by A. J. Pine
“I’m going with you to Washington,” she said, this time with conviction, and Griffin pulled back, his brows furrowing.
“I’d like to instate the WILD card,” he said, “just to be sure,” and Maggie bit her lip.
Ever since the night he’d won her over with a deck of UNO cards, the WILD card had always meant one of them got to ask a question and the other had to answer truthfully, no holds barred.
“Okay…” she said softly, and Griffin cleared his throat.
“Are you coming with me because I pushed too hard?” he asked, and Maggie shook her head.
“Are you coming with me out of guilt?”
“No.”
“Are you coming with me because my legs look ridiculously sexy in a kilt?” He waggled his brows, and her expression broke into a smile.
“Are you planning on wearing the kilt in D.C.?” she asked.
“Not unless you require it.” He was smiling with her now.
“Then no,” she said. He opened his mouth again, but she pressed a finger to it. “I’m going with you because you’re everything, Griffin. Because even though I’ll always be afraid of the unknown, my future isn’t tied to Minneapolis or Florida or Washington, D.C., or any one place.” She ran a hand through his sandy waves, her palm resting on the back of his neck. “But it is tied to you.”
He grinned. “And why is that?”
“Because I love you, Fancy Pants.” Like he had to ask. She gave him a playful push.
“Hey…”
But she silenced him with a kiss, and Griffin pressed his whole body to hers as she parted her lips, and his tongue slipped past to tangle with hers.
In seconds, Maggie felt him firm against her, and her brows shot into outer space.
“You’re…you’re Irish,” she told him, and Griffin took a small step back.
“Aye, love,” he said in an exaggerated brogue, eyes dark with need. “But for about eight more hours, I get to be a true Scotsman.”
Maggie’s eyes fell to Griffin’s kilt, and she licked her lips, then swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as the desert. And Griffin Reed, Scottish for a day, was the only thing that could quench her thirst.
She pushed off the wall and closed the small distance between them, laying her palm over the part of the kilt where she’d felt him moments before. He sucked in a breath.
“You’re not wearing one of those purse thingies,” she said, and he shook his head.
“Pockets in the jacket,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Plus, easier access for—” He sucked in a breath, losing his words completely as Maggie found the overlap in the tartan and slid her hand behind it, where she discovered the treasure she sought, her hand wrapping around his solid length.
“Easier access for whom?” she asked, and he let out a delicious groan.
“You, Pippi. Only and always you.”
He dipped his head and kissed her—soft, sweet, expectant. But when her hand slid up his length, that sweetness turned to hunger, and Maggie’s core burned with desire. She wasn’t sure who needed whom more.
“Got anything interesting in those pockets?” she asked as he rocked into her palm and she stumbled back against the wall.
“Just for you, sweetheart.” And Maggie’s photographs rained onto the floor around them as he produced what she considered the best of the sights so far—a condom.
“Shit,” he said. “Your photos, I’m sorry…”
But she had already grabbed and torn open the foil wrapper.
“I’m not worried about the moments that have already passed,” she told him as she rolled the condom down his length. “I just want to enjoy the ones that are happening now.”
Griffin gripped her thighs and slid her dress up over her hips. He hooked a finger under the hem of her panties and tugged, sliding them down her freckled thighs and to the floor, where she promptly stepped out of them. He was squatting now, and as he rose to meet her again, he placed a soft kiss between her legs, and Maggie let out a small cry.
“Where were we?” he asked once he was standing again. “Oh, that’s right.” He hiked her dress up again, and Maggie followed suit, raising the kilt to expose Griffin’s erection. Then he lifted her onto him, and he sank inside her with ease, a perfect fit.
For the first time that day, Maggie was grateful for her toe-pinching heels. She hadn’t anticipated this benefit, Griffin taking her up against a wall, but damn if these weren’t going to be her favorite shoes from this day forward.
“Is this okay?” he asked, and she giggled that they were so in sync, not only physically but in their thoughts as well.
“Heels,” she told him, and his lips parted in a smile against her.
“But is this okay?” he asked, and Maggie felt his hand leave her hip. Then it slid between them, Griffin’s thumb swirling over her as he plunged deep into her core.
Her only response was a gasp as she felt her muscles tighten around him.
“Christ, Maggie,” he hissed, and those were the last words he spoke as they tested the boundaries of this new position, of Maggie’s balance and Griffin’s persistence until finally, she rode him home.
Home. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? She got it now, really got it, this whole loving-someone thing. It didn’t matter where they were or what stage in their lives they were in.
“You’re my home,” she whispered as she clung to him on trembling legs.
Griffin kissed her…and kissed her…and though he had finished with her, it was as if he still couldn’t get enough.
“And you’re mine, Pippi. You’ll always be mine.”
Chapter Thirty
Miles
The official pre-dinner serving had begun. Waitstaff circled the main room of the restaurant, which had been transformed into a ballroom, tables and chairs wrapped in white, circling a small dance floor that at the moment stood empty.
Miles had just drained one champagne flute and was exchanging it for a new one when he felt a palm against the small of his back.
