by RC Boldt
Which is when I go in for the kill.
Leaning close to Simon—far closer than is permitted between two heterosexual men—I make my voice husky. “So what do you say, Sim?” I huff out a hot breath against his ear, and he jerks back. “Want to get out of here? You and me?”
The fear in the man’s eyes would be hilarious if it were any other situation. Doing my best to maintain eye contact and give him my best “sultry” look—whatever the hell that even is—he moves hastily off his barstool, pulling out his wallet and plucking out some bills before tossing it back on the bar, mumbling something about having to go.
Phew.
After he’s gone, I turn to take in the scene to my right. Maggie is talking with a guy, and he actually doesn’t scream “douche,” which I begrudgingly admit. Very begrudgingly.
“Hey, man,” I interrupt them, holding out my hand to him. “Ry James, Maggie’s roommate. Nice to meet you.”
There’s no way I can miss the way Maggie’s smile tightens, knowing what’s on the verge of happening. What’s been happening for a while now. Every single time.
Ever since that night she deemed as our last.
The guy reaches out, shaking my hand firmly. “Hey, Ry. Nice to meet you. Tanner Matthews.”
Tanner. I hate him. Don’t know him—don’t have to. I dislike him and every bit of his perfect, easy, friendly smile, his nice clothes, and kind eyes. It only gets worse.
“I work over at Eastern Sports as tech infrastructure lead.” I let it hang out there because surely, this will do it. It’ll be the zinger. But all I receive is a polite, “Cool,” with a short nod before he turns back to Maggie, resuming their conversation about … laziness?
What the fuck?
“So you’ve got the good genes, too?” he asks her with a smile. “I avoid the gym like the plague. Except for once a week since my best friend pressures me into going.”
“Yes! Exactly,” Maggie agrees excitedly. “Same here.”
“My weakness is the Cantina’s lobster burrito.” Tanner pats his flat stomach. “Those are the best.”
What. The. Fuck.
Now, I’m getting weirded out because that’s Maggie’s—
“That’s my weakness there, too,” Maggie says, astonishment lining her tone.
—weakness, too. Did this guy dig up some intel on her somehow?
“Well”—he lowers his voice, like he’s going to say something embarrassing—“to be honest, my all-time favorite indulgence is Max Londons’ white sangria.” He holds up both palms in defense. “I know, it’s not the least bit manly, but their sangria is the best.”
I think I’m going to puke.
Hopefully, all over Tanner.
The look on Maggie’s face is priceless. “That’s mine, too.” She tosses a glance over at me, her tone full of surprise with a hint of wonder. “Seriously, Tanner. I love the sangria there.”
“Well, what do you say we go and have some? I mean,” he hesitates, a sheepish grin on his face, “if you want to, that is. No pressure.” He turns a friendly smile on me. “You too, Ry.”
He can’t possibly be this friendly. There’s just no fucking way.
Maggie slides off her barstool, and he’s the one who reaches out to steady her when her heel slips a bit upon the slick bar floor.
His hand steadies her. Not mine.
The center of my chest pinches at the expression on her face as she looks up at him. “Thanks.” She smiles. “Let me use the restroom real quick, and we can head over to Max’s.”
“Take your time.” He winks and watches her make her way through the crowded bar. And begrudgingly, I have to give the guy credit. His eyes follow Maggie—not her ass. They actually follow her, and the way he’s watching her is—
Abruptly, he turns to me, flashing an apologetic look. “Sorry, man. I guess I’m a little …” He shrugs, faltering for his words. “… dazzled. She’s just great, you know?”
Yeah. I know.
He laughs. “What am I saying? Of course, you know. You live with her, after all, right?” He slides his hands in his pockets, still looking at me with that friendly expression. It makes me want to kick him in the junk while simultaneously feel like shit for thinking that because he just seems … nice.
Nice. And exactly the kind of guy Maggie’s looking for. He’s the kind of guy who would adore her, who wouldn’t think of doing her wrong.
