If Only

by A. J. Pine

  In a fluid movement, we both rise to our knees. His teeth graze my bottom lip, and I open my mouth, inviting him in. The only thought in my head is More. Whatever this is, I want more.

  Our tongues tangle and dance. My hands slide down the back of his neck to his hard, lean shoulders. His hands find their way to the small of my back, and his fingertips meet my skin where my shirt rides up above my jeans.

  He breathes hard as he pulls me in, closing the distance between us.

  “I’ve always wanted to try something ridiculous and insane.” Our lips part only enough for him to speak, and I inhale his words because they are mine, because as small as our tiny compartment is, I wish it was smaller just so we could be closer.

  “You are insane,” I say, my voice breathless with need, and I don’t know who I am because I’m not this girl, one who clings to a stranger just because of a book. No, it’s more than the book. It’s what the book means to him, what it meant to me the first time I read it. I don’t want to beat against the current, so I let it take me away. I let him take me away as his warm hands travel up my sides, tickling my neck before resting on my cheeks.

  “More,” I whisper, and he smiles a sweet kiss softly against me. But it’s not enough, and I lick his bottom lip, consume the sweetness, trying to somehow engrave the memory of this moment onto every single one of my senses.

  He hums a soft moan against me, and I already know—all five senses know—I’ve never been kissed like this before. Soft kisses grow urgent, both of us aware we’re on borrowed time. Whether the door opens or not, at some point we will reach our destinations. He will go his way. I will go mine. Only now belongs to us, so I kiss him harder, hold my breath, and hope for what Gatsby and Daisy never got, an infinite now, a single moment stretched far beyond its limits.

  But the universe has other plans. First we hear the suction and then the whoosh of the door as it slides open.

  Noah and I separate with a start as a preteen boy almost trips over Noah’s feet. He waggles his eyes at us. Normally I would shrink with embarrassment. But my pulse thrums beneath my skin while the ache of defeat carves a hollow in my stomach. The moment had to end eventually, but not like this, not without warning, and not to the pleasure of some deviant adolescent.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he says with a perverted smile. He steps into the loo, shutting the door too slowly, peeking at us the entire time.

  “Ew,” I say. “Just close it, buddy.”

  Two clicks later, the door closes and locks, the sign safely revealing that the tiny compartment is occupied.

  Noah stands and tries the compartment door. It opens easily.

  When I stand, I’m flushed with the need to finish what we started, to have a final say in how that kiss would end.

  “What was that?” I ask, catching my breath.

  He fixes his gaze on me, his blue eyes dark and intent. “Was it altogether lovely?” he asks, his breathing not quite regular, either. Again he uses my words, and the hollow forming in my gut fills just a little. I’ve never doubted the power of other people’s words. That’s why I’m a literature major. But I’ve never felt that way about my own words, not until Noah speaks them back to me.

  “Um…” Apparently I’m much wittier in thought than in speech.

  “Good um or bad um?” he asks, as if I’m describing a recent movie I saw.

  “Well,” I say, bringing my fingers to my kiss-swollen lips. “You definitely earned insane.” I don’t tell him it was lovely. Lovely is too weak a word for what just happened. I don’t tell him this, either.

  “I’ll consider that a success, then.”

  He slides the door all the way open and gestures for me to walk out first. From here I can see Griffin sleeping against the window, so my eyes shift to the car in front of us where a sign reads BUFFET.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.” I have no idea how to say good-bye after what we did. “I’m going to head to the next car for a snack.”

  “That’s my car,” Noah says. “My seat’s at the opposite end.” His smile falters for a second, letting his earlier restraint peek through. But he regains his footing as soon as I notice. “Can I walk with you?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  He holds the door open for me. “Thanks,” he says as I walk through.

  I look at him to ask what he means, but he answers before I speak.

  “For talking in there, occupying my mind when it could have been elsewhere.”

  I don’t know what he means, but there’s no hint of teasing in his voice. Some sort of war wages inside of him, evident in his hard gaze.