“I am off the clock for the rest of the evening.” Alex’s warm breath tickled the hairs on his neck. “Any suggestions on how I should spend my time?”
Another server approached, prompting Miles to treat glass number two like a shot of ouzo. He tipped his head back and swallowed the bubbling liquid in one long gulp. When the serving tray was in reach, he deposited his empty glass but was stopped short from snagging another as Alex’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Finally Miles turned to face him.
“What’s the rush?” Alex asked. “We at least have to make it until midnight.”
Alex grinned, but Miles wasn’t following.
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Miles. Who’s going to finish the countdown with me if you consume a bottle of bubbly before dinner?”
Miles found another server coming from the opposite direction, and with his free hand he snagged his third drink.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass. I think I’d rather count flutes.
This wasn’t the truth. Miles wanted nothing more than to kiss Alex at midnight, but once that happened, he knew what came next. Good-bye. His heart-to-heart with Maggie and Jordan had buoyed him to action. He had let Alex in. But the closer they got to midnight, the closer they got to the one variable in the equation Miles couldn’t work around—good-bye.
At least he sipped this glass. He could be civilized. After all, it was only five o’clock. To be drunk at a wedding before the sun had completely set? Well, Miles had some standards.
Alex crossed his arms and gave him the once-over.
“You do wear everything well, don’t you?” Alex asked. “But this just needs a little…” And he reached for the knot on Miles’s tie, maybe straightening it or maybe just looking for an excuse to make physical contact.
Alex himself wasn’t wearing a tie, just a crisp white shirt under a tailored charcoal gray suit. He hadn’t shaved, and Miles tried to ignore how the stubble on his jaw made him even more at
tractive. The look was effortless and at the same time made Alex seem as if he’d walked off the page of a fashion magazine. The bastard. This was why Miles needed more to drink. Maybe the champagne goggles would make Alex less attractive.
“Try this,” Alex said, grabbing an hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter and bringing it to Miles’s lips. Without thinking, Miles opened his mouth and let him drop the small puffed pastry on his tongue.
“It’s just spanakopita, nothing too complex. But I do hear the chef has a secret ingredient that keeps the masses coming back for more.”
His eyes fluttered closed as his teeth sank into the flaky crust to find the sautéed spinach and feta. Miles had bought the frozen version enough times to know the food, but he also believed Alex and his secret ingredient tease because everything this man made kept topping his list of best thing he ever tasted.
Note to self…more champagne will make his food less attractive, too, right?
“What’s going on, Miles?”
Shit. He used to have the best poker face. Hell, his everyday face was his poker face. No one ever knew what was going on behind the ever-present grin. Maggie was the closest anyone ever got, but even she received the Miles Show every now and then.
“It’s all good,” he responded. “Good food, good drink, good-looking guy at my side…what more could I want?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “Sounds like a pretty good night ahead of you, so why the whole asshole routine?”
Miles raised his brows, then took a sip of his champagne.
“That’s just it. It’s not a routine,” he said. “This is the guy you should have met on the plane, so I’m introducing him to you now.” He held his free hand out as if to shake. “Miles Parker. Nice to meet you.”
But Alex didn’t extend his hand.
“Jesus, Miles. You act like I asked you to move in or something. I asked for a weekend. A fucking weekend. And you’re bailing after twenty-four hours.”
He shrugged. “I’m leaving in the morning anyway. Why not get good-byes out of the way now?” As he said the words, Miles tasted the venom he spat in Alex’s direction, and he hated himself for it. But this was best for both of them. An attachment had been formed, and they both had to know it. Miles was severing it before it became too much.
“You’re absolutely right,” Alex said, and his lips pressed into a thin line. “It was nice to meet you, Miles—at least the Miles I met yesterday. Say good-bye to him for me.” He held up his glass and then drained the rest of it in a gulp. “And you,” Alex continued, “you enjoy your last few hours alone.”
And just like that, Alex walked away.
Miles nursed a Heineken now, the taste of champagne having soured. He was pretty sure he’d reached the topmost level of assholery he’d ever aspired to. But what was the point of prolonging the agony of leaving when he could leave now and drown said leaving at an open bar?
Elaina’s father appeared in the center of the dance floor, his presence alone almost enough to silence the crowd. Miles crossed his fingers that he, too, would sport thick waves of salt and pepper when he was—what? Hosting his own daughter’s wedding? He laughed under his breath, a bitter sound. It wasn’t likely he’d be the kind of parent to grow old with his partner, contemplating empty nesting. He was more likely to be an empty nester for life.
Mr. Tripoli’s broad build masked his slight paunch well enough. And shouldn’t a chef boast a full belly? Ha! There was a strike against Alex—a body too perfect for that of someone you’d trust to prepare your food. Who trusted a chef who looked like he didn’t eat his own creations?
Jesus, he was grasping now. Looking for fault and failing miserably.
“Friends and loved ones,” began Elaina’s father in thick, accented English, his booming voice needing no microphone. “Please join me in welcoming my daughter, Elaina…and now my son, Duncan! Eat and drink, please. And celebrate! Giortazo!”
