by A. J. Pine
That’s when I see the frayed ends of his jeans resting atop a worn pair of black Converse.
Nope. Not so fancy at all.
“Pour one more,” Griffin says, and I sigh.
“We’re closing. There’s no one here to even drink it.”
Griffin’s behind the counter with me now, and I’m not even sure how this happened. His friends left ten minutes ago, and he didn’t feign an excuse for staying.
I’m gonna hang with Pippi for as long as she’ll let me.
When I tried to protest, Miles somehow put him to work straightening the counter.
“What’s all this, Pippi?” he asks, eyeing the sticky notes and photographs that line the back of the counter. My sticky notes and photos. I collect them quicker than he can read, stashing them in my apron pocket.
“Trainee,” I lie. “But she shouldn’t need these anymore.”
He shrugs, hopefully thinking nothing of it, while I work to steady my breathing as he infiltrates my safety zone. Leaning in closer with a lazy grin, he asks me to make one more latte so he can see how I draw with the milk.
“Last one?” I say, half questioning, half telling.
“Last one.”
“You want to try it with me?” I ask, and he perks up, brushing his hands on his jeans, though there’s nothing to brush off them.
He nods, and I ready the espresso and start the milk steaming. When the shot is pulled, I pour it into the cup and explain.
“The light brown stuff is called the crema, and if you don’t have that, then you don’t have your canvas.” I raise my brows, waiting for him to tease me, but he doesn’t. “Then you have to make sure the milk is ready.” I point to the thermometer that’s nearing one-hundred-forty degrees. “You have to lift the steam wand out so it’s close to the top of the liquid.”
I have him grip the pitcher, keeping my hand wrapped around his so we froth the milk together. His skin is warm under my own, and I attribute it to the temperature of the pitcher. That’s all it is.
“Good,” I say. We lower the pitcher together, slowly as the foam takes form. “We’re ready to pour.”
I let go of his hand long enough to turn off the steamer, then ask him to grab the cup.
“Tilt it away from you like this.” I show him first before he takes it. “Then we add the milk.”
I pick up the pitcher to hand to him, but instead he mirrors my earlier action, placing his hand over mine, the size of it dwarfing my own, the rough texture of his skin sending a shiver through my fingers, all the way up to my neck.
His touch is light, leaving me freedom to move as we pour the shape into the waiting espresso. It’s a little messy, but still recognizable.
“It’s a leaf!” Griffin’s deep voice startles me in its childlike excitement. “We fucking made a leaf!” We set the cup down gingerly, and he stares at it, a goofy smile spread across his face. An adorable, goofy smile I can’t look away from. Every minute I spend with him reminds me that he’s the kind of guy a girl remembers, that I might not be able to forget despite the tricks my brain plays on me. But he’s also the kind of guy that easily forgets because, God, look at him. He’s punch-you-in-the-gut beautiful even with a shiner, and if he wasn’t here by default, he’d be on his way home with someone else. But stupid as I am, I can’t look away.
Miles joins us behind the counter after straightening the last of the tables.
“Nice job, darlin’,” he says, his lips finding my cheek again. “You still need a ride home?” He winks, an exaggerated effort, and I know he’s referring to the fact that we aren’t heading straight home, that I have my crazy-within-means plan for tonight. Even if Miles is just humoring me, my heart swells knowing he’s willing to do this, to give me a night where I actually want to forget—forget how careful I have to be.
A whooshing sound diverts our attention to the door. I’m ready to tell the tall blond in a black leather jacket we’re closed until his eyes meet Miles, and they both grin in a wordless hello. Miles skirts around the counter to meet him, each guy’s lips greeting the other’s in a different sort of silent salutation.
Griffin’s interest in our artistic creation vanishes as his head volleys from Miles and Andrew back to me.
“I can drive her home. You home. I mean, Maggie, can I drive you home?” He grins. “Looks like Miles has plans anyway.”
Sure Miles has plans, our plans. But when I look at my friend standing side-by-side with the guy he’s just having fun with, I wonder how much more fun he’d have without my planned antics.