  “Was something wrong? I mean, are you okay?” I saw the panic in his stare when I knew we were trapped, but everything melted away with the kiss.

  “It’s nothing.” He shoves his hands in his front pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I don’t know. Just—thanks.”

  I smile. If I helped him through something in any way, I’m happier for it.

  “You’re welcome,” I say.

  I start walking, past Griffin’s sleeping form, through the easy-open door at the other end of the car, and head straight through to the buffet where a small older man waits at an empty snack cart.

  “What can I get for you, love?” I swear everything sounds better with a British accent.

  “These and a bottle of water,” I say, laying a five pound note on the counter and holding up a bag of salt-and-vinegar crisps.

  “My favorite,” Noah says.

  “Mine, too.”

  “Your change, miss?” It’s the snack guy. I try to grab the handful of coins while not losing my grip on either the water or the crisps. Success, however, eludes me as one 10p piece goes rolling down the aisle away from me.

  “Oh well,” I remark, trying out my best nonchalance. “I guess I better reorganize.” I lay everything in my overflowing hands down on the bar, shoving the remainder of my change back into the pocket where the original five-pound note hid.

  Noah walks farther down the aisle. He must be going to his seat.

  Turning back toward my car, I attempt a clean-ish getaway.

  “Hey, Brooks!” I hear, and I turn back around. “Catch!”

  Noah walks halfway down the aisle, something small in his hand. My 10p piece. He tosses it in my direction, and it lands right in my open palm.

  “That’s it? No good-bye?” The tone of his voice teases.

  He continues to walk toward me. I glance over my shoulder, noticing Griffin through the sliding pocket door. He’s awake and searching the aisle, most likely for me.

  “I should go.” Heat fills my cheeks at Noah’s nearness.

  He shoves his hands in his front pockets and studies my expression.

  “I hope I didn’t upset you, back there I mean.” His questioning eyes replace his recent boldness.

  “No,” I say. “I still think you’re insane, but it was…lovely.”

  His beautiful smile greets me as he leans down, brushing his lips gently across mine.

  “So are you, Brooks.”

  “I’m gonna go now.”

  He looks like he’s about to say something when the sound of a cell phone shatters the tension. It’s his, and he pulls it from his pocket. The lightness between us quickly fades when he looks at the screen.

  “I’m sorry. I should answer this text.”

  His eyes darken, and he shakes his head, not to me but to himself. But I read him with no mistake. Whatever happened between him falling out of the loo and now shouldn’t have.

  “Good-bye, Noah.” My voice trembles, and I’m beyond faking a conciliatory grin.

  The book, the kiss. It all added up to something so right. That should have tipped me off that it was instead so, so wrong.

  I turn to the door and walk through without looking back.

  Griffin’s eyes lock on mine as he watches my approach. His shoulders relax, and he welcomes me with a grin.

  “How long was I out?” he asks, his eyes gl
ossy with sleep.

  “Maybe a half hour.”

  I plop down next to him, not willing to elaborate on our time apart while still trying to process what it was I’d been doing for the past thirty minutes.

  I rip open my salt-and-vinegar crisps, offering Griffin first dibs.

  “No thanks.” He holds up a hand in protest. “Can’t stand those.”

  “You’re missing out,” I say, popping one into my mouth.

  But the food does nothing to satisfy the knots in my stomach. Griffin made it clear he wouldn’t mind kissing me, but he held back, never made a move. Noah and I talk Gatsby for mere minutes and wind up snogging like that pervy teen wished he was. Everything about Griffin tells me to run, but something else tells me if he were the one to kiss me, he wouldn’t follow up with mortification at what he’d done. Because as soon as Noah looked at his phone, he couldn’t get away fast enough. Ridiculous and insane—that’s all it was.

  But through the pungent vinegar of my favorite chips, I still taste his sweetness, still recall the fresh scent of spring.

