“You make a good point.” Well, he would have, if I wasn’t interested in a repeat performance with a certain snarky redhead.
Chapter 3
Head Above Water
Maggie
My little world in Texas was lonelier after Ally moved away. I always knew it was coming. That she and Kenzie would move on to bigger and better, even before discovering her connection to Hazed. I was happy for her. Honestly. But that didn’t stop me from feeling secluded when my best friend wasn’t a couple of minutes away. Talking and texting just weren’t the same.
So, when Ally called, ecstatic that they had purchased their dream home, the hole in my heart grew a bit wider. The sliver of hope that she would move back to Texas died. She left me with a teeny-tiny, silver lining. Tim offered to fly me out for a visit once they were settled in the house. Two or three more weeks and I would have my Ally fix, courtesy of her boyfriend’s wallet.
Flights, cars, houses. Ally went from just scraping by to having it all. Never having to worry about money again. But the money never mattered to her. If it had, she would have leveraged Kenzie and used her to bleed Tim dry. It would be so simple to exploit their story. My mother would already have the check in hand, selling every single detail to the highest bidder. Knowing that, made me hate her even more.
Three weeks came and went by in a blur and before I knew it, I was boarding a plane. Tim spared no expense, booking me a first-class ticket. A girl could get used to this life. Space, comfort, being waited on. Yep, no complaints here. He was worming his way into my good graces, despite taking my lifelines away.
A chauffeur, yes that’s right, a freaking chauffeur, was waiting for me outside of the baggage claim, ‘Maggie Allen’ etched on the card in his hands. The entire experience was surreal. These things weren’t supposed to happen to average, every day people’s lives. How did Ally live without them for so long? My mind raced on the drive from the airport to their house, compartmentalizing the ways in which the other side lived.
Ally was waiting outside with Kenzie when the car pulled into the driveway. She looked incredible, not a single sign of the injuries she had sustained months before.
“Today has been the longest day ever. Felt like you would never get here.” Ally greeted, embracing me in a hug. “How was your flight?”
“Great, actually. I didn’t need first-class seats, by the way.” Not that I would ever turn them down.
“Tim wouldn’t have it any other way.” Ally smiled, radiating every ounce of love she had for the man. “Come on. Let’s go inside so I can give you a tour of the house.”
Ally bounced from room to room, Kenzie babbling along with her, echoing her words here and there. We marched up and down the stairs, opening and closing door after door.
“I would show you the basement, but it’s not finished yet. Eventually, it’ll be a recording studio and bedrooms for Justin and Ian, for when they’re here working, but right now it’s just a mess.”
“Hey, Maggie. You made it.” Tim greeted, as Ally led us through the kitchen to the dining room. He wasn’t the only one in the room. Justin and Ian were seated at the table, papers scattered in front of them. Justin’s head lifted, his eyes lasering in on mine.
Three months had passed since the last time I laid eyes on Justin. Three blissful, simple, predictable months. During that time, there was Alex from the coffee shop, Max from the office (who says you can’t mix business with pleasure), Quinn from a hook-up app (that one was a bit of a head case), Teddy, the perfect British one-night stand, and John, a lawyer I’d met through a friend. Two of them remained in my contact list, while the others were nothing more than names that would fade into the background.
Oh, and the answer to your question is yes. I did. All five of them. I never claimed to be a Saint.
Honestly though, I’m aware my number was high. I’d put money on the fact that Justin’s was higher, and I was nothing more than a notch somewhere on a hotel bedpost. A notch that had already been cut and shouldn’t be deepened. Yet the fool was eyeing me like I was his conquest. He would be sorely disappointed because I wasn’t playing his game.
Dodging Justin was impossible. Why couldn’t Tim and Ally have sprung on a house with wings and a million rooms? The only time spent outside of the house was spent busying Kenzie. The problem with relying on a toddler to fill your schedule was that their hours of operation were limited, leaving large spans of time to ignore Justin’s constant eye fucking.
Saturday night, I faked exhaustion just to escape the torture. No matter how many snarky comments I shot his way, Justin bounced them back like ping pong balls, and every volley added to the sexual tension. The worst kind of foreplay. My resolve was wavering. The reasons not to hook-up with Justin were dwindling by the second. What would be the harm?
