Maggie's Five ...the first in a LOVE story

by Sandra Fitzgerald

  Opening my eyes, I tell Luke what I should have told him a long time ago. “I love you, Luke Andrews.” If I could wrap him up in my heart to show him how much I love him, I would.

  “I know, baby. But it sure is nice to hear you say it. I love you back.”

  “Not front?” The door sweeps open before Luke can reply, but I’ve surprised him with the recollection. A weekend at a beach house filled with people and a naked morning surfing.

  “Well, hello there Maggie. Glad ye finally decided to join us.” Avery Baxter’s Scottish accent warms the room.

  “Avery?” My attempt to lift my head is short-lived when a pounding in my brain forces me to let it drop back to the pillow.

  “The one and only.” She smiles. “I’ve got your test results for you,” she offers, holding up a cardboard folder. “According to this you were heavily drugged – well, we already knew that right?” she says dryly, clearly annoyed.

  “Did they manage to find him Luke, do you know?”

  Luke shakes his head, sitting up higher but staying on the bed next to me. “No, not that I know of unfortunately, Avery.”

  She tisks. “Well, at least I have some good news for you. All your blood work’s clear, no unwelcome finds in there...” she begins, pausing while she flicks through a couple of pages “… eh, I gotta say you got lucky on this one.” She nods, then sit on the edge of the bed with a grin that’s warm and genuine. “Given that the contraceptive implant in your arm should have been replaced back in July…” she says, tucking in her chin while pausing to give us time to digest what she is saying, “the baby seems to be in perfect health as far as we can tell. But you should still go and see your OB/GYN to get an ultra sound to be safe.”

  My head whips to Luke at break-neck speed. He’s wearing the exact same expression I can feel on my face.

  Baby?

  He’s not smiling, he’s not anything. I thought it was possible. I’ve been feeling a little off lately, and I didn’t mind the smell of the paint when it normally makes me headachy. But I didn’t know for sure so I didn’t say anything. I wanted to be sure; I wanted everything to be perfect to tell him.

  Avery’s patting my leg. Luke’s straightening, standing. He’s shaking his head. And the look on his face…

  “Luke?”

  He’s walking backwards, “Luke?”

  He’s opening door, “I’m… it’s fine Maggie.”

  Fine.

  His phone is out… he’s holding it to his ear… “I’d like to talk to someone about-”

  The door closes.

  He’s gone.

  Epilogue

  Luke

  “COME ON CARTER. Let’s go inside so we can see Mummy.”

  Man my boy is so on – like all the time, on. I don’t know how many times I’ve looked for an off switch and haven’t been able to find one.

  “Coomming Daadd.” Carter calls, running rings around Jon’s’ legs. Or it could be the other way round. It’s hard to tell.

  “Jon. Come on man, stop encouraging my boy.”

  “No way bro,” Jon laughs, almost tripping over as Carter weaves between his legs. “This kid is way too much fun.” He squats down. “Jump on bud.” Carter does straight away. Gotta say it’s a little annoying the way Carter does that, does whatever Jon asks him to do. Every freaking time.

  Carter secured in place, Jon leaps into the air and spins. It’s hard to tell who’s the bigger kid is - Jon or the actual kid. Both of them laugh their heads off, Carter begging for him to do it again. Naturally he does.

  The lift doors open and Jon walks through like he’s been waiting on me and leans to the side. Carter lifts his big green eyes to me in question.

  “Number four, buddy.”

  He counts slowly, “One, two, fwee, four! This one Daddy?”

  “That’s the one, son.” He counts them again, mouthing the words this time and presses the button.

  The room’s packed full. My eyes instantly lock onto Maggie’s as I pass the foot of the bed, extending an arm to shake Jon’s father’s hand. “Mr and Mrs Cartwright. Good to see you.” I peck Mrs Cartwright’s cheek.

  “She’s beautiful Luke,” she coos, staring down at the snugly wrapped, day old bundle in her arms.

  I bend to kiss my baby’s delicate head. “Who?” I chuckle. “My wife or my daughter?” Mrs Cartwright smacks my arm playfully, laughing. I cup my little girls’ cheek, then go sit by Maggie and kiss her the way that mouth of hers is meant to be kissed. In public, anyway.

