The Real Thing

by Lizzie Shane

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Maggie’s optimism lasted until approximately seven twenty-two, when she was sitting on the steps leading up to Ian’s front door wondering if he would actually avoid coming back to his own home just to stand her up.

  Her cell phone sat on her lap, useless because she’d realized too late that they hadn’t exchanged phone numbers. They’d always just run into one another. On the beach. At the market. At the Tipsy Gull. Or he would knock on her door. It had seemed natural and convenient—no phones needed—until she was sitting on his steps feeling like an idiot and wondering exactly how much self-esteem she was losing by waiting for him when she probably should have gone home in a huff already.

  He could be lying in a ditch somewhere. Or stuck in traffic—though there wasn’t much in the way of traffic in Long Shores. It was much more likely that he’d just forgotten or lost track of time and hadn’t realized until she did that they didn’t have any way of reaching one another. She would not let her insecurities convince her that he’d decided to move to Seattle on the spot to avoid her. That kind of ridiculousness had no place in her thoughts, thank you very much.

  Cecil padded around, sniffing the grass at the edge of the driveway, cheerfully oblivious to his mistress’s impending nervous breakdown on the steps.

  Maggie stood, picking up the bottle of wine she now felt like an idiot for walking all the way into town to buy this afternoon, and started back down the path toward Lolly’s house, when the sound of a truck engine stopped her in her tracks and made her breath catch with the force of her relief.

  The truck skidded into the driveway and Ian was leaping out of it almost before it had stopped rocking. “I’m sorry!” He jogged toward her, Cecil barking in greeting. “I forgot how late sunset is this time of year. I was so close to finishing and now I’m sweaty and I don’t have anything prepared for dinner—”

  “It’s okay.” Her relief made her giddy and she couldn’t help smiling at the flood of words.

  “Did you know I don’t have any way of reaching you? Phone. Email. Twitter. Nothing.” He bent and kissed her cheek, the ease of the greeting making her knees wobble. He seemed so different from the man who hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough this morning. So comfortable.

  “I did realize that.”

  He fished his phone out of his jeans pocket. “Can you please put your number in here? Or I can give you mine if you don’t give out your number—”

  “I think I trust you with my phone number.” She accepted his phone, falling into step beside him as they started toward the house.

  He nodded toward the wine in her other hand. “That is an excellent idea.”

  “Rough day?”

  “Long day. But I finished. Mr. Kim officially has a deck. If that doesn’t call for a celebration, I don’t know what does.” He held the front door open for her, taking the wine from her hands. “It’s even chilled. Has anyone ever told you you’re a goddess?”

  She grinned. “Once or twice.”

  Cecil darted into the house as well, scampering to sniff every corner in case it had changed since the last time he was here.

  “Let me get us some glasses, then I’ll take the world’s fastest shower and see what we have in the way of food in the house.” He jerked his chin toward his cell phone, still in her hands. “Number.”

  “You really should lock this,” she told him as he made quick work of uncorking the wine.

  “In Long Shores we don’t even lock our houses and you want me to lock my phone?”

  “You should probably lock both.”

  “We’re a community built on trust.” He poured two glasses, sliding one over to her as she finished entering her number into his phone and set it on the breakfast bar. “That’s the reason to live here. We could move closer to Sadie’s school, but where else would I be able to let her go run on the beach without worrying about her. Everyone in this town knows her and looks out for her. She can be independent here—even if the idea of her being independent scares the shit out of me half the time.”

  He made a good point. There was something different about Long Shores. It wasn’t just the faded storefronts that made it feel like a throwback to another time. Sadie would never be able to roam the way she did if she lived someplace like LA.

  Would Ian be open to moving down there? There wasn’t much of a film industry on the Oregon-Washington border.

  But she was getting ahead of herself. Ian rushing home, dirty and sweaty from a hard day of work, and apologizing for being late for dinner might be a cute little domestic scene, but that didn’t mean he was ready to play house—even if Cecil had already made himself at home, softly snoring beneath Ian’s coffee table.

  She eyed the smear of dirt along his neck below his beard. “Why don’t you take a shower while I come up with dinner?”

  Ian’s eyebrows flew up as he glanced at her over his wine glass.

  “Sandwiches,” she clarified. “Even I can handle sandwiches.”

  He rubbed a hand across his beard and grinned. “You know I think I’m filthy enough to take you up on that. Do you mind?”

  “Go. I’ve got this.” She shooed him toward the master bedroom, turning to take stock of the fridge so she wouldn’t watch him go.

  Last night should have taken the edge off. She shouldn’t want him like this. He wasn’t onstage with a spotlight shining down on him, but apparently her libido didn’t care if he was covered in grime and sweat—he flipped all her switches. Even the sexy repairman switch she hadn’t known she had.

  If she were playing the part of Maggie Tate, Sex Goddess, she would forget about the sandwiches and join him in the shower. Or maybe bring him a sandwich and be waiting for him naked when he got out? Because a man needed sustenance, after all.