Two consenting adults, neither expecting anything more than an orgasm or two. The fact that we were repeat offenders didn’t mean anything. We weren’t building a relationship, more like friends-with-benefits, rather enemies-with-benefits. One more time wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. It’s not like I would regret sex with Justin.
After three hours of laying in my room, distracted by my thoughts, all of which included Justin, I cracked. It was after midnight and the house was quiet. Going to Justin was out of the question. Not my style. However, if I ventured down to the kitchen to get a ‘snack’ and we happened to meet somewhere along the way, well, that would work.
My footsteps were light but heavy enough to be heard as I made my way down the stairs. Justin could be sleeping, but my gut said his mind was in the same dirty place as mine.
“Can’t sleep?” Justin’s deep voice scared the crap out of me, as I walked into the kitchen. He was seated at the breakfast nook, nursing a bottle of beer.
“Nope.” I popped the ‘p’. “You?”
“Still riled up from the day.” He explained, setting the bottle down on the counter. “Playing cat and mouse all day with a certain little redhead.”
“Oh, really?” I raised my eyebrows. “Were you the cat or the mouse?”
“I guess that depends. Were you playing hard to get?”
“I never play games. You should know that by now.”
“Then stop fighting this.” Justin shifted off the stool. “Let me bend you over this stool and put us both out of our misery.” He didn’t have to tell me twice.
***
Time flew, more than a month had passed since the last time I’d visited Ally and consequently Justin. Life moved on, with or without my best friend around. Sarah was still in Texas, but following a visit with Ally, she and Ian had hit it off and her time was tied to him, leaving me the only single one of the three. That was fine with me. Single would always be my permanent status.
It wasn’t as if I had always been against dating. Once upon a time I longed for the perfect boyfriend. Before I traded in my innocence for a life I could control, back during the high school days when true love was a fantasy that I believed in.
First dates are always worked up to be this monumental event in your life. A couple of hours spent with someone you may or may not like when you’re too young to know anything more than the fact that you want to fall within social norms. First dates typically happen before you finish high school, for some people it’s near the end and for others they get their start early. I fell somewhere in the middle.
My mother was my downfall during my school years. No matter how many schools I attended, or how far we moved, her reputation followed. Or maybe it rebuilt itself. Somehow the soccer moms with their ill-fitted jeans, solid color cotton t-shirts, and constant ponytails choose to gossip about the new woman dropping off her teenage daughter in the parking lot. It didn’t take long for people to realize my mother dipped into the available, or hell even unavailable, dating pool of the school faculty or students’ fathers. Women feared her.
In another world, I could have been proud that my mother was someone to fear, except I knew the only reason
to fear her was because she lacked morals. And worse than that, I couldn’t be proud of a woman who never put her daughter first. I hated my mother’s reputation, and I really hated that the choices she made, the persona she had created, had such a drastic impact on my life.
The boys in my high school treated me in one of two ways, either as a foregone conclusion for an easy lay or like a plague trying to trap them in some way, up to and including staging an unwanted teenage pregnancy. Everyone believed I was willing to give it up and rumors that I was sleeping around were rampant.
Ninth grade was highlighted with being asked out at least once a week, by the male population willing to risk entrapment to lose their virginity or add to their shortlist of sexual exploits. I had perfected deflecting the assholes and it was easy because that’s exactly the type of guys they were. Full-on douche bags, full of themselves and lacking any level of respect for me.
No matter how many times I said no or the reality that I hadn’t so much as kissed a guy, the girls in the school believed the rumors. Every time I was asked out, it was accompanied by insults and bullying from the female population.
By grade ten, I had developed a tougher skin, embracing my reputation while never acting on it. No point in fighting it. In less than a year, I had learned that only made it worse. Crying in the stalls of the bathrooms, was a thing of the past. Those tears were never falling from my eyes again, not within the walls of the school.
Tenth grade came with some solace. Fewer guys asked, knowing that I wasn’t saying ‘yes’. It was refreshing to not sound like a broken record, always regurgitating the same rejection, but it sucked that while everyone else was coupling up, holding hands, making out in the halls, I didn’t stand a chance at fitting in. No one wanted that with me. No one liked me like that. And even if they did, the likelihood that they would risk the social rejection that would come with dating me.
