If Only (11 page)

“You like him, Griffin, yes?”

I don’t expect the question, and I hesitate with my answer.

“But something holds you back, no?”

“I…yes…I like him. Of course I like him.” Because I really do.

She leans across the bar, her eyes boring into mine.

“Then why does your answer sound like a question?”

Because you’re not the one I’m trying to convince
, I want to say. But I don’t need to. She figures me out.

“He is good looking, yes? He likes you?”

I nod to both her questions. She grabs my chin in her palm and rakes through my features with her eyes.

“I see him sometimes, when you are not here. The girls, they give him the number. Lots of times. Many times.”

Despite my inappropriate thoughts for Noah earlier today, I don’t enjoy hearing about girls who throw themselves at Griffin. My insecurities ride high enough as it is.

“I get it,” I say. “You don’t need to remind me.”

She releases my chin and backs off the counter.

“He tells them no. Every time he does.”

Elaina’s words should comfort me, but instead guilt spreads through me like a virus. All Griffin has to offer is right now. He didn’t ask for any more, and I sure as hell didn’t promise him anything beyond whatever we have. But he turns down phone numbers and kisses me with a tenderness I don’t deserve if I can’t return it. Because I do want more, so much more. But I keep looking for it in the wrong places.

I grab a drink napkin from the bar and reach into Elaina’s apron pocket.

“Why are you touching me on my lady parts?” She waggles her brow. “Is this why you do not want the pretty American boy?”

I bite the cap off the pen and scribble today’s date on the napkin along with Griffin’s name. This is my reminder for tomorrow, to immortalize tonight in words, the night I started looking in the right place.

I cap the pen and shove it back in her apron. “Don’t get me wrong, roomie. Your exotic European beauty does not escape me, but I don’t play for your team. And neither do you.”

She sighs. “This is true, but that does not mean I have to kiss the boy who wears the kilt, does it?”

I squeeze her cheeks, mimicking her study of my face. “You did say maybe. But this…” I wave the napkin in the air. “This spells good-bye to maybe.” I let go of her face and fold the napkin, placing it in my back pocket. “Tonight I give Griffin something more.”

My proclamation fills me with adrenaline. All that matters is right now.

I put in my order for four snakebites and borrow a drink tray to bring them back to the table, but not before leaving Elaina a huge tip. She gives me a smug look and a reminder that our walls are paper thin.

My restaurant serving skills kick in as I raise the tray above the crowd, weaving my way back to our table. My eyes are on the prize, the table’s surface and trying to gingerly set the tray down, so I don’t immediately notice that the table’s number of residents has grown. By two. Noah and Hailey snuggle on the end opposite Griffin. She pulls away. No, scratch that. Her lips unlock from his, and he smiles. I stand frozen.

The drinks. Did I put down the drinks? My confusion replaces horror as I look for the tray of drinks. Arms reach around me from behind. The air fills with the scent of whisky…and apples.

“Thanks for getting the drinks.” Griffin. While one arm stays wrapped around my midsection, the other stretches in front of me where the drinks, still on the tray, sit safely on the table.

Both Noah and Hailey face me, and I turn around, still in Griffin’s embrace, clasping my hands behind his neck. I kiss him hard, maybe too hard, because he stumbles back a foot or two.

“I missed you, too,” he teases with a laugh.

It’s time to stop holding back, to stop playing it safe. If I close the distance between me and Griffin, not just the mental but the physical, too, then there won’t be a place left for Noah to fill. And whatever hold he has on me will be released.

Griffin kisses me again, and I smile against his lips. Can he feel it, too, that everything will be different after tonight? I remind myself, though, that we’re in public, and I can’t keep kissing him even if it is a brilliant excuse not to join the rest of the party. This means I have to turn back around. When I do, Hailey beams, as always. Her blond hair cascades over her shoulders onto a fitted black sweater. I force a grin, hoping my expression belies the ache in my chest. I can’t help but shift my eyes to Noah, who looks past me to Griffin, reaching an arm across the table to shake his hand.