  Parallel universe one, Jordan zero. Time to take a page from Griffin and trade in the inner monologue for straightforwardness. I’m not wasting my year on guessing. Maybe right now is all that matters.

  “Gimme your phone,” I say, and he hands it to me without question. I type in my contact information and hand it back. He raises a brow but says nothing.

  I look at him for a long moment before turning my eyes to the seatback in front of me.

  Hello, Mr. Right Now.

  Chapter Three

  I know London, have loved it since the first time we visited my father’s distant cousins. Boarding the train from London to Scotland, though, leaving the familiar for strangers in a strange place, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But now there’s this guy. He’s going where I’m going. And he has dozed off on my shoulder.

  It’s impossible for me not to smell Griffin’s hair. I mean, his sandy waves are right by my face. It would only take the slightest maneuver for me sneak a whiff. But what if he catches me? So what if he catches me! His head is resting on my shoulder. I turn away from the window, ready to go in for the kill. My eyes catch the gaze of a little girl across the aisle. She’s probably no older than six, coloring in a book on her lap. A sweet smile spreads across her innocent little face, and I smile back. When she breaks eye contact, I dip my nose into Griffin’s locks. Almost as quickly as I inhale I turn back to look out the window, Griffin none the wiser…until he hears, “Mummy! Why is that lady smelling that man’s hair?”

  Shit. Or maybe I should start thinking in shites.

  Perhaps not everything sounds good in a British accent.

  Heat spreads from my neck up through my face. If I were a cartoon, steam would be sprouting from the top of my head. The weight on my shoulder disappears, and instead I feel the heaviness of Griffin’s stare. I keep my eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge him. Griffin, silently laughing, puts a hand gently on my shoulder, turning me toward him to face me and my humiliation head on. But I am a statue, an immovable, blushing statue.

  Griffin shakes his head dramatically, like he’s in a shampoo commercial. Oh good God.

  “Most people can’t resist my luxurious waves. Don’t worry about it. You had no choice.”

  Ah, yes. Relieve my mortification with teasing. He grips my shoulder again, but he won’t move this statue.

  “Come on, Jordan. It’s cute. You’re cute.”

  He’s trying to be sweet, but my shoulders slump with his words. I’ve always been the cute one. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but a certain safety—a notion of “This girl is great friend material”—exists along with it. That’s all I’ve ever been to the guys in my life. Escaping the friend zone has never been my strong suit other than a brief interlude two years ago. Even Logan used to refer to me as adorable, which I never minded, but it lacks the passion of other, stronger adjectives. When we first slept together, he called me beautiful, but I’m pretty sure other factors controlled his vocabulary at the time.

  Griffin takes advantage of my diminishing defense and turns me so I’m facing him, a pout now winning out over my embarrassment.

  “What? What did I say?”

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Stupid girl stuff.”

  Because that’s what it is, stupid girl stuff.

  He leans in toward me, and I freeze again, thinking of a guy by the loo doing the same thing.

  His lips graze my ear, and I shudder. I’m so not used to this haircut.

  “Actually…” His volume lowers, barely more audible than a breath. “I think it’s kind of sexy.”

  A short, sharp inhale, hardly enough to replenish the oxygen sucked out of this train car, is my only response. His lips, maybe on accident, maybe not, brush across my cheek as he pulls away. How is this my life right now? I wouldn’t put it past Sam to find a dozen kissable guys on a train—and for them to want to kiss her—but not me. Yet here I am with a guy who likes my smile.

  But it’s not his lips I think of as I close my eyes with remembered pleasure.

  “Apples,” I say. It’s the only word that can make its way from my oxygen-deprived brain and out into the space between us.

  He cocks his head to the side, momentarily confused, but then grins.

  “My shampoo. Yeah. I share with my sisters. Their products kind of ruled the shower when we were growing up. I got used to the shampoo.”

  I silently congratulate myself for the save, proud I’ve made the supposed man-whore blush.