  “Hey, Maggie Mae Andrews,” I say lowly so no one else can hear.

  “Hey back Lucas Andrews.” My wife smiles big at me, all the way to her incredible green eyes.

  Fuck I love this woman.

  the end of… the first in a LOVE story

  Thanks

  FIRSTLY, THANK YOU for taking the time to share in Maggie and Luke’s story. I hope you enjoyed their journey as much as I did writing it.

  No wait – More. I hope you liked it more.

  That would be way better.

  If you enjoyed my words I’d love it if you could spare a few minutes to share your thoughts with your favourite retailer.

  THANKS ALSO TO all of you wonderful wonders – you know who you are – for helping me get the words on the page and in the right order. It was more challenging than you think.

  To Kerrie and Karen, for reading my stuff first… and second… and third…

  Thanks to my mum, who only ever reads cookbooks but tells me how great my stuff is anyway. My dad, who hits me upside the back of my head every time he walks past me, with a smirk on his face and that look in his eyes.

  Thank you, Margaret, for putting up with my tirade of endless questions (even the silly ones) and Heather, for being such a wonderful and patient proof-reader and for your guidance.

  Thanks and special giggly girly hugs to the super talented Sally Syle, from Graphics by Sally for bringing Maggie’s front cover to life.

  Thanks and more hugs to Meg Hellyer, for your magic editing skills. The woman is crazy good with the words.

  MEMBERS OF MY family have been blessed with the annoyingly frustrating condition known as Dyslexia. Others, bless their cotton socks (like me) were the lucky ones to inherit Dysgraphia. He’s kind of Dyslexia’s less popular, less cooler cousin. Both are real and maddening conditions with inconspicuous symptoms. So if you know someone who comes across as bright enough, is good for a conversation, tends to get their words down in the incorrect order, skips the odd letter, or puts them down all wrong, can’t spell of the life of them, or may get cramps running up their writing arm for no apparent reason, (the Play Station doesn’t count.) it may be worth a look see. You never know what you’ll find.

  Books by Sandra Fitzgerald

  Coming Soon

  Luke… the second in a LOVE story.

  Luke’s Five… the third in a LOVE story.

  Connect with me

  I’M JUST A girl who had a dream and turned that dream into words.

  I’m a mum and a wife, a provider of Band-Aids and giver of hugs. If you’d like to get to know me better or have a chat you can find me here:

  Blog: sandrafitzgerald-author.weebly.com

  Or here:

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/sandrafitz05

  Or here:

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sandra.fitzgerald.12327

  Or here

  Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/fitzgerald1915/

  Or…

  … If you’d like to get to know Luke a little better, maybe read a sneaky peek of his story…

  Luke

  Chapter I

  THE GUYS HAVE stolen two computer chairs (you know the ones with the wheels) out of a teacher’s staff room, off the senior’s common area. It’s not supervised all that much - especially this time of the year - because it’s the seniors common. Apparently we’re supposed to be responsible.

  Go figure.

  The wanna-be thieves are trying t
o sneak the goods past buildings we’re done with, the ones still filled with middle and junior school students.

  If the dickheads stopped with all the whistling and yelling and actually going inside the classrooms, they’d probably find they wouldn’t have to dodge so many teachers.

  But then again, where’s the fun in that?

  They’re racing up the outer boundary, through the teachers’ car park, across the pothole-riddled oval, to the top of the freakishly steep hill known ingeniously as: The Hill, a regular contender on a long list of homeroom topics. Our teachers are constantly warning us not to ride down it and to keep out of the front yard of the house at the end of the intersection. The place belongs to some old dude with a walking stick and pretty decent aim for a senior citizen.

  The sun’s bright, when it finds its way out from behind the clouds; the breeze fluctuates from the warmer side, too fresh and a little gusty - typical weather for November.

  God I’m going to miss it. I love Melbourne. Granted, I’ve never lived anywhere else, but this is what I know. All my family are here, my friends are here… and she’s here… walking in my direction in the tightest fuucc-

  “Hey, Maggie,” I manage, tipping my chin all casual like, as if I’m not thinking about how great her tits look in that top.

