What If (If Only.... #2)(46)

“Consider it,” I say. “For real.”

“I will,” he says. “You want to know what the most f*cked-up part of the day was?”

I nod.

“This girl I wanted to see, who maybe wanted to see me, too…” He pauses, then relaxes his features into a revelatory smile. “You’re still here,” he says.

I don’t try to hide my shared happiness. “I’m still here.”

He clears his throat, attempting to get back into his over-confident character, but it’s too late. The masks are off, and this silly thing—me waiting for him in the library and him hoping I’d be here—it makes me feel bare, more so than that first night in the shower, so very different than removing our clothes for each other.

“I don’t ever want you to think I’m not showing up again, okay?”

He waves his phone between us, an explanation for his initial strange request.

“Okay.” I take my phone out of my bag, ready to make the same request, when it vibrates with one of my alarms. “I need to catch the bus,” I tell him.

“Wait for the next one,” he says. “Come have dinner with me.”

I purse my lips in contemplation. “This isn’t a date, is it, Mr. Reed?”

He shakes his head. “Impossible. We’re not dating.”

“That’s a relief,” I say, ignoring the butterflies dancing their betrayal in my belly.

“But I want to ask you something,” he says.

I lead him outside and down the street, to a small Chinese take-out shop that makes any dish I ask for without MSG. We bring the food back to the library basement to eat, since I don’t want to be far when the next bus comes.

Griffin asks his question, and for reasons I still can’t comprehend, I say yes.





Chapter Sixteen


Griffin


I load my suitcase into the truck and start her up so it’s warm when Maggie gets here. While I wait, I reread my most recent text. It’s from Jordan Brooks, the girl I met in Scotland. For so long I’ve seen her as the one who got away, but that label doesn’t seem to work anymore, not since Maggie.

Jordan: Can’t wait to see you! It’s been too long. SO excited you’re bringing someone. Was starting to worry about you.

She sent the message an hour ago, and I haven’t responded. Because I still haven’t officially decided I’m going on this trip. Not until Miles pulls up in front of my building in his hundred-year-old Nissan do I make my final decision. Maggie saved me once before, at my parents’ house a week ago. Having her with me now has the same effect. When I’m with Maggie, I get the feeling—or maybe delusion—that I can do things I didn’t think I could. Though she said yes when I asked her to come with me, I haven’t let myself believe it. Not until I see her emerge from the car and watch Miles hoist her suitcase out of the trunk do I let myself admit this is real.

Me: On the road in a few. Text you when we get there.

I take Maggie’s bag from Miles and deposit it next to mine in the trunk.

“So…” he says.

“So…” I answer, extending my hand to him, and we shake.

“Take care of her,” Miles says, a note of authority in his tone, enough to show he cares but not make him sound like an *.

A throat clears, and we both look at Maggie, who bounces to keep warm in the late November chill.

“I think someone is forgetting his own ground rule,” she says pointedly, her eyes fixed on me.

I let out a laugh, remembering. I always kiss hello. I back up so I’m sitting on the edge of the still-open trunk. Then I grab the belt of her wool coat and pull her to me without hesitation as I position her between my legs and my lips find hers.

Fingerless gloves cup my face, and delicious, warm lips spread their heat to mine.

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake,” Miles says to us both, but laughter colors his words.

Maggie steps away from me, enough time for her to say good-bye to her friend, and then she’s back, her mouth opening this time to let me in, and our tongues tease, and taste, and somehow forget we’re sitting half outside a parked car until we hear the Nissan’s engine start, after two tries, as Miles leaves me with this girl, the girl who said yes.

“We should get on the road,” I tell her. “We’ll hopefully make good time since it’s still a holiday, but who knows what the Black Friday traffic will be like when we get to the city.”

Maggie pouts, and I almost throw her down on top of our suitcases, but I decide to be patient and hope she can be, too. It’s been a week since we slept together; Maggie had to work or study every night since Sunday, except last night when she spent Thanksgiving with friends, and I spent it with my family. Though we kept our standing library meet-up on Monday, that’s been it. On more than one night this week I wanted to make use of her number, but what right do I have to call her to come over? How do I tell a girl I’m not dating that sleeping with her next to me is better than not? So I splurged. We have a suite waiting for us at the Four Seasons. And hell if I’m not going to get us to the city in time to make use of it before we have to head to the Signature Lounge for the reunion.



I catch sight of her in my peripheral vision as I drive, her head leaning against the glass of the passenger-side window, eyes lazy but watching, observing. The corner of her mouth creeps up toward her cheek, and I wonder if she’s lost in thought rather than watching the road go by.