Finally he says something, his tone soft and careful. “I’m not judging you, Maggie. I’m trying to make you see you don’t have to play a role. You’re not the same person you were three years ago. But guess what? I still love you. Because the real you is in here.”
He rests his palm over my heart, and I roll my eyes despite his gesture tugging at my insides. I guess Griffin’s not the only master of deflection. Miles is the closest person in my life other than my grandmother, yet I hold him at a distance, too—self-preservation as much as it is my attempt to keep him safe as well.
“You’re a pain in the ass sometimes. You know that?”
I smile at this. “You mean beyond the Jess-Logan debate? Because you’ll lose that argument.”
He sighs. “It’s not an argument, only who has the magnetic pull. Logan’s pole happens to attract mine. Jess attracts yours.”
I let out a wild laugh followed by a snort. “You did not just talk about poles attracting poles.”
Finally he grins, the mischievous one I’m sure attracts many…poles.
“Innuendo aside, think about it, Mags. Rory thinks Jess needs fixing and wants to be the one to save him or fix him or whatever. But that never works, trying to make someone who you want them to be—who you think they should be. It’s not your job to fix him…or protect him, and it sure as hell isn’t your job to fix you. You’re not broken. You’re who you always were, only different. Stop trying to be who you think you should be and be who you are. That’s the Maggie I want. And I’m pretty sure it’s the one he wants, too.”
I grab his chin, letting it rest in my palm while I plant a kiss on his lips.
“You think you’re pretty smart with your Gilmore Girls psychoanalysis.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, as I start to exit the vehicle. “You know, for the ride and reminding you how amazing you are.”
I slam the door and walk around to the trunk, rapping my palm on it so he’ll pop it open.
“Lemme help…” he starts, but I interrupt him before he’s out of his seat.
“I got it,” I tell him. “You know, because I’m amazing and everything. I think I can carry my own bag.”
The trunk pops open, and I grab the small suitcase without a problem.
“Thank you,” I say when I make my way to his window. “For the ride.”
I head up to my apartment, realizing I never gave Miles the rest of the details about last night. It doesn’t matter. What happened, happened, and I can’t change that. But Griffin’s still here. He saw a hidden piece of me, and he didn’t run. That’s something.
So when my phone buzzes with a text, I’m only a little shocked that it’s him.
Griffin: Nat found out about my phone call and wants to throw me a ‘Finally Growing Up’ party. Can’t say I like the title, but a party is a party, right? Say you’ll be there? It’s Friday night.
I laugh at Nat’s name for the party, but it takes nothing away from the pride spilling from the spaces between Griffin’s words.
Me: Wouldn’t miss it. Just tell me where and when.
Griffin: I can pick you up.
Me: I’m working, but Miles will let me out of closing. Means I’ll be a little late. But you can take me home. If you want.
His reply is immediate.
Griffin: Deal. Don’t be surprised if I’m ready to leave as soon as you arrive, then.
I bite my lip, but the grin is too big to hold back.
Me: Deal.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t wait for Friday night—or to show someone my place. To show him my place. To show him me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Griffin
The Kitty Cat Klub is a place where a crowded party can masquerade as something more intimate. I picture me and Maggie tucked away in the corner of one of the plush sofa booths, ignoring the throngs of people. It’s not like anyone else gives a shit that I’m pissing away parental support in search of who knows what. They’re all here for the open bar.
“Why are you empty handed?” Davis collapses onto the booth next to me, his signature Tanq and Tonic in hand. Though after one sip, he’s left with a glass full of gin-flavored ice.
“Because you’re drinking enough for both of us already.”
He crunches a sliver of ice and sets the glass on the table in front of us.
“Wrong answer,” he says and waves Nat over, who’s busy with the server assigned to our little gathering.
“Is he sick or dying or something? Or maybe this is an intervention?” Davis looks at me and shrugs. “I mean, I never thought you’d go through with it, but I at least wanted in on the gig.”
Natalie’s eyes narrow at my friend, and I silently revel in the reaction I know is coming.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Davis? No he’s not dying. And who cares if he’s not drinking? Is it some sort of badge of honor to slur your words by nine o’clock?”
God I love to watch her hate on Davis, have loved it for years.
Davis keeps his eyes trained on her as he speaks. “Reed, did you know your sister is hot as hell when she’s pissed at me? It’s a passionate sort of pissiness, don’t you think? Did I mention she’s hot?”