What If (If Only.... #2)(15)

“I’m sorry,” we both say. He squats next to me, and our words intertwine in a chorus of regret.

“Maggie…” My name on his lips threatens to knock me over, and I sit down all the way before he can tell he’s thrown off my balance. He sits, too, facing me, his legs crossed like a pretzel, as if we’re about to play pat-a-cake in preschool.

“Griffin…” His name is new, my voice hoarse as I speak it. Have I called him nothing but Fancy Pants all night?

He scoots forward so our knees touch, and the chill that runs through me has nothing to do with the frigid Minnesota November. And when his head dips down, his forehead resting on mine, I triple-dog-dare the temperature to drop further, to plummet, and freeze us right here so this moment never ends.

I watch the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, not moving—not speaking—so as not to rock the boat that is our tiny pocket of now.

“Another ground rule,” he says, and I sigh. Because here it comes. He’s going to stop this train before it crashes, as well he should. I only wish I knew that last kiss was the last kiss.

When I don’t say anything, he continues, backing away so his eyes meet mine. I force myself to keep them open, to hold his stare. We’ve already had a fantastic few hours. If we call it a night, I’m still grateful for that.

“No back story,” he continues. “We aren’t the dating types. So we don’t need to go through all the bullshit that happens on a date. Because this isn’t one, right?”

“Right.” Never mind that it feels like one, and far more than a first date at that. Stupid kissing.

“So tonight we have no past. No future. Only a present. Does that work for you?”

How do I willingly forget when I’ve spent the last two years fighting to hang on to the shards of what I can’t remember? But Griffin’s brown eyes shine with possibility. Regardless of anything I might regret tomorrow, I can’t help wanting to prolong this night.

“Works for me.” I mask the hesitation in my voice by extending a hand, ready to shake on the deal. Griffin grabs it but lowers it gently, the contract unsigned.

“I don’t shake on deals, Pip…Maggie.”

“How do you seal a deal, then?”

My words challenge him, and his raised brows and mischievous smirk say, Challenge accepted.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

And he scoops me up, dropping me into his lap. I yelp with laughter and shush myself just as quickly.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-yell. “We’re going to get caught before I do what needs to be done!”

But it doesn’t matter. My arms drape around his neck, the warm air of our breath the only thing hanging between us.

“Then I better shut you up and seal the deal.”

We close the space of our breaths, and I taste him again. But instead of getting lost in the feel of the kiss, this time it’s in the intimacy of his arms, of letting someone hold me, something I haven’t felt in so long. I sink into his chest, the warmth of his body mingling with the growing heat of mine. We stay that way until the sound of a car driving by jolts me back to reality. I need to do what I came here to do and then get as far from here as possible.

…

Griffin

I’m not even surprised when I see her take a can of spray paint out of her bag. She had witch hazel for my face. Why wouldn’t she be more than prepared for a little early-morning graffiti? What does surprise me, though, is what she does with merely a can of paint.

Yes. The latte foam shit was impressive, but I never would have guessed she could do this. I want to ask her how or how long or why? But all I can do is watch as she, according to the law, defaces public property. I don’t see it like that, though. What I see is beauty. Grace. A f*cking ballet of words and emotion spilling from her hand.

It’s only words. Two. What if? But the depth, shadow, illusion of color change when she only uses the one can of blue paint—it’s stunning. She’s stunning. And when she turns to face me, cheeks red with the cold and eyes shining with the threat of tears, she smiles.

My first instinct is to run, to get the hell out of Dodge and do anything but remember the stagger in my pulse at the sight of this girl. And if I could run, if it didn’t mean abandoning her in an alley before dawn, I’d be gone already because this isn’t what I signed on for, this…this…need.

“Are you…okay?” She clears her throat after croaking out the words, somehow swallowing whatever it is that powered her through what she just did, taking care of me when I should step in to take care of her.

When I don’t answer, she holds out the can to me, the corners of her mouth turning up in encouragement.

“You wanna try?”

The tips of her fingers match her cheeks, but when I reach for the can, my skin brushing hers, I feel nothing but warmth.

“Anything I write,” I start, instinctively shaking the can, “will ruin what you have up there. I can’t do… Maggie, you’re a f*cking artist. The latte, this? I mean, who are you?”

A flash of something streaks across her eyes, but she covers it with a smile.

“Just a girl whose two little words don’t want to spend eternity alone.”

I grin. “Eternity?”

She shrugs. “Okay, fine. The owner may repaint the wall two days from now, but don’t hang me out to dry, not even for two days.”