  With any of her exes, that’s what she would have done—and they would have expected it of her. That was the part she played. But when she wasn’t playing a part, she didn’t know what to do.

  She felt brave when she was with him, didn’t she? She felt strong? Like she could be whoever she wanted to be? So who did she want to be when she wasn’t trying to be what everyone wanted her to be? And why did that question sound like the riddle of the sphinx?

  Maggie eyed the contents of the fridge without really seeing them. To seduce or not to seduce, that was the question. Now all she had to do was figure out the answer.

  * * * * *

  Ian stripped out of his work clothes, dropping them on the bathroom floor and kicking them aside before stepping beneath the steaming spray. He quickly scrubbed off the residue of his day, impatient to get back to Maggie.

  He’d been impatient to get back to Maggie ever since he left this morning—which was part of why he’d smothered the urge to check his phone every fifteen minutes and intentionally refused to look at the time until the job was done. He’d needed to prove that he was stronger than the pull back to her—because if he couldn’t put her out of his head now, how was he going to do it when she left for good?

  But he hadn’t meant to make himself late.

  He’d thought the sun was too high in the sky for it to be nearly seven, stupidly forgetting that this time of year the days were getting longer every day. When he’d finally looked at his phone, he’d felt like a prize idiot—and panic had spiked in his blood at the thought that she might not be there when he got home. What movie star waited around for a freaking handyman who was twenty minutes late?

  But she had. And the depth of his relief when he’d seen her had confirmed what a fool he was for thinking he could stay aloof.

  All the more reason to keep things friendly tonight. No more sex. No more complications. Sadie would be back tomorrow and she was already too attached to—

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Ian whirled around, slapping a hand against the tile when his footing slipped. He gawked as Maggie stepped around the edge of the frosted glass wall that separated the
massive walk-in shower from the rest of the master bath.

  A completely naked Maggie.

  All the reasons they shouldn’t be involved evaporated from his brain.

  She had a tattoo on her hip.

  He hadn’t noticed it in the low light the night before, but now in the bright light of the shower the lines were faintly visible—white ink on her creamy skin, almost mistakable for a scar if it hadn’t been in the intricate, unmistakable shape of a thorn-studded rose. His gaze traced the lines of that tattoo—and everything else.

  God, she was gorgeous. Built for the silver screen. Her lips were curved in a sexy little invitation of a smile—but there was a question in her eyes and when he saw it he knew he was a goner.

  “Shit.” He cursed softly, reaching for her, and Maggie met him halfway. They came together beneath the spray, kissing urgently, as the water pounded into his shoulders.

  It could only be tonight, he knew that, but damn he was gonna make this night count.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The master bedroom had a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the beach, but it was the angled skylight that had the Sunday morning sun hitting him like God’s flashlight. Ian groaned and rolled away from the glare, his body curling around Maggie’s as he breathed in the scent of her hair.

  Neither of them had gotten much sleep last night. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her, but now the Sunday morning sunlight reminded him that his real life wouldn’t wait.

  He needed to get on the road soon. He had to pick up Sadie.

  Ian groaned softly and shifted against Maggie, savoring the sleek softness of her in his arms for a few more minutes. The blankets had twisted around her in the night again—not a restful sleeper, his Maggie. He stroked a hand down her hip beneath the covers, to where her tattoo was hidden. Maggie stirred, sighing without opening her eyes, and settled more snugly against him.

  The sun gilded her bleach blonde hair as she shoved it away from her face with one hand, groaning softly in protest as the light from the skylight hit her closed eyelids.

  “Wake up, Maggie…” He sang softly against the silky skin of her shoulder.

  “You think you’ve got something to say to me?” she asked sleepily, twisting toward him and opening her eyes.

  “Mm.” He hummed against the curve of her neck. “Lots of things.”

  And no time to say any of them. He needed to get out of bed, but as her fingers traced a pattern on his arm he kissed up to the shell of her ear.

  “Do you remember when I picked that stage name?” she asked, the words as soft as Sunday morning.

  He had a vague memory of singing to her when they were kids, but the details blurred. “You always loved that song.”

  “I loved you singing that song,” she corrected. “And I always hated the name Dolores.”

  “I remember. I called you Dolores once to tease you.”

  She shifted in his arms, pushing away so she could see his face. “I don’t remember that.”

  “I do. The look on your face is engraved in my memory. I think we were about ten. And I was lucky I could run faster than you. I never made that mistake again.”

  Her gaze tracked over his face. “You were the first person to call me Maggie.”

  Ian frowned. “I thought it was Lolly.”

  Maggie shook her head. “You’d been practicing that song, singing it for me all afternoon. I couldn’t get enough of it—though I’m pretty sure I had no idea what the song was really about at the time.”

  He laughed. “I probably didn’t either.”

  “I just loved how the lyrics kept saying you couldn’t leave me if you tried.”

  Ian studied her face, so close to his. For a girl who kept being left, those words must have meant more than he could have imagined as a careless teenager who just wanted to impress a girl.