One who wouldn’t consider lying to her just to find a way to be close to her and get to know her.
Chapter Forty-Five
Maggie
November
What is wrong with me? There has to be something wrong with me. Maybe I’ve contracted Ebola? West Nile virus? Yellow fever?
When I call Sarah on my lunch break, she thinks I’m hilarious. And delusional.
“You don’t have a contagious disease, Maggie. I’ve already run down the symptoms, and you have none of them.”
I’d like to note that her bored tone is not appreciated.
“There has to be something wrong. Because Tanner’s perfect. He’s smart and funny and has a great job and thinks I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread.”
“But,” Sarah leads in.
“But I …” I huff out a long breath, disgusted with myself. “I don’t know what it is. I just don’t …”
“Feel anything for him past friendship.” She says it as a statement, knowing me too well.
“Yes.” My answer comes out with a whoosh of defeated breath. Leaning my forehead against my desk calendar, I let out a soft groan. “What’s wrong with me? I told a perfectly perfect guy I couldn’t see him anymore.”
My question is greeted with silence. “Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Ummm, a little help here, please?”
She huffs. “Maggie, what do you want me to tell you, exactly? That what you’re looking for is right in front of you? Or that—” She’s interrupted, and I hear voices in the background. “Sorry, Maggie. I have to run. They’re shorthanded today, and I need to cut my break short. Call me later, okay, sweetie? But you’re going to be fine. I promise.”
We say our hurried goodbyes, and I hang up my desk phone. Only to have it ring a second later.
Wearily, I glance at the caller ID. On a day like today, a call from him barely brings a smile to my lips.
“Mags, Mags, Mags. What’s wrong?”
Slumping back in my desk chair, I sigh. “I don’t know. I’m just in a funk.”
“You can’t be in a funk on a Friday. It’s illegal.”
My lips curve upward just slightly. “Pretty sure that’s not even a bit true.”
“Ah, but it got you to smile just a tiny bit more.”
“Ryland James! Are you spying on me again? Didn’t they make you give those binoculars back?”
“I may have forgotten to return them.”
My smile widens a notch. “You’re such a creeper.”
“Only for you, gorgeous.” His voice sounds huskier, more intimate, sending shivers down my spine. “Only for you.”
Did I say that those shivers went down my spine? Well, those shivers also have an effect on other areas, too. Like downtown. You know what I’m saying?
Panties damp? Oh, yes. Which means I’m in trouble. Because Tanner doesn’t make my panties damp. They stay Sahara-dry around him.
Umm, wow. That’s just weird sounding, but you get the point. Good God, I’m so screwed up. Sarah has to be wrong. I have to be coming down with something major.
“You feeling all right?” Ry’s tone is concerned, and I realize I’ve been massaging my temples.
“You really need to stop spying on me, Ry.” My tone is sharper than I intended, and I am instantly remorseful.
Especially with Ry’s quiet response. “Sorry, Mags. I’ll leave you be.”
With a soft click, the call ends, leaving me to feel like a complete jerk.
* * *
Once I finally drag my weary butt home, I ente
r the apartment only to find it eerily silent.
“Ry?” I call out hesitantly.
When I don’t receive a response, the knot in my stomach tightens. My boss had bombarded me after my lunch break ended; the far side of my desk still piled high with files and paperwork I’ll need to tackle bright and early on Monday.
Glancing over at the clock, I cringe at how late it is. Nearly six forty-five. I’m selfish for even expecting Ry to be here after the way our call ended. Not to mention, I was barely keeping my head above water the remainder of the day and hadn’t had time to breathe—meetings back-to-back—let alone time to call him back.
“I should have made time,” I mutter, tossing my briefcase onto one of the barstools and shrugging off my coat onto the back of the stool. And that’s when I see the note on the counter.
Didn’t want to bother you, but if you feel up to it come out and join me and Jack at The Parting Glass.
