What If (If Only.... #2)(17)

“Hey…Maggie…” My hand covers hers as we ease my sweatshirt down together. And while I’m careful not to pull her hand too close, her fingers trail over my skin, and tetanus or not, I feel nothing other than her touch.

“I am a willing participant in this entire evening—morning—whatever you want to call it. I panicked at a goddamn flashlight some lady was using to walk her dog. So unless she is some sort of pawn in your evil scheme to end the night by drawing my blood, this is all me.”

A corner of her mouth quirks in an attempt to smile, but the guilt still hangs on her expression.

“I guess this would be the end of the night,” she says, backing away from me and heading down our original alley. Questioning my sanity every step of the way, I follow her until she stands in front of our wall, instant camera in hand. Her flash won’t illuminate the picture completely, but I hope it will be enough.

I wait, letting her have her moment with our creation, and a minute later she’s back by my side where the alley meets the street.

“A memory of our memories,” she says, handing one of two developing pictures to me. As I take it she asks, “Will you take me home, Griffin?”

I nod, the finality of the request causing an unfamiliar ache in my throat.

“Sure,” I say. “Where do you live?”

We’re at the car now, and she waits to answer until we’re both inside.

Her eyes find mine, and she makes the request again, only this time it isn’t a question.

“Take me home, Griffin.”

And I understand.

“Maggie.” I brush an auburn wave behind her ear. “I wasn’t lying when I told you I didn’t know you worked at the coffee shop. What Davis said—I didn’t plan to take you home with me.”

“I know,” she says, filling the impending silence before it has a second to occur. “I know it wasn’t your plan, but it is what you do, right? This is what I want, and I think you want it, too.”

It’s what I do, right? I silently thank her for the reminder. But she’s right. I want it. I want her, and I’m not good enough to let logic cloud my judgment. So I turn on the grin, the one that reminds whoever I’m with that this is what I do.

“Okay, Pippi.” I put the truck in gear. “Let’s go home.”

But when she reaches for my hand, I think maybe she sees right through me. And while I don’t flinch from her touch, willing her hand to linger, I decide to give her a reminder, too.

“We aren’t the dating types. We already talked about this.”

She nods, but her eyes tell another story, their longing so familiar I fight not to look away. “No. We’re not.” Her words are flat, but it doesn’t matter. We both need to convince ourselves that if she comes home with me, it doesn’t change who we are. Tomorrow we’ll go back to being strangers.

I glance down at the picture on the center console, now fully developed.

Strangers, I remind myself, and know my only choice is to trash the picture once she’s gone.





Chapter Six


Griffin


We don’t talk for the short ride to campus, and while it’s not so much an awkward silence, there is a weight to it. The weight of me not waking up in my room at my parents’ house, where I’m supposed to be in a few hours for brunch. The weight of how much I want this girl tonight, and of how tomorrow—shit, it already is tomorrow—the want will still be there, was there already the minute I picked up a strange and beautiful hitchhiker. Where’s the f*cking sense in that?

“Here we are?” I say, entering the heated parking garage.

Maggie raises her brows. “I don’t have to step out of the car to know that this is not what one would consider campus housing.”

Her comment comes with a smile, and I don’t try to suppress mine, grateful to get the hell out of my head.

“It’s amazing what my parents will do for me if I attend the right school, choose the right major. Following someone else’s path does have its perks.”

Her brows fall, and the moment of lightness leaves her eyes.

“Come on, Pippi. Just trying to tease another smile out of you. Looks like it backfired.” She chews her bottom lip, gearing up to chime in, so I don’t let her. “I’m a big boy. It’s not like it wasn’t my decision, too.”

I throw the gear shift into park and hop out of the truck, but Maggie sits there, arms crossed. She doesn’t move, only waits. When I get to her door and open it, I make no attempt to silence her. Whatever she wants to say, I can handle it.

“Are you happy with your decision?”

Her eyes hold steady on mine.

“Well, you don’t pull any f*cking punches, do you?”

Clearly not satisfied with my lack of an answer, she doesn’t respond. So I open the door wide, angling my head toward hers. And when I hear it, the tiny, sharp intake of breath that tells me I’ve caused enough turbulence to knock her off-kilter, I kiss her, and she melts into it so quickly I almost forget what I intended to say because I could “talk” to her like this for the rest of our time together.

I back away and watch her eyes flutter open. “I’m happy right now, Pippi.”

“That’s not what I—”