the room, and without moving from my spot, I glanced around. Even in the cover of darkness, I could see that his bed was made up of crisp white bedding. Probably put on freshly this morning by some maid. My body turned and took me in the direction of his bathroom. Aside from being oversized, it was immaculate. Slate-colored quartz sat on top of dark cabinets. I wondered which of the two sinks he predominantly used.
I reached for the blue-gray hand towel that was hanging next to one of the sinks. Impulsively, I held the hand towel up against my face and inhaled the scent. The fibers had a fresh scent to them, which could either be laundry detergent or his hands after they’d been washed. I felt my hard-on demand attention. I quickly unzipped my pants and reached inside my fly to stroke my hard shaft for a moment. Laughter out in the hallway sounded like it was coming closer, so I rushed to the toilet and flushed it before zipping up. If nothing else, the sound of a flushing toilet bought me a few extra moments. In case someone was waiting for the bathroom, I finished the charade by washing my hands and then drying them slowly on his hand towel.
Now my scent is here for you, Griffin.
Momentarily satisfied, I felt like I had shared a private piece of Griffin. I bet no one else at Evans Financial had done that. By the time I got downstairs, the high that I had felt while upstairs
