by Mariah Dietz
He glowers at me, but turns, making a sweeping gesture with one arm with a silent offer of his seat.
Maggie looks at me, but I shake my head, too antsy to sit. She beams. “One day, your future wifey is going to thank us for all your good manners.”
“I have a feeling your future husband won’t be giving us the same appreciation speech,” he quips.
Maggie scowls. Pax finally softens, offering a weak grin.
I will miss this. Poking and prodding at one another. The silent bonds that band us together and keep us coming back. The next time we meet like this, more than just time will have passed. Memories and experiences will have changed each of us.
Maggie starts to make a wisecrack, but I miss it, going to help hold the door open as a large family makes it toward the door, the mom carrying a toddler and the dad carrying a car seat with an infant. While I’m holding the door open, an elderly couple passes through, and then a man in a motorized scooter who stops briefly to thank me.
I start to move away but stop as I catch sight of someone else making their way toward the entrance, my gaze back on Maggie and Pax, who are clearly bantering as they exchange words and laughter.
“Found your keys?”
My heart aches as it speeds up, going from a resting rate to completing a marathon in one second flat. The spice of his cologne wraps around me, drugging me into a haze that has flashes of last night blinding me. His hands on my skin, my breast. His mouth hot and greedy, taking more than it gave. I swallow the mean words that surface with the memories. “Yeah. Thanks for driving it back. You didn’t have to.”
Lincoln’s brown eyes rake across my face, reading each of my features like a diagram. “I know you’re upset with me,” his voice is husky, his eyes remorseful. I don’t want to listen to him, but I also can’t seem to move, my feet rooted in place, waiting to hear everything he has to say. “I don’t mean to keep hurting you. I hate that I hurt you.”
His words tangle with memories from last night: the way he let me go so easily, his rapt attention on others at the table, the way he only came back once they were mostly gone. “You’re making this sound complicated, and it’s not. You’re not interested.” I shrug. “It’s that simple.”
“If it was simple, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be able to sleep at night. I’d forget the way you feel and bury myself into someone with less baggage, who I wouldn’t care half as much if they came out on the other side hating me. Nothing about this is simple.” His chest heaves as he expels a deep breath that clouds. I want to capture the tiny molecules in my mouth like one catches snowflakes, but instead, I watch as they quickly vanish.
“I can’t be this girl who you come running to when you’re bored.” I meet his large browns, wishing I knew how to break the code that keeps the mask he wears locked in place.
He scoffs. “You really think that’s how I see you?” His eyes narrow at the corners as he looks at me so intently it feels almost intrusive.
“I don’t know how you see me. Sometimes, I think your attraction to me is only because you know I should be off limits. Sometimes, I think it’s because you only want what Derek might want.” Other times, in the recesses of my mind, I think of the way I sometimes catch him staring at me with a tenderness and longing that makes my knees feel weak and think he has a genuine interest in me—something deeper than lust that makes him listen close enough he can recall my words.
Anger flashes in his eyes, making them several shades darker. “And what am I to you? A trophy? A puppet?”
I rear my head back, confused about how the conversation took such a severe turn. “How did you go from apologizing to accusing me of seeing you as a trophy, when I’ve never said or done anything to objectify you?”
He drops his gaze to the sidewalk for several seconds. My thoughts scramble in an attempt to figure out his next words—his next accusation. Slowly, he looks back at me. “You deserve so much better than me.” He grabs the door I’m still leaning against to hold it open and gently pushes me inside.
I don’t want to go inside. I want to talk about things. Our exchanges are always so brief and compromised with outside influences. I just want to stand out here and hash things out once and for all, but before I can protest, Paxton pulls open the adjoining door. “I can’t believe my sisters beat you here.”
“Lawson, party of four,” a host calls. She’s around my age, but she’s better at applying makeup, which makes it tough for me to tell for sure. Her gaze skates over us, doing a double then triple check of Paxton and Lincoln. Internally, I’m rolling my eyes, but externally I link arms with my sister, reminding myself this day has nothing to do with jealousy or boys and everything to do with her. Maggie smiles, then leans her head on mine for the short walk to our booth. My eyes feel misty again with the simple gesture.
“This morning our specials are crab eggs benedict and huckleberry pancakes. Both go great with our signature Bloody Mary.” She flashes a smile that has more hidden insinuations than a lacy thong. “Your server is Ben, and he’ll be right over.”
“I wonder if Ben is going to stare at us like he wants to have a three-way right here, right now.” Maggie looks at me, feigning hope with raised eyebrows as the girl disappears.
“Stop putting images in my head I can’t erase.” Pax rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Maggie chuckles with satisfaction. “I waitressed for five years, and I always wondered why so many women hated female servers. Girls like our hostess is why.”
“I’m your brother,” Pax says. “Who cares if she’s flirting with us?”
“She doesn’t know you’re our brother,” Maggie quips.
“Rae…” Pax turns in his seat diagonal from me, across from Maggie, a pleading expression matching his tone.
“She’s kind of right. That girl was a bit too obvious about her intentions.”
“Thank you,” Maggie says, sitting straighter in her seat.