Then Miles nods, an encouraging smile giving me silent permission to cut him loose for the rest of the evening. The decision is mine, and it all comes down to how crazy I really want this night to be.
I purse my lips in contemplation, thinking of George calling me a kid. I want to be a kid again, someone who doesn’t have to think or plan. Okay, so maybe tonight was a planned night of crazy—within means. But Griffin was never part of that plan. Nothing about him is within means.
Griffin breaks the silence. “I meant what I said before, about Davis being a dick and plans changing and all that. I didn’t come here with the intent… I didn’t know you worked…”
But I cut him off, fisting his hoodie in each of my hands as I pull him to me. He doesn’t falter, not one bit. Instead he falls into the kiss with such ease I almost don’t believe that I’m the one who initiated. His lips are soft and strong, his late-night stubble scratching my chin, but all it does is make me want this more. This. What is this? It’s me, parting my lips and him doing the same. It’s the warmth of his breath on my skin, the taste of him on my tongue. His hands cup my cheeks, and a sigh escapes my lips, filling the space between us when we separate only out of the necessity to breathe. This. Something I haven’t done in months. Something a little reckless, even. But mostly, something I’ve missed. A connection—albeit physical—but I feel it in the pit of my stomach and the tips of my toes. Dizzy… He makes me dizzy, and I’m a girl who needs solid ground.
As quickly as the kiss began, I push him away but smile as his expression starts to fall. I think about tending to his eye in the car today, the touch of his skin under mine, proving he’s exactly what I need to help me forget—forget who I am now and be who I could have been, the girl he might have met if circumstances were different. He needs this, too. I see it in his gaze, a mirror of the soft expression when he let me take care of him earlier. We can be alternate versions of ourselves tonight, taking care of each other.
“You’re trouble, aren’t you?” I ask, my thumb grazing his bruised skin.
“Probably,” he says, the glint in his eyes melting all the brain cells that know this is a bad idea. “But I get the feeling you might be, too.”
He’s right. Trouble seeking itself out, that’s what we are.
“Then you can give me a ride,” I say, “on one condition.”
“What’s that?” His brown eyes gleam.
“We don’t actually go home. I’d like to cause a little trouble, together, first.”
He grins wide, and it’s as beautiful as it is terrifying. It’s the kind of grin a girl falls for, but something tells me he doesn’t easily fall back. He is all beauty, and risk, and everything I need for a few hours of being the old Maggie, the version of her I should have been. I was so worried about control when I could have been freer. Losing control now means hitchhiking to work or forgetting someone’s name. But for a night—for a few reckless hours, I want to be lost.
“You did say I’m not taking you home, right? Is there another kind of trouble I should know about?”
No. You’re not taking me home, not to my place. There I can’t hide. There I can’t pretend to be the girl I am tonight.
“Trouble comes in all shapes and sizes,” I say. “I was thinking more of an adventure.” My smile is coy, and I hope it’s enough to convince him.
“You got yourself a deal, Pippi.” Griffin leans in for another kiss, one hand firm on the sm
all of my back, the other cradling my neck. I let him take control, surrender to it, and for this short moment, I don’t worry about what comes next. Instinct tells my mouth to open and let him inside. My palms splay against his chest in need, and I taste the coffee as I let his tongue tease its way past mine. I know we have an audience and at the same time don’t care one freaking bit, not if it means putting space between my hand and the thundering beat of his chest; not if it means I can’t savor him, sweet like candy on my lips. We’re Pippi and Fancy Pants, miles away from the crap that makes us Maggie and Griffin. And damn if it isn’t just a bit delicious.
“Shit,” Miles says through soft laughter, his fingers threading with Andrew’s. “Like I said. Off. Limits.”
Chapter Four
Griffin
“Just drive.” That’s all she says after we get in the truck, nothing about why she kissed me—or why she let me kiss her back. And for the fucking life of me, I don’t know why I care.