  “You walked me home that day before you had to go back to Seattle, and you called me Maggie May. Lolly heard you and called me Maggie May all week to tease me—and it kind of stuck. When you came back the next weekend, I told you my stage name was going to be Maggie May. You joked that it should be Maggie Will, as in Maggie will be famous, and I started thinking of all the horrible headlines critics could come up with if I called myself Maggie May. Maggie may be the worst actress in history. Maggie may think she has what it takes, but Maggie won’t ever make it.” She made a face. “We were listening to The Fifth Horseman. You were going through a hardcore Lorenzo Tate phase and you suggested Maggie Tate.”

  “I don’t remember that.” He shook his head. ”The Great Maggie Tate. All because of Rod Stewart and Lorenzo Tate.”

  “And you.”

  He shifted, uncomfortable with the credit. He slid his arm out from under her. “I should get moving. I told my mom I’d pick Sadie up this morning.”

  In the main room, Cecil yipped and Maggie sat up in bed. “He probably needs to go out. Do you know what time it is?”

  He glanced to the bedside table, frowning when his phone wasn’t in its usual dock. “Did you see where I left my phone?”

  “Is it still in the kitchen? From when I put my number in it?”

  Ian cursed under his breath and climbed out of bed, grabbing a pair of boxers and donning them on the move. Cecil darted into the bedroom as soon as he opened the door, yipping as Ian passed him, moving quickly in the opposite direction.

  What kind of father told his daughter she could call him any time and then left his phone in the freaking kitchen while he spent the night getting it on with a movie star? He’d spoken to her yesterday afternoon before Lincoln’s family picked her up to go to batting practice, but what if something had gone wrong? What if she needed him?

  He snatched up his phone, his heart spasming when he saw several missed text messages. No missed calls, but what kid these days chose to call when they could text? He pulled up the messages—all from last night, all from his mother’s phone—and read through them quickly.

  They weren’t from Sadie, just updates from his mother, but his relief was short-lived.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Ian’s head snapped up and he turned to see Maggie wearing one of his shirts, standing in the bedroom doorway, the sight of her amplifying his guilt with the reminder of exactly what he’d been doing all night while he was ignoring his phone.

  “I have to go.” He should have left already. “My mother texted me last night. Sadie wouldn’t talk to her when she got home from the game last night.”

  Something was wrong.

  “Maybe she was tired?”

  Ian shook his head. “You don’t know her. She lives for those games. It takes her hours to wind down and she’ll recap every single pitch if you let her. Last night, she wouldn’t even say what the score was.” His mother was worried. She wouldn’t have texted five times at eleven o’clock at night if she hadn’t been worried. He cursed under his breath, moving quickly back to the bedroom to grab the closest pair of jeans and a shirt. He should already be on the road. Even if he sped he couldn’t make the drive in less than three hours—and that was assuming he didn’t run into any traffic on the way. “I should be there already. If I’d gotten this last night—”

  He could have left right away. But his freaking phone had been in the freaking kitchen.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No.” The word was sharper than he’d intended, harder, and he caught her flinch out of the corner of his eye as he searched for his keys. Nothing was where it usually was. “Where the fuck are my keys?”

  “Did you leave them in a pocket?”

  His jeans. Right. Before the shower sex.

  He went into the bathroom, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor and fishing out both his keys and his wallet from his jeans.

  “Is there anything I can do…?”

  “No. I just need to get there.” He knew he was being a dick and forced himself to stop at
her side when his every instinct told him he needed to be running to his truck. He brushed her arm and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t worry about locking up when you leave.”

  * * * * *

  Maggie watched Ian flee like he was being chased by werewolves for the second time in as many days waking up with him—though at least this time she knew it wasn’t her he was trying to escape. It was obvious he was worried about Sadie. She worried too, even as she hoped he was overreacting. Sadie was safely with her grandmother even if she’d been quiet after the game. That didn’t sound too horrible, but Ian knew his daughter and the fact that he was freaked out was freaking her out.

  Maggie padded back to the bedroom with Cecil to collect her clothes, kicking herself for leaving his phone in the kitchen. Neither of them had thought about anything but each other through the night—and it had been wonderful, but now…

  Don’t worry about locking up when you leave weren’t exactly the parting words she’d envisioned. They sounded an awful lot like don’t let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.

  She reached for her phone to text him, just to request he let her know when he got there if everything was okay—but as soon as she unlocked it she realized that she’d given him her number, not the other way around. She still had no way of reaching him.

  Had he done that on purpose? Just to keep that little bit of distance between them?

  No. She refused to go into a paranoia spiral. She wouldn’t overthink this. He had to get his daughter, that was all. When he got back, everything would be fine. Everything was fine. Sadie had probably just been tired. Ian had been primed to worry about the game all week. That was all this was.

  Maggie would do exactly what he’d asked of her—gather up her things and lock up when she left—and then she’d see him and Sadie when they got back later this afternoon. It was fine. It was, damn it. If this was her meant-to-be, she wasn’t going to screw it up like she had every other relationship in her life. This time it would be different. She would be different. And everything would work out.