“Well, if she returns, I’ll be sure to hold your hand so she knows I’m taken by my older sister.”
Maggie smiles, her shoulders and chin dropping with affection. “Being here probably makes you grateful you’re an only child, huh?” she asks Lincoln.
He shakes his head twice. “No, the opposite actually.”
Pax nods. “It would have served him well. He needed someone to keep that ego in check. Maybe it wouldn’t be so inflated.”
Lincoln tips his head back and chuckles. The gesture is easy and instant, as well as mesmerizing. “Your family sets the bar pretty high. I don’t think most brothers and sisters would get along as well as you guys.”
“Which is tragic. We all need a sibling who’ll bail us out of jail, right, Mags?” Pax winks.
“Good morning!” Our server says before Maggie can reply. “My name’s Ben. How are we all this morning?”
“Hungry,” Pax answers. “How are you?”
The server has a friendly and wide smile. “I’m great thanks. Have you dined with us before?”
“We have,” Maggie says.
Our server looks at me as if waiting for my validation, and I realize how little I’ve said since Lincoln arrived. “Can I get you all something to drink? We have freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee, hot chocolate…”
“Coffee for me,” Pax says.
“Yeah, coffee would be great,” Lincoln adds.
“Me too,” Maggie says.
“Can I have hot chocolate and orange juice?” I flip over my menu, glancing at all the pictures of the drinks. “And a coffee?”
Our server’s eyebrows jump high on his forehead. “Hot chocolate, coffee, and orange juice?”
I nod, and he stares at me a beat. “And are you guys ready to order or do you need another moment?”
“Pax?” Maggie asks, looking to him.
“Um…” He searches the menu for a few seconds before looking at the waiter. “If we could get a couple of minutes, that would be great.” Pax leans back.
Our
server flashes another quick smile. “No problem. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“And we don’t want any straws!” Maggie calls after him. “They kill turtles!”
“Three drinks?” Lincoln asks.
Maggie laughs. “Have you been in her car? She never leaves work without at least two.”
“I use reusable cups,” I add. “But, the hot chocolate here is homemade. Real chocolate and sugar and milk and goodness, topped with whipped cream. You guys don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
“What she means is, she has a hard time committing to one choice,” Maggie says. “Which is why I get the biscuits and gravy, and she orders something sweet, and we share.”
“Right now, you’re oversharing.” I slump back in my seat casually—attempting to look unaffected.
“Oversharing? That word doesn’t compute. What is that foreign term?” Maggie uses a strong mesh of accents.
“Are you guys ready for the game?” I ask, glancing at Paxton before I steal a look at Lincoln.
Pax runs a hand through his light hair, making several strands stand up. “You know it’s going to suck.”
“Arlo will have to help block. You should have Hoyt do the same, and then have them run out to be receivers.”
He nods, finishing the coffee in the Styrofoam cup he brought to the table. “This game is going to make me look bad. It’s going to help Grant’s chances of getting field time.”
Another junior has been working hard to get field time, and even with my biased opinions of Pax, I know Grant is a credible threat. He’s good, and if he were on any other team, he’d likely be a starter.
“You’re going to have to change things up constantly.” I don’t want Pax worrying about those who want his starting position, because doubt has always been my brother’s greatest enemy. “Pump fakes, trick throws, reformations … you have to keep them guessing.”
“What she said,” Maggie says, pointing a thumb at me and lightening the mood.
“Four seconds,” Lincoln says. “They just have to buy you four seconds, and if they can only do two, we’ll start a rotation, left, right, middle. I’ll be there. Chuck that ball as hard as you can, and I’ll get it.”
Pax breathes in deeply through his nose. “If our defense can hold them, we might have a chance.”
He’s never been boastful. It’s one of the things I love most about my brother.
“They will,” Lincoln assures him. “Our defense has been training for weeks for this game.”
If I was the defensive coordinator, I’d be training specifically for this game as well. They’re an even match and will make for a tough game.
“What are you guys doing until game time?” Pax asks.
I glance at Maggie, my plans completely reliant on her.
“Testing the bounds of gluttony,” she says. “Eat all the food, watch all the crap shows, and drink all the coffee.”
“And maybe take a walk,” I add, knowing we’ll both feel too sluggish to have fun at the game if we become permanent fixtures on the couch.
Maggie shakes her head. “Grandpa and Camilla are coming over this afternoon, if you have time to stop by.”
“I can’t. But I’ll see them Monday. Did you hear back on when you’re going to have to leave?” Pax asks.
Before Maggie can answer, our waiter returns with our drinks, setting my three options in front of me. “Need another minute?”
“No. I think we’re good,” Lincoln says, glancing at the rest of us for verification.
The waiter nods, turning his attention to Maggie and me for our orders before moving to the guys where Pax orders both specials, and Lincoln orders eggs benedict with extra hollandaise sauce and a side of bacon. I’ve been out to breakfast a handful of times with Lincoln, and he’s always ordered the same thing.
“After the game, I plan to sleep in my bed and not move until noon tomorrow,” Maggie says. “I’ve missed my bed.”