I lick my bottom lip, still tasting her on it. Oh, genius. That’s why you give a shit. This isn’t like last night. No selfish agenda. But the whole time I sat with her while she worked, I didn’t expect the night to move beyond the café, nor did I expect the undeniable relief when I realized it would.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I glance down just to check the name. I let out a sigh.
“Someone special?” Maggie asks.
“No.” The word comes out too quickly, but I’m not fast enough to keep her from seeing.
“How would Stacy from Poli-Sci feel about you saying that?” She gives me a pointed look.
My jaw clenches. “We were partners for a project early in the semester.” And maybe some late-night work sessions turned into overnighters, but I don’t tell Maggie this. For some reason I want this stranger to see me as something other than I am. As much as I don’t want it to, and even more can’t explain it, the opinion of a girl I’ve known for mere hours matters. And I’m pretty sure a midnight text says all she needs to know. “Can we turn off the judgment now? You invited me on this little adventure, right?”
“Yes. Shit. I’m sorry. You’re right. Turn here,” she says, the strain in her voice unmistakable as the words sputter from her lips.
Things would have been different if the guys weren’t assholes and came back to campus with me. I’d have done exactly what they said I’d do, what I always do. That text would have been enough. But now it’s not. I don’t want this girl to write her number on my hand so I can wash it off when I get home, forget her name by morning. Because she’s not the type of girl I’d forget, which also means she’s not the type of girl for me. But she kissed me. And I kissed her back. Now here we are.
As soon as I make the turn, I know where we’re going. “A movie?” I ask, the tension easing as I realize we might still salvage a night that hasn’t yet started. “But it’s, like, midnight. Everything has already started.” I offer a tentative smile and wait.
She nods, biting her bottom lip as she responds with a grin, and it takes everything in me to keep my hands on the wheel, to not pull her toward me or think about climbing in the back of the truck and tasting her again.
“We’re sneaking in.” Maggie pauses for a second, her smile fading. “I am sorry, Griffin. I had no right to judge.”
I nod toward the theater. “Lead the way, Pippi.”
She beams and then throws open the door, barely waiting for the car to be in park before she hops out.
I laugh, trying not to be disappointed that she wasn’t looking for a place to simply park. When I join her, she faces me, camera in hand. The corners of my mouth twitch into a grin, helpless against her inexplicable whimsy.
“Smile!” she yells, my only warning before the click of the instant camera. “You, while you’re still on the right side of the law,” Maggie says, waving the developing photo in the air. “You are on the right side of the law, Fancy Pants, aren’t ya?”
I smile to let her know I am. But that tiny mention of the law brings me right back to where I was this evening, when dinner with my parents left me needing something stronger than coffee. I know enough about rules and expectations. And obligation. Would finding myself on the wrong side of the law be enough to release me from mine? It’s a theory I haven’t tested yet, one that might be too far even for me.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “You too good not to pay?”
This makes me laugh, her teasing obliterating thoughts of anything that came before the café. From the second she raised a caring hand to my face this morning, I knew she was different—unlike any girl I’ve met before. She may have an agenda, but it’s more than physical, or we wouldn’t be here right now, sharing this experience. I’m all for having a good time, but if she thinks she sees more than that in me, she’s setting herself up for disappointment.
“I’m just second-guessing what I’m getting myself into here. You might be more trouble than I am.”
She walks around the front of the truck to meet me, brandishing the now-developed photo.
“This guy is trouble,” she insists, looking at the photo before grabbing my hand. “But I do consider myself a worthy adversary.”
I let her lead me toward the theater’s entrance, but before we make it to the front door, she skirts around the side of the building to a place where a metal door with no outside handle greets us.
She lets go of my hand, but instinct makes me squeeze hers tighter, and I tug her close, looking down at her lips, her teeth grazing the bottom one again. I dip my head toward hers, but she leans back, only slightly, though enough to halt my movement.
“Okay, we need ground rules,” she says, her voice shaky and a little breathless. Momentary thoughts of rejection are replaced by intrigue. She may have pulled away, but we’re both still here, her voice admitting her nervousness.
