If Only (12 page)

I reach across the table and grab his wrist above his bandaged hand. He sucks in a breath as we touch, and I steady my own exhale enough to ask again, gently, pleading. “Why did you lie about your hand?” My voice catches, and his hand curls into a fist. When I write about this later, I will chalk up the tension to the vodka. I can lie, too.

“We came here together.” His words strain to leave his lips.

“What?” My grip on his arm falters, my voice a tremble as I speak.

“Me and Hailey.” He pauses. “I tried to tell you the day after the train, on the scavenger hunt. You let me off the hook so easily, though, and I didn’t push. I should have told you everything then. Maybe… I don’t know.”

“Maybe what?” I try to push my chair away, wanting to be anywhere but here listening to this, but the chair tilts back on its back legs, and I lurch forward, catching myself on the table. Listening it is, then.

He continues. “We came here together, from Ohio State. We’ve known each other since high school and started dating the end of freshman year at OSU. We were together when we decided to study abroad.”

“Were?” I don’t understand. Isn’t he with her now?

“We broke up late this past summer, just past the one year mark. But we were already signed up for the program. And it’s comp—”

“Yeah, I know, Noah. It’s complicated. I already told you I don’t do complicated.”

His hand grabs mine this time, and he winces but doesn’t let go.

“But it was more than just that kiss. I watch you in class, arguing for Lucy Honeychurch or stubborn, judgmental Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Hey.” I point my finger at him. Buzzed or not, I can always defend my Lizzie. “Darcy deserved her reproach. He humiliated her the first time he ever saw her, saying she wasn’t
handsome enough to tempt
him. And it doesn’t matter that she wasn’t supposed to hear. Darcy’s intent doesn’t diminish Lizzie’s hurt.”

“He was shy,” Noah argues. “Sometimes people do stupid shit when they’re unsure of themselves.”

My jaw tightens. “So it’s okay to hurt someone in order to save face? I’m going to call bullshit on that one.”

Noah squeezes my hand in his. I scan the bar. Doesn’t he care if someone sees us? “God, Jordan. Why can’t you cut me some slack here? I’m trying to explain myself, but you don’t want to listen. I see you every day, and you act like I’m a stranger. And I keep thinking, what if? What if I didn’t answer the text on the train? What if we knew we’d be spending the year together? But you never gave me a chance.”

He stares at me, his chest heaving from his tirade. And he still doesn’t let go. The kiss. He hasn’t forgotten the kiss. But when I remember what followed the kiss, I disentangle my hand from his and pull away. “But you did answer the text. And it was Hailey.”

He nods, massaging his injured hand with the other. I watch a small, red circle bloom like a tiny rose from the center of the bandage, but I ignore the urge to take care of him.

“She wanted to pick me up at the train so we could talk.”

He kissed me and went back to her. Within hours.

“There’s too much history between us.” He hesitates for a few seconds. “And there’s a future, too. We had it all planned out until we hit a snag in July.” I think I recognize some sort of hurt in his eyes, but he shutters his expression too quickly for me to be sure. “I let myself believe I was lucky to spend a half hour with you, that I could leave it at that. I was an idiot not to think to ask if you were on your way here, too.”

I’m an idiot, too, a self-absorbed idiot. How could I have known him, known both of them for all these weeks, and not known any of this?

“I get it now,” he says, “why Lucy would say yes to Cecil, in
A Room with a View
.”

I swallow past the catch, eliminate it all together.

“Because,” he continues, “she’s being logical, trying to do what she thinks is the right thing.”

He looks down into his glass of water.

“So you choose logic.” It’s not a question but a painful realization.

He looks at me now. “I don’t have a choice, not when she’s trying to fix what we broke, to fix what broke me.”

It’s too much. I don’t want to know his history with Hailey or that what they had was intense enough to break him, important enough for him to want to try again. But his eyes still burn into mine, not letting me look away.

“But you have to know, Brooks…”

I shake my head. “Don’t call me that. Not now, Noah. Don’t fucking call me that now.”

He grips the edge of the table, the tips of his fingers turning white.