Love,
Ry
Clutching the note like it’s a lifeline, I feel the tightness in my chest ease. He can’t be that mad at me if he’s inviting me out, right?
So then why the heck am I bummed that he’s with Jack?
“Geez, Maggie! You just want it all, don’t you?” I grumble, hurrying to my room to change. Tearing open my closet doors, I frantically scan for something to wear. Fall is definitely upon us now, and I love the fact that I can fully embrace sweater weather.
Choosing a thin, strappy camisole and a forest green off-the-shoulder sweater, I slide on my favorite pair of dark jeans and my favorite light gold-hued Christian Louboutin peep-toed heels. Retouching my makeup, I choose a darker lipstick, smoothing my curls in an attempt to make them appear less unruly.
Notice I said attempt. I’m not a miracle worker here.
Cleaning up the makeup supplies on my bathroom counter, I place them back in their designated spots. And freeze.
My eyes slowly travel up to my reflection in the mirror as I’m hit with the realization. I’m going to far greater lengths to join a friend out at the bar on a Friday night than I’ve done for any of my random dates in recent months.
Swallowing hard while I stare at myself in the mirror, I’m faced with an undeniable fact. I’ve just gone to all this trouble to try to make myself as pretty as possible for a guy. But not just any guy. For my roommate. For my gay roommate. The one I’m—
“Say it, Maggie. Just say it,” I whisper the words to the mirror’s reflection.
Like a total weirdo. But I don’t care because facts are facts, regardless of whether you want them to be.
“I’m in love with Ry.”
My whispered words seem to echo in my mind the entire walk to the elevator, as I travel down to the lobby, and as I walk the two blocks to The Parting Glass.
While part of me is relieved to voice it—even if it’s only to myself—the other part of me is scared to death.
Because seriously. Of course, I’d be the one to fall in love with a freaking gay guy. It’s just my luck.
And I have no clue what to do about it.
Chapter Forty-Six
Ry
I hate the way things ended today with Maggie. Which is why I made sure to leave a note. I just hope she sees it and decides to come out.
I shouldn’t have hung up so abruptly, but I … I’d gotten my damn feelings hurt like a little kid. And I should’ve known better. It was clear that Maggie had been having a rough day.
“So you’re planning to tell her tonight?” Jack asks, eyeing me as he takes a swig of his beer.
Nodding, I blow out a long breath. My eyes drift over to the main entrance every so often, silently begging her to show. “I have to. I can’t do this anymore.”
He clinks the neck of his beer bottle against mine. “It’s the right thing, man.” He smirks. “Plus, you’ve been a terrible boyfriend. You never put out.”
“You’re hilarious.”
My eyes flicker over to the doors once again, and it’s at that moment that I feel my jaw slacken.
“Holy shit.” Maggie looks … Hell, I don’t even know how to describe her. She looks so fucking gorgeous yet also like … a wet dream come true.
“What?” Jack twists to see what’s snagged my attention, quickly turning back around and letting out a slow whistle. “Is she meeting someone here tonight?”
Fuck. “I hope to hell not.”
My hope increases when she stops at our table. “Hey, guys.” She smiles down at Jack and me before her eyes fall back to rest on me. “Mind if I join you?”
Wordlessly, I step out of the booth we’re sitting in to let her slide in. And that’s when it happens.
She begins uncinching the wide belt at the waist of her black, knee-length coat, and the moment the lapels part, my breath stutters as I reach out to help her out of it. Because that sweater, the way the one side slips off her shoulder, baring creamy skin that begs me to touch it, kiss it, and lick it over and ov—
Then I catch sight of her shoes. Fuck-me shoes. Sweet Jesus. The images flickering through my mind right now of her bare legs wrapped around me with only those heels on …
She’s trying to kill me. That’s the only explanation.
Please, God. Let her not be here to meet another guy. Please.
Sliding in beside her, I look over to see her smiling up at me, her lips painted a deep, rich dark pink color, and I have to shift in my seat, adjusting myself.