  “Hi, Luke.” Maggie Bateman, star of my wet dreams and all round hot chick, smiles with a cute as fuck grin that goes all the way to her eyes. “How’s Muck up Day? Looks like you’ve missed out on the shaving cream.” She checks out my clothes. I check Maggie out.

  Don’t judge. The chick’s hot. Long red hair, bright green eyes, mouth made for sucking on, or with, or both. A tight body that has it all in the right places.

  I wet my suddenly dry lips. “You’ll be the one dodging the foam in a couple of years.”

  “I know right?” Her already big green eyes widen, and then she grimaces. “Got the two big ones to get through first though.”

  One of my shoulders lifts, shrugging off her comment. “Nah, a girl as smart as you? Too easy.”

  I’m full of shit right now. The last two years have been hard and I’ve had a lot of help. Maggie’s right. She’s a smart chick, but yeah, she’s going to feel it like the rest of us.

  “You’re sweet for saying that, but I think we both know it’s not true.”

  She thinks I’m sweet? Nice. I wonder…? And what have I got to lose, besides nothing?

  Stepping closer, not so we’re touching, but not far off, I put on my best I-want-in-your-pants smirk, the one I am pretty sure works more often than not. I deepen my voice. “So what are you up for later?”

  Her brows cross and her smile falters, thinking through my question. Yeah, I know what I said and the innuendo that goes with it. And yeah, I know she has a boyfriend. But come on, I’ve had a massive crush on this girl for nearly as long as I’ve known what hormones, pimples and spontaneous erections are.

  Granted I was in middle school and smiling around braces when I started to see her as part of the opposite sex. And yeah, thanks, I realise that made her like… really young. But it didn’t seem so pervy at the time.

  Unfortunately for me, Maggie came fully equipped with a ready-made boyfriend. Seriously. Who starts high school with a freaking boyfriend?

  “We’re all headed to the back beach for the weekend. You up for it?” my mouth says before my brain can process anything that isn’t Maggie Bateman related.

  “Oh. Brendan didn’t mention anything.”

  Brendan hasn’t mentioned it because I haven’t actually organised it yet. I blurted without thinking and now I’m hoping my parents will be easy enough to convince. It shouldn’t take too much begging, after I accidently remind them how I’m missing out on the end of year trip all my friends are going on because we have to fly out on Monday.

  Clockwork Towers, the hotel chain that’s piped so much smoke up my dad’s arse for the last six months, he’s now able to hold a conversation with an Apache every time he farts, has somehow convinced him that he needs to start at the beginning of December, before the Christmas and New Year’s rush.

  Naturally Dad agreed without talking to us first.

  Naturally Mum did her silently-angry thing.

  The night he came home and tried to cover it up by throwing it out there in the middle of a rushed running sentence, ‘… Wow, you look great. Did you get your hair done? We’re leaving November twenty eight. Is that a new dress?’ was hilarious.

  My old man’s awesome for a parental unit, but such an amateur. Like that was ever going to work. He should have gone the hug-and-hold. That’s what I would have done. The hug makes her melt. The hold keeps her mouth pressed against your chest so she can barely breathe, let alone yell. Cling to her like that long enough and she’s making your favourite meal for dinner – usually with dessert.

  Dad knew he’d stuffed up, but he just couldn’t stop his mouth from moving. He was royally screwed when he followed up with, ‘Hey I guess that means we can call in Christmas lunch with your parents this year.’ - big cheesy grin in place like it’s the best idea he has ever come up with.

  Mum did that thing where her lips press together until they turn white and get creased at the sides. Her eyes go so big and round they look like they’re going to pop out of her head. It’s awesome, and a little scary.

  I choked on my laugh and immediately left the room. Don’t worry; I wanted to get stuck into him about it too. But there really are some things a son should never see. Watching his dad get his dick handed to him by his mum is definitely one of them.

  So I ran, like the smarter man that I am, and brought it up over dinner later that night. Mum went silent angry, pinched mouth, big eyed again and I ate so fast I got indigestion.