“Hey man,” Griffin says. “Glad you guys could make it.” Griffin and I lower ourselves into the booth on the other end. He looks down at Noah’s palm, still covered with a bandage, but not the mustache one I gave him. This one is plain, flesh colored, and much bigger, covering the wound better than mine did. And, thankfully, he’s no longer bleeding.

“What’d you do?”

At this, Noah’s eyes meet mine, and the memory of cold water running over our intertwined hands sends shivers down to my toes. I bolted from this feeling only hours ago, but now I hold fast to the small space in the booth, his stare planting roots in my chest.

“I broke a glass I was washing, took a little bit of my hand with it. Nothing a few stitches can’t take care of.” Hailey intercepts his hand as he pulls it back from Griffin, covering the bandage with soft kisses. I hurt him, but she gets to fix him.

My stomach turns at the lie and the seriousness of the wound. Only because I know the truth do I hear the betrayal in the waiver of his voice. With the volume level slowly increasing, neither Griffin nor Hailey detect the falsehood. Griffin responds with a generic, “That’s too bad, man,” and the table’s conversation turns to something else.

Noah takes the easy way out. It’s better than explaining why I knocked him to the ground outside of class. Because the
why
is mine, not his. Excluding me from the equation leaves no room for questions. Ignoring the encounter altogether makes life easier for everyone. But my throat tightens at Noah’s choice to look me in the eye before the lie.

“I’m getting us a round of shots!” I back out of the booth and away from the table as the ridiculous words leave my mouth. I don’t
do
shots. Never have. But I need an excuse to move and something more than cider to dull my senses.

Elaina finishes an order as I approach the bar. After pocketing her generous tip, she places two shot glasses in front of me.

“Who is that, getting his face sucked off by the blondie?”

I slump onto a barstool. “The reason my answers about Griffin sound like questions.”

“Okay. We need shots.”

I nod, willing to do anything to keep Noah from getting to me.

Elaina pours us two straight shots of vodka. I should tell her I’ve never had vodka before. I should tell her that other than watered-down American college beer, snakebites top my list of strong beverage. Vodka may affect me more than a gentle combination of lager and cider.

Ignoring my inner monologue as it screams in wild protest, I pick up the shot glass and say “Fuck it,” before downing it in one gulp.

My eyes burn, as does my throat. Elaina’s empty shot glass sits on the bar, and she laughs at me.

“You have never had vodka.”

“No!” It comes out as a whisper, probably because I’ve burned off my vocal cords. I clear my throat and restore some semblance of sound. “And don’t lecture me on drinking right now, not when I have to walk back to a table where a guy I wanted didn’t want me. Be on my side, please.”

She crosses her arms and stares up toward the ceiling, contemplating her reply.

“Elaina!” I whine.

“Yes. I will be your ally. And I start by refusing to serve you anything else that comes in a shot glass.”

I am grateful for both of these things.

“Fine,” I agree. “But I need to bring a round back for the table.”

Elaina rolls her eyes, but she obliges, making enough shots for everyone except me.

“I make you lemon drops, not too strong. It’s still so early.”

I lean across the bar and kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you, ally. Please come over to the table when it slows down.”

She pushes me away, and I spin back toward the table, tray of lemon drop shots in hand. Whoa. Perhaps I spun too quickly because the room is now slanting ahead of me. Was it this slanty when we got here?

“Oy, I’ll grab those from ya, lass.”

Duncan whizzes by, relieving me of my tray-carrying duties.

I scan across the slanty room to our booth, but don’t see Griffin. In fact, the booth sits empty. Griffin has no doubt joined the mob of Fyfe residents that stands around Duncan, the tray of shots deposited onto a high table at the other end of the bar.

Good
.
I’d like to sit down.
My first step toward the sanctuary of the booth takes me sideways. Hmm. Definitely wanted to go straight.

An arm wraps around my waist, steadying me.

“What do you say we get you a glass of water?”

The deep, soothing voice sports a boyish rasp, and I smile despite the slanty room. Oh no. Boyish rasp.

I turn to face my rescuer. Noah. I expect his expression to match the amusement in his voice, but when he sees me, his brows knit together, and his smile fades.

I pull out of his grasp and regain my footing, my lightweight-drinker dizziness dissipating.

“I’m fine,” I insist, wanting anything but his help.