“Well, I hate to cut out early but”—Jack makes it a point to check the time on his watch—“I’ve got to call it a night.”
“So soon?” Maggie frowns. “But the sign out front says the band’s going to start playing in a bit.”
Jack flashes her a remorseful look. “Sorry, Maggie. I have meetings tomorrow, too, and I have to prep.” When his eyes flicker over to me, I realize what he’s doing. He gives me a nearly imperceptible nod, moving out of the booth to stand. I stand again, shake hands, and he pulls me in for a brief hug. Maggie slides out, stepping up to hug him good-bye.
“Take good care of him, Maggie.” With a quick wink, he’s off, weaving through the growing crowd and making his way to the exit.
Maggie turns to me. “Can we talk for a moment?”
Warily, I try to gauge her expression but come up empty. “Sure.” I take Jack’s seat as she slides back in on the other side of the booth, facing me.
Leaning her arms on the table, her focus drops to her hands. Taking a deep breath, her eyes rise to meet mine, and I see nervousness shining in the depths. “Can I ask about you and Jack?”
“Of course.”
“Well, here’s the thing. I—” She breaks off with a nervous laugh, looking away, her eyes drifting over the crowd among us. Turning back to me, her gaze has a unique intensity. “I wanted to know if you and Jack were still … together in any way?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not at all. We’re just friends.”
Her lips curve upward in a relieved smile. “Okay, good.”
“But I wanted to tell you—”
Holding up a hand to stop me, she shakes her head. “I don’t need to know anything else.” When my lips part to protest, she interrupts. “Please. Not tonight.”
I can’t argue with her hopeful, pleading expression. Not when she looks at me like that.
Nodding slowly, I say, “Okay.” All the while, my mind is screaming, Tell her! Tell her now!
The band, which had been setting up, starts playing a song, and Maggie’s face lights up. She pops up from her seat, which has her back to the band, and comes around to slide in beside me to watch them perform.
Moving over to make more room, my right arm drapes along the back of the seat behind her. What happens next makes my heart nearly beat out of my chest.
Maggie slides in closer to my side, her scent drifting over me. Here, sitting like this with her, just the two of us, I feel like this is how it could be.
Just me and my Mags.
My eyes take in her profile, the soft c
urves of her cheekbones, the sharp bridge of her nose and her lips, lush and kissable.
When she turns, catching me watching her, her expression is curious. “Ry?”
Leaning in, I drag my lips against hers, her soft exhale washing against them. Burying my fingers in her hair, I tease her more, taking her bottom lip between my own before leaning back.
Maggie’s eyes drift open, and I witness such intense heat in them, but there’s more. Something else flickering in the depths. Something that gives me pause.
I want to say a million different things right now. But they’re jumbled in my brain because I want to say them right. Because I have to say them right.
“Maggie, I …”
She presses a finger to my lips, stopping me. “Just … answer this.” Her gaze is searching, pressing her lips thin, as if apprehensive. “Do you want to … be with me?”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Maggie
I’m holding my breath waiting for Ry’s answer, the hope and fear warring inside me. I know I just posed a loaded question, and maybe he won’t see through it and see what I’m really asking.
Do you want to be with me the way I want to be with you?
Do you love me?
Wonderful. Now, I’m thinking along the lines of Do you like me? Check yes or no. Could I possibly be more lame?
Just when I’m about to rescind my question—to try to laugh it off—his lips curve upward in what has to be classified as one of the sexiest yet sweetest smiles I’ve seen.
Leaning in, he brushes the tip of his nose against mine, and his eyes remain locked on me. But when he answers, I find myself gasping at the sincerity—and vehement certainty—in his words.
“More than anything in the world.”
Both hands delve into my hair, his lips crashing against mine in a hungry kiss, and when his tongue sweeps inside, heady arousal strums through me. When he breaks the kiss, his lust-hazed eyes meet mine, intense heat in the depths.
“Can we …” Trailing off, I worry my bottom lip.