“Ground rules?”
“Yes. The first one is a definition. Of tonight.” She pauses as her eyes search mine. She must trust that I’m following her because she continues. “The definition of tonight is not a date. It’s nothing personal. I’m just not the dating type.”
Again she tries to back away, her expression composed, but when I hold my ground—and her hand—something in her eyes softens, and her fingers curl around mine again.
“Funny,” I say, hoping my smile will coax one from her. “I’m not the dating type, either.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that from your buddy.”
And from an incoming text. I wonder how much of her declaration is truth, how much of a reaction to a name on my phone. Either way, it’s self-preservation, and if anyone can appreciate that, it’s me.
I shrug. “You knew what you were getting into with me. How about you give me all the ground rules and let me know what I got into with you. So far doesn’t date and steals movies are all I have.”
I pull her hand around my waist, letting go only when I feel her thumb hook into a belt loop. My hands cup her cheeks, and she closes her eyes. A street lamp casts enough light to illuminate her face. And I stare, her freckle-dotted lids and auburn lashes hypnotizing me for a few seconds. Then I remember my question. I lower my head toward hers and kiss each eyelid.“Is this within the boundary of the rules?”
She nods, a slow smile spreading across her face.
“What about this?” I kiss the tip of her nose, and she giggles. Fucking giggles, the sound of it doing shit it shouldn’t inside of me.
Another nod.
Not sure I have enough in me to ask permission again, the only word that makes it out is a questioning “This?” before my lips find hers again.
She falls into me…right as the handle-less door swings open. Maggie jumps back at the sound while the heavy edge nails me in the shoulder.
“Fuck!” I yell, my hand flying to the point of impact.
“Shhhhh!” I look up to find both Maggie and the door-wielder, a girl with long, black pigtails and matching black-framed glasses, in shushing unison.
“You’re f
ucking kidding me, right?” But my question comes out as a strained whisper, a clear sign that I’m on board with the whole shhhhh business.
“Thanks…” Maggie hesitates, like she’s about to say the girl’s name, but she just stops mid-introduction. A strange silence hangs in the air until pigtails fills it.
“I’m Amber,” she whispers. “Royal Grounds regular. And I’m pretty sure you aren’t Miles.”
Maggie laughs, finding her voice again. “Amber, yes. Amber.” She lets out a breath. “This is Griffin. He’s a first-timer.”
Amber winks at Maggie and shifts her eyes to meet mine. “Sorry ‘bout the door, dude. Rookie mistake. Maggie should have known better than to let you stand so close. Something must have distracted her.” She grins and winks at Maggie again, and in the pale streetlight I see Maggie’s cheeks turn pink. Totally worth the bruised shoulder.
Maggie squeezes my hand and leads me into a dimly lit hallway, Amber disappearing without another word as soon as she guides the door closed behind us.
“Emergency exit,” I say. “Nice. How did she know you were coming, though? Were you supposed to be here with Miles?”
She purses her lips, hesitating before she nods.
“But you cut him and his boyfriend loose for me?”
“Excuse me, but you were pretty insistent on giving me a ride home. Were you not?”
I watch her pale flesh turn pink again, enjoying the sight.
“Touché, Pippi. I guess we’re both busted.”
We make our way into the main hallway lined with movies already in progress.
“So she’s kind of on-call for you?” I tease.
“Something like that.”
“Top secret information?”
“I could tell you…” she starts.
“Yeah, yeah. But you’d have to kill me. I got it. We all have our secrets.” I’m only partially joking when I say this, and the brief faltering of her expression confirms I’m not alone. I don’t know this girl, and she doesn’t know me. That doesn’t change the ease of clasping her hand, of teasing her, of wanting to kiss her again. Whatever this night is feels different from any other night with any other girl, and it should paralyze me, make me run as far from this place as possible. Instead I move forward, her hand in mine. And when I read the marquee above the theater door, a stupid grin takes over any expression of doubt.