“Jordan,” he says, the distance between us growing, though neither of us moves. “You’re the one who said it—this year isn’t real. But reality is all I know. That doesn’t give me much of a choice—”

He doesn’t finish the thought. Whatever I
have
to know leaves with Noah as he stands in time to meet Hailey and Griffin’s approach. Hailey drapes herself on Noah, fastening her hands tight around his neck. She sways against him, evidence of her presence at the shot table. I turn my eyes to Griffin, sure I don’t want to watch what comes next with Noah and his logical choice.

“I thought you were joining us for shots. In fact, I thought you were buying.” He leans down to where I sit and kisses me on the cheek.

“I was,” I say. “I mean, I did. Buy the shots. I drank mine at the bar with Elaina. Let’s say vodka and I have been introduced, and it didn’t go well.”

“Ah, yes. I do remember Elaina coming by and mentioning something about a pussy lightweight. Does that ring a bell?”

I roll my eyes, too exhausted to protest. Noah and Hailey head toward the group. I watch them walk away, waiting for Noah to turn back, but he never does.

Griffin puts his hand on my cheek and squats down beside the end of my booth. He kisses me gently, repeatedly.
To hell with logic
. I lean into him, run my fingers through his hair and kiss him harder. His lips are soft. I ignore the spice of whisky still on his tongue and let it through my parted lips. I feel myself letting go, letting Griffin’s kiss fill the space I’ve kept empty, kept at a distance. But allowing him to do this means we’ll break the rules of our agreement. He must know that. So when he smiles against me as I grab his collar, I take it as a sign, pulling him closer.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, his voice heavy with desire.

My ragged breath disguises the reappearing tremor in my voice. “Yes. I want to get out of here.”

“Where to?”

Elaina’s warning replays in my head.
Our walls are paper thin.

“Can we go to your place?”

He nods, pulling me up from the booth, his mouth still on mine.

Noah and Hailey stand at the large, round table where the night began. As soon as his eyes catch mine, I turn away, leaning into Griffin.

“Take me home,” I plead.

And so he does.

Chapter Ten

Duncan’s door hangs ajar when we walk past, so Griffin nudges it open. No sign of Duncan.

“He does this a lot,” Griffin tells me as he reaches for the handle to close it.

“Wait!” I slip past him, heading straight for the dresser where the bottle still sits. “I’ve been in Scotland for almost two months and still have not had Scottish whisky. Time to drink with the big boys, right?”

Griffin’s brows pinch together, and he pries the bottle from my hand. “Are you sure about this? Elaina made it seem like you were done for the night.”

My protective flat-mate did
not
give Griffin the same directive as Noah, to keep me off the sauce for the rest of the night. I am following up one bonehead move with another, but right now I don’t care. I want to clear my head, or, I guess, if whisky is going to be involved, to fog it up a bit.

“I’ve been drinking nothing but water for the past hour. I’m fine. It’s still Duncan’s birthday, right? Let’s celebrate.” I grab the bottle and move toward the door.

Within seconds, I unscrew the lid and swig straight from the bottle before I’m out of Duncan’s room. “Shit! I bet Elaina’s coffee has nothing on this!” Holding the bottle by the neck, I press it to Griffin’s chest. As he grasps it, I let go and slide around the corner into Griffin’s room.

He walks in behind me but stops just inside the door, his eyes searching mine. I smile. Why doesn’t he?

I press my palms to his cheeks, bringing his lips to mine. He tastes like black currant, and I slide my tongue past his parted lips. He reaches out, looking for a surface on which to rest the bottle. My head swims, no silly, logical thoughts getting in the way.

Griffin must find a spot for the bottle because his hands run through my hair, and his kisses propel me toward the bed. I move my hands from his face to the place where his shirt meets the top of his jeans. They walk up his solid frame, under the fabric, and rest atop his flawless skin. I tug one of his hands from my hair and urge him to explore as well.

No thinking. Just doing. And flipping the switch in the right direction.

He slides my shirt over my head, and I reciprocate with his. The bottle sits atop his dresser, and I tug his belt loop as I move toward my destination.