“What about you?” Lincoln asks, his attention on me as I swat Maggie’s hand away from my hot chocolate.
“I don’t know. Something with Poppy.”
“How’s she doing?” Maggie asks.
“She’s bummed she couldn’t come out with us last night. She was stuck watching her brother, but she’s exited to see you tonight,” I say, adding cream and sugar to my coffee.
“Her breakup with Mike was pretty ugly?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think she’s hoping dating someone else will help.”
Maggie shrugs. “That line is a bunch of horseshit. Falling into bed with someone else when your heart is with another person only hurts more people.”
“I don’t think she still loves Mike.” I shake my head, tapping my spoon on the rim of my coffee cup.
“Then what is dating someone else going to do?” Maggie asks.
“I think she’s afraid to trust someone again.” It’s a guess, one I really shouldn’t be publicizing with our current company, but Pax was genuinely angry when Poppy went camping with us this summer and fell asleep crying into her pillow each night.
“That guy was a twat,” Pax says.
He wasn’t. Mike was a good guy—a nice guy. And I know he loved Poppy because he’d call and text me following the breakup to ensure she was all right. The breakup wasn’t because he didn’t care, it was because he wasn’t in love with her, and though I’ve never asked Poppy to confirm, I’m positive she wasn’t in love with him, either, though I know she wanted to be.
“You guys should come out with us,” Lincoln says. “I know you think those notes are a joke, but having people around who you know seems like a good idea until you know for sure.”
Thoughts of Lincoln trapping me in the corner, his hands hot on my waist—kneading into my flesh, his breath hotter as it falls against my skin, tickling away my inhibitions.
Oh god. I have to say no.
“The notes.” Maggie swings her head to me. “We need to do something about that.”
I shake my head. “I thought we agreed it might be a stupid prank?”
Maggie looks at Pax, who shrugs, turning his attention to fixing his coffee.
“If anything else happens, we can discuss it. But, for now, safety in numbers and all that.”
Maggie’s hesitance to agree is etched in her narrowed eyes.
“And,” I say turning my attention to Pax and Lincoln. “I don’t think so.”
“What? What happened to safety in numbers?” Maggie asks.
I puff out my cheeks with a weighted breath, opting for honesty rather than another lie I’ll have to remember. “I feel so out of place at parties.” I avoid looking at either Pax or Lincoln, fearful of the judgement I know I’d face.
Maggie grins. “Good. It makes me like you more.”
I snort. Pax chuckles.
“I’m serious,” she says. “If you loved college parties, I’d disown you. Underage drinking, sexual assault, people parading around like their bodies are all they have to offer. They’re completely sexist, contemptuous, and have more superiority complexes than our living room on Christmas morning. They’re gross.”
“I love a good party,” Pax says.
“That’s why I call Rae more than I call you.”
Pax slams an open palm against his chest. “Ouch.” He extends the same hand, pointing at Maggie. “But you went to college parties all the time.”
She nods. “And so should both of you.”
I shake my head, working to catch up with her opposing words. “What?”
“You need to get out there, Rae. You need to drink too much, fall in love and get your heart broken, and then pick it up and do it all over again. You need to meet people because these are the friends you’re going to have for the rest of your life, and you need to do stupid things because, after college, society isn’t nearly as kind or accepting of you getting drunk and stripping to a really bad pop song.”
“Tell me there’s video,” I say.
Maggie smirk
s. “You should go. And Lincoln’s right, you should go with them. Safety in numbers and all of that.”
I cringe, imagining myself getting drunk and stripping in front of Lincoln.
“I might need a designated driver if tonight’s game is half as bad as everyone’s assuming,” Pax adds.
“Will the rugby team be there?” I ask.
“Rugby team?” Maggie looks at me with raised eyebrows.
I shake my head with a quick reply. “Poppy likes a guy named Chase who’s on the team.”
Lincoln presses his lips together, garnering my full attention. “I can guarantee it.”
33
“How many layers are you going to wear?” Maggie asks.
“It’s freezing,” I remind her, getting into the driver’s seat of my car before she can suggest driving again, my neck and nerves still weary after our outing for breakfast.
“Why do you look like someone just told you your favorite show is going to be canceled?”
With raised eyebrows, I glance at Maggie.
“You’ve been distracted all day. This doesn’t have to do with the fact you’re crushing on Lincoln, does it?”
My eyes round with shock and alarm. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ll admit, you concealed it well.”
I lean back in my seat, my shoulders falling with defeat. “I don’t want to like him. I didn’t mean to like him.”
Maggie laughs. “Rae, you’re eighteen. No one can tell you what to do or think, including yourself, so if you like Lincoln, go for it.”
“Yeah, it’s not that simple.”
“It is. It really is. We overcomplicate everything, but it’s that simple.”
I shake my head. “No. My plan is to get over him, date around, have fun, and enjoy college.”
Maggie nods. “That sounds like a great idea. If only you were the date around type.”
I pull my chin back, offense still stinging my skin and constricting my throat. “You were just telling me at breakfast to date around.”
She shakes her head. “I told you to date and get your heart broken.”
“I can totally be the dating around type.”
