What If (If Only.... #2)(13)

“I’m just second-guessing what I’m getting myself into here. You might be more trouble than I am.”

She walks around the front of the truck to meet me, brandishing the now-developed photo.

“This guy is trouble,” she insists, looking at the photo before grabbing my hand. “But I do consider myself a worthy adversary.”

I let her lead me toward the theater’s entrance, but before we make it to the front door, she skirts around the side of the building to a place where a metal door with no outside handle greets us.

She lets go of my hand, but instinct makes me squeeze hers tighter, and I tug her close, looking down at her lips, her teeth grazing the bottom one again. I dip my head toward hers, but she leans back, only slightly, though enough to halt my movement.

“Okay, we need ground rules,” she says, her voice shaky and a little breathless. Momentary thoughts of rejection are replaced by intrigue. She may have pulled away, but we’re both still here, her voice admitting her nervousness.

“Ground rules?”

“Yes. The first one is a definition. Of tonight.” She pauses as her eyes search mine. She must trust that I’m following her because she continues. “The definition of tonight is not a date. It’s nothing personal. I’m just not the dating type.”

Again she tries to back away, her expression composed, but when I hold my ground—and her hand—something in her eyes softens, and her fingers curl around mine again.

“Funny,” I say, hoping my smile will coax one from her. “I’m not the dating type, either.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that from your buddy.”

And from an incoming text. I wonder how much of her declaration is truth, how much of a reaction to a name on my phone. Either way, it’s self-preservation, and if anyone can appreciate that, it’s me.

I shrug. “You knew what you were getting into with me. How about you give me all the ground rules and let me know what I got into with you. So far doesn’t date and steals movies are all I have.”

I pull her hand around my waist, letting go only when I feel her thumb hook into a belt loop. My hands cup her cheeks, and she closes her eyes. A street lamp casts enough light to illuminate her face. And I stare, her freckle-dotted lids and auburn lashes hypnotizing me for a few seconds. Then I remember my question. I lower my head toward hers and kiss each eyelid.“Is this within the boundary of the rules?”

She nods, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“What about this?” I kiss the tip of her nose, and she giggles. Fucking giggles, the sound of it doing shit it shouldn’t inside of me.

Another nod.

Not sure I have enough in me to ask permission again, the only word that makes it out is a questioning “This?” before my lips find hers again.

She falls into me…right as the handle-less door swings open. Maggie jumps back at the sound while the heavy edge nails me in the shoulder.

“Fuck!” I yell, my hand flying to the point of impact.

“Shhhhh!” I look up to find both Maggie and the door-wielder, a girl with long, black pigtails and matching black-framed glasses, in shushing unison.

“You’re f*cking kidding me, right?” But my question comes out as a strained whisper, a clear sign that I’m on board with the whole shhhhh business.

“Thanks…” Maggie hesitates, like she’s about to say the girl’s name, but she just stops mid-introduction. A strange silence hangs in the air until pigtails fills it.

“I’m Amber,” she whispers. “Royal Grounds regular. And I’m pretty sure you aren’t Miles.”

Maggie laughs, finding her voice again. “Amber, yes. Amber.” She lets out a breath. “This is Griffin. He’s a first-timer.”

Amber winks at Maggie and shifts her eyes to meet mine. “Sorry ‘bout the door, dude. Rookie mistake. Maggie should have known better than to let you stand so close. Something must have distracted her.” She grins and winks at Maggie again, and in the pale streetlight I see Maggie’s cheeks turn pink. Totally worth the bruised shoulder.

Maggie squeezes my hand and leads me into a dimly lit hallway, Amber disappearing without another word as soon as she guides the door closed behind us.

“Emergency exit,” I say. “Nice. How did she know you were coming, though? Were you supposed to be here with Miles?”

She purses her lips, hesitating before she nods.

“But you cut him and his boyfriend loose for me?”

“Excuse me, but you were pretty insistent on giving me a ride home. Were you not?”

I watch her pale flesh turn pink again, enjoying the sight.

“Touché, Pippi. I guess we’re both busted.”

We make our way into the main hallway lined with movies already in progress.

“So she’s kind of on-call for you?” I tease.

“Something like that.”

“Top secret information?”

“I could tell you…” she starts.

“Yeah, yeah. But you’d have to kill me. I got it. We all have our secrets.” I’m only partially joking when I say this, and the brief faltering of her expression confirms I’m not alone. I don’t know this girl, and she doesn’t know me. That doesn’t change the ease of clasping her hand, of teasing her, of wanting to kiss her again. Whatever this night is feels different from any other night with any other girl, and it should paralyze me, make me run as far from this place as possible. Instead I move forward, her hand in mine. And when I read the marquee above the theater door, a stupid grin takes over any expression of doubt.