One more swig before I can let go. Liquid heat coats my insides, pushes thoughts of Noah further into the fog. Griffin is here, real, mine. A giggle slips past my lips, and he pulls the bottle from my grip, raising it to his mouth to join me in my haze.

After a long swig, he deposits the bottle back on the dresser and bends down to cover my mouth with his. My lips press hard against his, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

Griffin. Griffin. Griffin.

I repeat the silent mantra of his name, but the harder I close my eyes, the more vivid the vision—a shock of midnight hair hanging over the blue pools of his eyes.

Jordan… I don’t have a choice.

I do. I choose Griffin. I choose tonight, right now.

My lips leave his, sliding down his neck to his shoulder, making their way toward his torso. With each kiss I pull him closer to the bed, pull myself farther from the dream and into reality. If we go through with this, I will break the cycle. I will no longer be stuck on the sidelines.

But he hesitates, the tips of his fingers resting on the top of my jeans, tickling my skin. I put my hand on his wrist and attempt to guide him toward the button of my jeans, unable to speak as our lips continue to do what lips were meant to do.

Except, he’s not kissing me anymore. I bite down gently on his bottom lip to tease him into action, but still he does nothing. My hands travel back to their starting position, where they unbutton his jeans, but Griffin steps away.

“Jordan, what are we doing?” He breathes hard, his tone hoarse.

The hint of pain in his voice jolts me back to reality. In all of my careful planning, of keeping myself safe from feeling too much for Griffin, had he let down his guard without telling me? Had I? Because something in me aches to think whatever I just heard in his question was caused by me.

“Days ago you weren’t ready for this,” he says. “And I totally respect that. So what’s changed? What’s got you swigging whisky from a bottle and leading me to bed?”

But this is what a year with no attachments is all about, right? I came here to have fun, to reinvent myself, to stop waiting and start living. I don’t have to be the girl who’s been single so long her friends refer to her as the born-again virgin. I don’t have to be lonely because… God, lonely sucks. Griffin never asked for anything other than what I was willing to give, and now I want to give him more. He may not be the
one
, but I was never that for him, either. What matters is I want him to be my
now
.

“I’m ready,” I tell him. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

My lips press together to stop from trembling. But when he tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze, I don’t fight the tears. Not when he sees right through me.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” No anger, but again that spark of pain.

For a moment I have no words. Nothing I can say now will fix this.

“What?” It’s the only word I can get out, but nothing can save me from what’s coming next.

“Noah, Jordan. I know it’s Noah.”

I want to fill the space of silence between us, but no words could fill it that would hurt him any less. Hurt was never supposed to be an issue between me and Griffin. Fun. We were supposed to have fun. How did we get here?

“I thought… I thought we were sparing ourselves the drama. Isn’t that what you wanted? What we wanted? I choose you, Griffin. I choose no drama.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “You’re right,” he says, but I hear a finality in his tone. “But this?” He gestures at the space between us. “This is fucking drama. This is my cue to leave. I’m not an idiot,” he continues. “I tried to let it go, earlier tonight, when you kissed me like that in the bar. I told myself you were buzzed, having fun. But now this, after I find you holding hands in a booth at the pub?”

“Griffin, no.” I lay my hand on his cheek, but don’t convince him. He pulls it away, lowering it back to my side. Everything he says is true, right down to his no drama policy. But there’s a wounded sound to his words, something that tells me he already betrayed his own plan.

“All anyone had to do was see you and him in that booth at the Lantern. I could sense the tension between you two from twenty feet away.”

I collapse onto his bed, my head in my hands. “I’m sorry, Griffin. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”

“Look, Jordan.” His tone softens. “I never asked you to be exclusive.” At this I look up, and I’m sure of it now. Griffin doesn’t do serious, but he was letting it go there with me. I want to tell him I was willing to do the same, but it’s too late for that now. The hardened look in his eyes tells me that.

“But I also never asked you to fuck me because you can’t have someone else.”

I try to catch my breath. “Please. That’s not what I was doing.”

“You should go home.”

“Can’t we just talk about this more?” I try to coax him down next to me, but he yanks his hand out of my grasp.