What If (If Only.... #2)(11)
I have him grip the pitcher, keeping my hand wrapped around his so we froth the milk together. His skin is warm under my own, and I attribute it to the temperature of the pitcher. That’s all it is.
“Good,” I say. We lower the pitcher together, slowly as the foam takes form. “We’re ready to pour.”
I let go of his hand long enough to turn off the steamer, then ask him to grab the cup.
“Tilt it away from you like this.” I show him first before he takes it. “Then we add the milk.”
I pick up the pitcher to hand to him, but instead he mirrors my earlier action, placing his hand over mine, the size of it dwarfing my own, the rough texture of his skin sending a shiver through my fingers, all the way up to my neck.
His touch is light, leaving me freedom to move as we pour the shape into the waiting espresso. It’s a little messy, but still recognizable.
“It’s a leaf!” Griffin’s deep voice startles me in its childlike excitement. “We f*cking made a leaf!” We set the cup down gingerly, and he stares at it, a goofy smile spread across his face. An adorable, goofy smile I can’t look away from. Every minute I spend with him reminds me that he’s the kind of guy a girl remembers, that I might not be able to forget despite the tricks my brain plays on me. But he’s also the kind of guy that easily forgets because, God, look at him. He’s punch-you-in-the-gut beautiful even with a shiner, and if he wasn’t here by default, he’d be on his way home with someone else. But stupid as I am, I can’t look away.
Miles joins us behind the counter after straightening the last of the tables.
“Nice job, darlin’,” he says, his lips finding my cheek again. “You still need a ride home?” He winks, an exaggerated effort, and I know he’s referring to the fact that we aren’t heading straight home, that I have my crazy-within-means plan for tonight. Even if Miles is just humoring me, my heart swells knowing he’s willing to do this, to give me a night where I actually want to forget—forget how careful I have to be.
A whooshing sound diverts our attention to the door. I’m ready to tell the tall blond in a black leather jacket we’re closed until his eyes meet Miles, and they both grin in a wordless hello. Miles skirts around the counter to meet him, each guy’s lips greeting the other’s in a different sort of silent salutation.
Griffin’s interest in our artistic creation vanishes as his head volleys from Miles and Andrew back to me.
“I can drive her home. You home. I mean, Maggie, can I drive you home?” He grins. “Looks like Miles has plans anyway.”
Sure Miles has plans, our plans. But when I look at my friend standing side-by-side with the guy he’s just having fun with, I wonder how much more fun he’d have without my planned antics.
Then Miles nods, an encouraging smile giving me silent permission to cut him loose for the rest of the evening. The decision is mine, and it all comes down to how crazy I really want this night to be.
I purse my lips in contemplation, thinking of George calling me a kid. I want to be a kid again, someone who doesn’t have to think or plan. Okay, so maybe tonight was a planned night of crazy—within means. But Griffin was never part of that plan. Nothing about him is within means.
Griffin breaks the silence. “I meant what I said before, about Davis being a dick and plans changing and all that. I didn’t come here with the intent… I didn’t know you worked…”
But I cut him off, fisting his hoodie in each of my hands as I pull him to me. He doesn’t falter, not one bit. Instead he falls into the kiss with such ease I almost don’t believe that I’m the one who initiated. His lips are soft and strong, his late-night stubble scratching my chin, but all it does is make me want this more. This. What is this? It’s me, parting my lips and him doing the same. It’s the warmth of his breath on my skin, the taste of him on my tongue. His hands cup my cheeks, and a sigh escapes my lips, filling the space between us when we separate only out of the necessity to breathe. This. Something I haven’t done in months. Something a little reckless, even. But mostly, something I’ve missed. A connection—albeit physical—but I feel it in the pit of my stomach and the tips of my toes. Dizzy… He makes me dizzy, and I’m a girl who needs solid ground.
As quickly as the kiss began, I push him away but smile as his expression starts to fall. I think about tending to his eye in the car today, the touch of his skin under mine, proving he’s exactly what I need to help me forget—forget who I am now and be who I could have been, the girl he might have met if circumstances were different. He needs this, too. I see it in his gaze, a mirror of the soft expression when he let me take care of him earlier. We can be alternate versions of ourselves tonight, taking care of each other.
“You’re trouble, aren’t you?” I ask, my thumb grazing his bruised skin.
“Probably,” he says, the glint in his eyes melting all the brain cells that know this is a bad idea. “But I get the feeling you might be, too.”
He’s right. Trouble seeking itself out, that’s what we are.
“Then you can give me a ride,” I say, “on one condition.”
“What’s that?” His brown eyes gleam.
“We don’t actually go home. I’d like to cause a little trouble, together, first.”
He grins wide, and it’s as beautiful as it is terrifying. It’s the kind of grin a girl falls for, but something tells me he doesn’t easily fall back. He is all beauty, and risk, and everything I need for a few hours of being the old Maggie, the version of her I should have been. I was so worried about control when I could have been freer. Losing control now means hitchhiking to work or forgetting someone’s name. But for a night—for a few reckless hours, I want to be lost.