What If (If Only.... #2)(65)

“Of course you do,” I choke out, knowing that with these words I’m also giving him my last semblance of hope.

We made the decision to walk away when things got too complicated. Well, it doesn’t get more complicated than this.





Chapter Twenty-Three


Griffin


“Come on. Let me buy you one drink. It’s your party after all.”

I check my phone. Ten-fifteen and no text or missed call. So I bite the bullet and shoot Maggie a text to make sure she’s still coming.

Looking forward to your arrival so I can take you home.

I set the phone on the bar to watch for her reply and decide to take Heather up on her offer.

“Aren’t the drinks already paid for?” I ask.

She offers a coy smile and shrugs.

“I guess one couldn’t hurt,” I say.

She drops two shot glasses on the bar and fills them to the rim with Jameson’s.

I raise a brow as she clinks my shooter and offers a “Cheers” before throwing hers back like it’s water.

“Impressive,” I say, following suit, my insides heating as the whiskey blazes a trail down my throat, chest, and stomach. She holds up the bottle, gesturing a second pour, and I shake my head. She’s not deterred.

“So, who’s taking you home tonight?”

Her tongue trails across her bottom lip as she fills our glasses again. This time she shoots without hesitation, no form of Cheers. And because my answer to her question is the one she doesn’t want, I respond by taking my shot instead.

“I don’t live far,” she says. “If you need a place to stay.”

She walks around the bar to join me on the paying side, bottle of Jameson’s still in her hand.

“Another shot?”

My eyes shift to the phone sitting next to me, the one the whiskey made me forget. No missed calls. No waiting texts.

Damn it, Maggie. All day I ignored the doubt, pushed it away because tonight was not only going to be the start of something for me. It was going to be the start of something for us. But ever since we came back from Chicago, she’s kept me at a safe distance all the while promising she’d be here.

“Gimme a second,” I say. I try her cell again. This time it goes right to voicemail. At the risk of looking desperate, because—f*cking hell—at this point I am, I call the first number she ever gave me, Royal Grounds. The voice that answers is female but sounds much older than Maggie’s lilting tone.

“Royal Grounds. Can I help you?”

I need to know she’s okay before I let the truth sink in.

“Uh. Hi. Is Maggie working tonight?” I ask.

The woman inhales, a sharp sound I hear through the phone. “Oh. Yes, I mean. She was. She’s with Miles now. I’m sorry. That was sort of a roundabout way to answer your question. I guess it would have been easier to say, ‘No. Maggie’s not here. Can I take a message?’ I’m a little new at this. Sorry. Can I?”

I try to shake away the fog, but the whiskey fills every empty space inside me. It marinates with my words. “Can you what?”

“Take a message for when she gets back. Shouldn’t be long.”

My head droops, and I let out a long breath.

“No message,” I say before ending the call.

I nod at Heather and shift my eyes to my empty glass.

“One more,” I say and watch her pour. I don’t notice until I’ve drained the glass that she has slid off her bar stool and currently stands against mine.

“Now,” she says, inching closer. “Who’s taking you home tonight?”

And her lips are on mine.

My eyes widen but then close on instinct. I’m not kissing her back yet, but I’m also not pushing her away. Because I f*cking did it again. I let myself think a girl could see me as more than I was, that I could be more than I was. Maggie saw through the bullshit and stayed, until now.

How easy it would be to let this girl’s soft, willing lips drag me back. To fall into a growing haze of the liquor, into the taste of whiskey and strawberry lip gloss.

“Shit.” The word comes out as a whisper, a realization, and my hands are on Heather’s shoulders, pushing her from me. Have I not changed at all?

“I need to go,” I say. Nat’s eyes meet mine from across the bar, and she strides toward us.

I bring my gaze back to Heather. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you think… I’m sorry.”

“Griffin, what’s going on?” Natalie approaches us, the seething look in her eyes illustrating her judgment of me. “I thought Maggie…”

“She’s not coming. She never was,” I tell her.

I grab the bottle from the bar, pour one last shot, and throw it back.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” I say, handing the bottle to its rightful owner. “But I have to get out of here.”

I push past her and my sister, making my way for the door, but Nat follows me outside.

“What the f*ck, Griffin? What happened in there?”

Nat blows into her palms as soon as we hit the outdoors, but I don’t feel a thing. Logic tells me I should be cold, but the growing heat of the alcohol warms me from the inside out.

“It was all bullshit, Nat. All of it. Fucking hell, you had the right idea all along. It’s you, and Vi, and no one to f*ck around with your sanity.”