What If (If Only.... #2)(22)

This morning I ignore Nat’s text and drive. I’m already late, so a quick detour won’t matter. I half expect to see Maggie on the same corner, for us to start over again from our first meeting. Knowing the shape I’m in now, would I let it happen again?

I know the answer when I find myself throwing the truck into park in front of Royal Grounds.

“Good morning, J. Crew,” is the greeting I get as I walk through the door, and I realize I have no idea what to say to Maggie if she’s here. I can’t let last night be the last time I see her.

“Hey, man,” I say. “It’s Miles, right?” He nods, stepping out from behind the counter, making no attempt to hide that he’s checking me out, slowly, head to toe.

“I’m Griffin. We met last night.” For a second I consider extending my hand to shake, but his growing smirk, fueled by my discomfort, tells me he’d leave me hanging just to watch me try to recover. “Is, uh, is Maggie working this morning?”

His brows pull together. He thinks I should know the answer to my own question, but when I don’t say anything else, he says, “No. Not today,” his tone flat and dismissive, a total one eighty from his initial greeting.

“Does she work on other Sundays?”

He leans against one of the breakfast bar stools, arms crossed over his chest. Another barista glares at Miles from behind the counter, clearly not enjoying taking care of the morning rush by herself. But Miles’s eyes stay trained on me.

“Why do you want to know?”

The edge in his deep voice aims to intimidate me, but Miles doesn’t know he’s talking to an emotional f*ckup who got himself punched in a bar just so he could feel something.

I swallow the irony of why I’m here. Because for the hours I was with Maggie, I wasn’t drinking myself numb or waking up with a phone number on my hand, unsure who it belonged to. I wasn’t numb at all, and when I woke up, I hadn’t forgotten a thing. Not one thing.

There is where my problem is. Remembering her—knowing what I’m missing.

“Forget it,” I say, turning toward the door. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Wait,” he says, resignation in his tone, so I stop and face him again. “It’s not like I didn’t hear what your buddies were saying last night, what a typical Saturday night is like for you. I mean look at you.” He tilts his chin up in a nod of recognition. “A perfect, pretty little package you either abuse or use for evil rather than good.”

I clench my fists at my sides, trying not to react. But the guy smiles. He f*cking smiles because he thinks he has me figured out, and I can’t help it. I play defense.

“Maggie knows that’s not why I came here last night. And it’s not why I’m here now.”

Miles adjusts himself so he’s now sitting on the stool, and he crosses his arms again. Regardless of him checking me out, his muscles grow tense, and I get the feeling part of him wants to kick my ass. I’m taller, but he’s solid enough to do some damage. He wouldn’t be the first.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he says, satisfaction in his voice. “She got to you. Maggie does that.” His voice softens with those three words.

Confused, especially after he left with another guy last night, I ask, “Are you two…”

“No…no.” He laughs, but the sound is forced. “Maggie and I would never work. I love her, and I’ll do anything for her. You and I…” He gestures between us. “We’re not so different. Only my inability to commit probably comes from a much less self-destructive place than yours.”

I run my hands through my hair and sigh. He’s right. When it comes to relationships—shit, the word is so foreign even in thought—I am anything if not honest that if things go beyond a day, a week, whatever, it’s only until it stops being fun. Or it starts becoming work. On one rare occasion, I started investing and trusting. That’s what gets me in trouble—trust. After last night, I don’t trust myself to stay away. I can’t stay away, and that scares the shit out of me. But here I am, talking to a dude who seems half attracted to me, half ready to level me, and admittedly in love with Maggie on some level, even if it’s only as friends.

“Is this where you ask me what my intentions are? Because I don’t have an answer to that.”

Miles rubs his jaw, thinking. “Did she tell you she doesn’t date?”

I nod.

“And you don’t date. Not really. Am I right?”

I nod again.

“Then don’t date each other. There’s obviously something between you, and you’ve both got your f*cking issues with labels.” He waves his hand in the air as he says this. “Call it whatever the hell you want until neither of you is chicken-shit to call it something more.” His eyes narrow. “She’s special, more than you know, and she can use another person in her corner. If you’re the guy, I can handle that.” He exhales, long and hard. “And if you hurt her, I’ll handle that, too.”

I don’t doubt him for a second.

“Does Maggie get a say in any of this?”

He laughs, and though it’s genuine, I don’t second guess his fierce protection of Maggie.

“Of course she does. It’s all Maggie’s say. But if she puts her faith in you—if she trusts you, and you betray that trust—I’m the one who’ll be there when you’re not. That’s all I’m saying.”