  From then on, whenever I brought up missing out on something all my friends were doing… well, let’s just say that I’d get a bigger helping come desert time and Dad is reminded about his expanding waistline and heart disease.

  “Is Jon going?” Maggie asks, looking up at me hopefully.

  He will be after I tell him he is. We both know that if Jon’s not on board, it’s not happening for Brendan.

  You know what else sucks?

  Maggie’s boyfriend’s brother is one of my best friends. So lucky me, I get to see Maggie and Brendan together, as in to-geth-er, more often than I care too.

  Yeah, nah, that’s not fair. Brendan’s a great guy. Unfortunately. I kinda wish he wasn’t. That way I could’ve made a move on Maggie ages ago. It sucks big ones too see him with his hands all over her.

  Okay - I’ll give him that one too. If she was my girl, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her either. Or my tongue, or my- shhit; the amount of times I’ve dreamt about having that full mouth of hers wrapped around my cock… damn.

  Just because Brendan’s okay, and his brother’s a friend, doesn’t mean I like it any less. Jealousy is a horny bitch. And so are eighteen year old guys.

  “Yeah, I’m picking him up this afternoon. We’re driving down together. You wanna come with?”

  She’s going to say no. My car doesn’t have a back seat. It’s a white, two door ’68 Rebel and seriously cool. It was my grandfather’s car; he gave it to me before he died.

  “Oh, thanks, but we all can’t fit.”

  Nope, we can’t. She’s frowning, jutting those plump lips out. I lick mine, wishing I was licking hers.

  “Oh yeah...” I trail off, rubbing my finger under my mouth, making like I forgot. At least I gave it a shot. “No problem. I’ll see if I can borrow the Old’s wagon. We’ll fit.”

  You see, it makes no difference anymore. No matter how much I want it to. I’m done. Outta here. Hopping on the big metal bird to fly my sorry butt to the mighty U. S of A. So even if she did like me back, it wouldn’t matter. I’m not going to be around anyway.

  “You’re the best,” Maggie squeals, bouncing on her toes. “I’ll double check with Brendan, but I’m sure he’ll love to go.”

  A gust of
wind picks up, freeing some strands of hair from her ponytail. Without thinking, I step into her space and catch them as they brush across her chin and catch in that sticky lip gloss shit girls like to smear on. I slide the soft lengths through my fingers, thinking I wouldn’t mind a taste of that sticky shit, before setting them behind her ear. I’m close enough to feel her body heat and let me just say… she smells good.

  My heart rate picks up and I have to clench my jaw to stop my dick from stirring. I think I may actually hate Brendan Cartwright a little at this exact moment in time. And I don’t know if I would be too shattered if he was the one who had to up and leave Maggie.

  Taking a small step back, Maggie says shyly, “It’s windy today,” securing her hair in place after the wind blows it around some more.

  “Yeah, it is.” What else can I do? It is windy, and the way her cheeks pink up like that makes me want to kiss her even more. “I better jet, yeah.” I say, pointing my thumb behind me, because I really want to do is close the space between us, secure her hair, that keeps blowing into her face, behind her ear and cup her jaw. Because I want to trace the length on her nose with mine and find out if her lips are as soft as they look. “The guys are racing chairs down The Hill.”

  “Oh my God. You’re kidding.” Her grin widens and her eyes roll with a slight shake of her head. Shit she’s cute.

  “Nope.” Laughing at her reaction, I hold up the palm size video camera my parents gave me to help ease their guilt and record my last few weeks of home life. I shake it for emphasis, “After the shit they’ve been shoving in my face the past few weeks, I’ve got to get them breaking their necks on tape.”

  We’re smiling at each other. Our eyes lock, Maggie’s stops shifting around, her face reddens, and my chest burns. I’ve forgotten I need oxygen. My body gravitates towards hers. Maggie doesn’t move. She doesn’t recoil or flinch or shrink away. She doesn’t leave.

  I’m right up in her space, the tips of our shoes touching - my focus is on her mouth. That’s how I see her grin falter. Whether it’s in a good way or not, it doesn’t matter, the moment becomes awkward.