  “I like it,” I say. “The shampoo. I like apples. The scent suits you.” I have no idea what I mean by that and really hope he doesn’t ask.

  He doesn’t. Instead he turns back in his chair so he’s facing forward. I do the same.

  “What time is it?” he asks.

  I reach into my purse for my phone to check. “Almost six-twenty. Only two more hours to Aberdeen.”

  “I’m here for the semester.” He blurts it out, as if it’s something he’s been trying to say but hasn’t found the right words. “A semester of electives, and then a year of travel.”

  “A year? Won’t that make it hard to graduate?”

  He leans in to the window. “My parents bought me an open-ended ticket. I don’t have a return date for Minnesota. Not yet. And my dad has some pull at my university. In exchange for a small donation to the alumni association, they are freezing my records for two semesters should I choose not to return immediately after my studies abroad.”

  His words are clipped, his tone tinged with irritation.

  “That sounded a little rehearsed.”

  He lets out a breath. “Probably because it is. I don’t know how else to say it other than the way it’s written in the letter from the university. No matter how it comes out, you’re gonna think the same thing.”

  “What? You’re lucky you don’t have to make up your mind yet? That your parents aren’t hounding you to make a decision affecting the next few decades of your life?”

  He shakes his head. “And spoiled, wealthy asshole isn’t hiding behind your little rant?”

  His smile teases me.

  “I’m not judging you, Griffin. I might envy you, but I don’t judge you.”

  Because I might have this year to figure out what I want as far as a career goes, but my freedom is short-lived and under the constant, albeit distant, watchful eye of my parents.

  “I don’t know if you still have your mind made up about me, but look.” He holds up both hands to show me his clean palms, and I understand the purpose of the gesture. “Go out with me tonight.”

  My eyes fall to my lap, and a twinge of guilt interrupts thoughts of the guy who walks around with his favorite book, a guy who knew I wanted him to kiss me before I could voice the thought to myself, and a guy who couldn’t get away from me fast enough after one little text.

  Noah’s kiss made it clear I’ve been missing out. Griffin asks for n
o more than right now. Tonight. But the idea of where one night could lead scares me because I know who he is. He did turn down a phone number for me, but really, isn’t that because of convenience? Yet Griffin, a guy who admittedly bows out before things get serious, might be just what I need to help take serious out of the equation.

  Stop thinking, Jordan. It’s one night.

  I turn enough to face the seat in front of me but say nothing until I lean my head onto his shoulder.

  “Okay.”

  His tension relaxes as we touch. Slowly, he lowers his face toward my hair and inhales.

  Arrival

  “Love felt and returned, love which our bodies exact and our hearts have transfigured, love which is the most real thing that we shall ever meet, reappeared now as the world’s enemy, and she must stifle it.”

  E. M. Forster

  A Room with a View

  Chapter Four

  It’s nine p.m. by the time we finally make it from the train station in downtown Aberdeen to our resident housing, known as Hillhead. I barely have time to drop my bag in my tiny room before there’s a knock on the main door of my flat. My flat-mate isn’t here, so I hesitate, but the knocking sounds again. When I answer, I’m relieved to see that it’s Griffin, but also a little disappointed. I was hoping to have time to unpack, get the lay of the land and meet the person I’ll be living with for the next ten months, but I can tell by his set stare, eyebrows raised in expectation, that nothing of the sort is going to happen.

  “Come on,” he coaxes, grabbing my arm. “We’re going to the Blue Lantern. It’s a pub on campus. I met one of my neighbors, and he said it’s one of the more popular student hangouts.” He pauses for a moment and surveys my flat. “Wow. My place sucks compared to this. I’ve got pretty much your standard dorm room.”

  He steps inside the narrow hallway that boasts two closed doors and two open. The closed doorways face the main door. One belongs to me. The other, I assume, my roommate’s. A communal kitchen sits farther down the hall on the left. Opposite that is a shared bathroom. I see all of this from the main doorway, which doesn’t say much for the size of the flat, but the layout works.