Oh, hey there, slanty room. You’re back.

I take another side-step, and this time Noah ushers me into the nearest booth, a small two-top on the wall parallel to the bar. He sits across from me.

“You are not fine, Jordan. How much did you drink?”

“Why do you assume I’m drunk? Isn’t it possible the bar is on an incline, and we’ve only now noticed? I should tell Elaina. She’ll get it fixed.”

Noah’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t appreciate the joke.

I scoff at my lack of tolerance, at Noah seeing me like this, at the whole mess of this night. “Two pints and a shot…over the past two plus hours.” I smirk at my impressive beverage to time ratio. “I don’t drink much.”

A throat clears to interrupt our conversation. Elaina stands at the table with two pint glasses of ice water.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” I ask her.

She places a pint in front of each of us and stares at Noah, arms crossed and lips pursed. I down the full glass before offering any sort of introduction.

“Elaina, this is Noah. Noah, this is my flat-mate, Elaina. She works here. And Duncan has a huge crush on her.”

She shifts her glare from Noah to me. “You wanted an ally tonight, yes?”

Shit.

“It’s nice to meet you, Elaina.”

She softens at Noah’s salutation, and I want to do some sort of hallelujah dance and say, “See? See? What is it about that voice?” But instead I watch the magic of Elaina unfold.

“Where is your girlfriend, the blond one?” Noah’s smile falters for a brief moment.

Hailey. She doesn’t deserve Elaina’s scorn or me coveting her boyfriend.

“She’s over at the shot table with the rest of the group, including Griffin.”

A tiny sting lies below Noah’s mild tone. I feel it. Elaina does, too. No one wins in this scenario.

“No more alcohol for you, my pussy lightweight.”

I almost spit out my water. Almost. “E-LAI-na!”

She shrugs. “What? It is true.”

Both of them laugh. At me. And while the nickname fits, somehow the alliance has shifted, making me the odd man out.

Nudging my head toward the bar, I ask Elaina, “Don’t you have a few hundred customers waiting?”

She calls my bluff and looks back over her shoulder where a gaggle of customers waits.

“Only water for her, Mr. Blue Eyes. You understand?”

They really are coconspirators now.

“Got it, boss.” He salutes her as she walks away with no parting greeting for me. “I like her,” he adds.

“Yeah. I did, too, before she betrayed me.”

He laughs again, and my breathing quickens at the sound of it.

“I don’t know if I’d call bringing you a glass of water and cutting you off betrayal. You clearly need both. Lightweight.”

“You mean a pussy lightweight.” I snort, and Noah’s shoulders shake. If there is any word in the realm of English slang I cannot pull off, it’s that one.

“I like that about you. Means you aren’t out getting wasted all the time. What’s wrong with that?”

My eyes burn. He can’t ignore an encounter with me to save face with his girlfriend and then compliment my lack of party skills.

“Why did you lie?” The words spill out of me without warning. I will add this to the list of reasons why I should stay clear of anything that comes in a shot glass.

His pupils grow wide, turning his blue irises almost black. He knows what I mean. He’s quiet for a moment, and I can’t help but stare. I’ve spent most of the night trying to avoid Noah, and now is the first time I really pay him any attention. His dark hair brushes the roll-neck collar of a cream fisherman’s sweater. The look suits him. In this small, northern, seaside town, Noah Keating somehow fits. But the two of us, we seem to keep colliding.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “It was easier. The truth, for some reason, seemed like it merited explanation, and I’m not really sure what I need to explain.”

He takes a sip of his water and runs his hands through his hair. He could use a trim, but I like his dark waves a little unkempt.

“Dammit, Jordan. You took off after…after…”

I lick my lips, parched though I drained a pint of water.

“After what?” I ask, my heart hammering against my rib cage.

“What was that in the bathroom?”

“The loo,” I amend. Stupid vodka.
Shut up, Jordan.

He tilts his head back in exasperation. “Seriously? You’re correcting me?”

Now I’m on the defensive. “What then? What about the
bathroom
? What was I supposed to wait around for?”

He doesn’t answer. I close my eyes, bringing us back to the sink, the water, him asking me to wait.
Wait
. Shite. All I’ve done for two years is wait.