Guests halted where they were, glasses raised and faces painted with smiles, to watch the grand entrance of the newlyweds. But try as he might, Miles, for once, couldn’t fake it. He raised his bottle, but the smile wouldn’t come. Not when Elaina and Duncan walked in beaming; not when Jordan and Noah entered arm-in-arm, the light catching the engagement ring that had found its way back onto Jordan’s finger; and certainly not after Thea walked in alone, her wedding party counterpart, Griffin, visibly missing from her side—only for him and Maggie to come running in at the last minute, Maggie’s face a glowing giveaway as to why they were late.
The corners of his lips turned up, and Miles gave himself a mental pat on the back. He could still muster happiness for his friend despite what was certainly not envy at everyone’s successful happy coupling.
The American contingent made its way to his table.
“Greetings,” he said as Maggie pulled out the chair next to him. Griffin adjusted his kilt and took the seat on her other side. “Pink and green suits you, Mags.”
Maggie’s brows furrowed. “My dress is only green, Miles. Wait, did I spill something? I didn’t eat any—” She backhanded him on the shoulder. “You’re an asshole,” she said, and Miles chuckled.
“Don’t worry. No one other than Reed and me know you’re freshly f—”
“Jesus, Parker,” Griffin said. “Maybe you’d better slow down.” He nodded to the bottle in Miles’s hand. “And best friend or not, if I ever hear you say something like that to Maggie again…”
Miles held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right,” he said. “Shit, Maggie. I’m sorry.”
Noah and Jordan approached on Miles’s right, and it was then that he noticed Jordan was limping.
He eyed the other happy couple. “Do I even want to ask?”
Jordan giggled as Noah helped her into her seat.
“Nope,” she said, her smile permanently plastered to her face.
Miles slid his chair out and stood up.
“You know what, Reed? I think you’re wrong. I think I’m going too slow.”
He could make it through the night, but not if he had to sit in the middle of this…this circle of bliss.
He was barely to the bar when Maggie caught up with him, and he had to force himself to face her.
“Mags, I’m sorry. What I said—there was no excuse for that.”
She skimmed her fingertips along his hairline and then cupped his cheek, the touch so full of love that his breath hitched.
“How did I get lucky enough not to scare you off?” he asked.
Maggie smacked his arm again.
“Hey! I deserved the one at the table,” he said. “But what was that for?”
Maggie grabbed the almost empty Heineken from his hand and set it down on the bar.
“Because this isn’t you, Miles Parker. I’ve never seen this guy before. You want to know why I love you so much?” She paused and waited for him to nod, which he did, accepting his scolding. Relishing it, actually. Someone needed to be a dick to him for how much of a dick he was to Alex.
Okay, so Maggie wasn’t a dick, but she was lovingly pissed, and that was close enough.
“I love you because you have the biggest heart. Because you’re loyal. And because you helped teach me not to let my fear keep me from going after what I want.” She paused again, but this time he could tell she wasn’t waiting for anything from him. Her smile fell, and she started twirling a lock of her fiery hair. She was hesitating.
“Just say whatever you need to say, Mags. Nothing can sink me lower than I’ve already sunk.”
She rolled her eyes. “Great,” she said. “I’ll just be the nail in the coffin of your shit day, then? Excellent.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed.
“Thought you had a grip on the fear,” he said. “More than I do on the drama, I guess.” He chuckled, and this seemed to encourage her.
“I’m leaving Minneapolis,” she said, squeezing his hand back, and Miles’s throat tightened.
�
�You’re going to D.C. with Griffin.”
She nodded, and he felt the ridiculous hot sting of tears. Christ, what was wrong with him? This was what he wanted for Maggie. This was what he told her she should do. But on some level he had hoped she wouldn’t. Because Maggie staying would be a reason for him to stay—a reason for him to ignore what was missing from his life by focusing on someone else’s.
“This is good news,” he said, and he watched her swipe at a tear.
“Then why do you look so sad?” she asked, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. Then he groaned.
“Because I’m a sad excuse for a human right now. Because if you didn’t go with him, you’d end up like me. And as much as I’ll miss you, I would never want that for you.”
She wrapped him in a tight embrace, and he let out a shuddering breath as he squeezed her back. He knew when he let go that this would be the beginning of the end. Of all the people in his life, she was the closest thing to home. He’d been veering off course for years now. Without Maggie, he feared he’d be utterly lost. But that was not her burden to bear.
He pushed her from him, his hands firm on her shoulders.
“I’m happy for you, Mags. Do you get that? This is what I want for you.”
She pulled him close again.
“I love you, Miles.”
“I love you, too,” he said.
He didn’t want to know if she heard his voice crack on that pivotal word. It had been so easy to say it to her in the past. She was his closest friend, and he knew she would never leave. That was enough for him to hand over a little piece of his heart.
Little pieces could break, too. This wasn’t what surprised him, though. What caught him off guard was the realization that he wouldn’t have done it any differently. Things with Maggie would be different once she left. And yes, it would hurt like hell to say good-bye. But he would never give up the five years he spent letting her burrow into that tiny place in his heart. He wouldn’t trade the hurt for never knowing her at all.
“Shit,” he said.
Maggie pulled free of his embrace. “What?”