Grade eleven was my year. I was determined that I would have my first date and my first kiss. I would be part of the couples in the halls, falling into puppy love, being cheesy, sending tacky Valentines, all of that. I was going to have it. Out of the entire student body, there had to be one person who liked me enough to push through the social masses. I had to be worth it to one guy.
So, I started my year differently. I shucked my hard exterior and opened my eyes. Instead of hiding away during lunch and avoiding events, I embraced them. My time outside of school was spent at a part-time job in the mall, serving ice cream instead of working in one of the clothing stores, just so I could be out in the open and have a better chance to converse with people. I spoke, without fear. Or at least without appearing fearful. I worked hard to rid myself of my stuttering and paid attention to my body language, focusing on being confident.
Before the Christmas break, I had my first crush. It might seem odd to not even have a crush before grade eleven, but it was hard to crush on a guy when you were more concerned with what they thought of you then what you thought of them. My first crush was Ben. He was on the basketball team but wasn’t part of the popular cliques in the school. He blended in with the crowd and had a nice smile complete with dimples. There wasn’t anything about him that floored me, other than the fact that he treated me differently than everyone else.
He smiled at me in the halls of the school. We had one class together and he was the only person who not only chose to sit beside me, while other seats were still available, but he also talked to me, openly. Ben wasn’t only interested in getting into my pants. He seemed to be genuinely interested in who I was. He started showing up at the mall on weekends, stopping to buy an ice cream. If there was a line, he would wait until it died down, just so we could talk.
Over time my crush grew, starting with those innocent moments and building into actual flirting. Ben was interested in me. Even if he never acted on it, he was at least interested. Given that he had made the effort to come to my work on the weekends, I decided to show him I was into him, by attending one of his basketball games.
For me, it wasn’t as simple as calling up my girlfriends and going to the game. I wasn’t one of the giggling teenagers in the stands, gossiping and blushing with their friends about their crush sweating on the court. No, for me it was different. I put on my cutest pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt, pulling my red hair into a ponytail on the top of my head. I fit the role of a regular high school student to a T. I entered the gym and took a seat on the bleachers, ignoring the churning of my stomach, the nerves from being alone in a sea of people. I hoped Ben appreciated how hard this was and the effort I was making, for him.
My presence grabbed the attention of a few people in the stands. They were quick to point out that not only did I not belong, but that I had to be gunning for one of the players from the opposing team, which just so happened to be a prep school on the other side of town. Assumptions that I once again was following in my mother’s opportunistic footsteps. I could only hope that Ben realized that wasn’t the case.
The game was half over, and I was ready to bail by the time Ben finally realized I was sitting in the bleachers. Despite everyone else’s displeasure with my attendance, Ben smiled and waved. I waved back, ignoring the fact that I’d put a target on his back. I liked Ben and I was pretty confident he liked me. Like actually liked me. I didn’t want anything to ruin it. It was my year to enjoy being a teenager.
While I didn’t get the chance to talk to Ben following the game, he did find me in the halls the next day and asked for my phone number. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t wait to get home after school, because it meant I could spend the evening hiding from my mother and current stepfather in my bedroom while writing and reading messages to Ben. He was sweet and understood that I wasn’t my mother. He knew that her reputation didn’t represent me, and it wasn’t long before he asked me out.
Imagine that. Magdalen Allen was officially going on her first date. Sure, it was only to the movies, but it was still the most exciting day of my life. Ben picked me up, in his decade-old Honda Civic and drove us to the theatre. I talked a mile a minute, not sure how to handle myself, worried that if I didn’t speak, he would think I wasn’t interested, or that I wasn’t having a good time. There would be time for silence while the movie was playing.
The movie was uneventful. Ben and I sat with our butter stained fingers entwined. Aside from the occasional moment of eye contact, we both watched the movie. There was no making out or attempts to feel me up, ridding me of every insecure fear I had been unintentionally holding on to. In fact, Ben was a perfect gentleman, only planting a kiss on my cheek when dropping me off at the end of our date. If anything, I was a little disappointed that he didn’t try for more. But I was optimistic there would be other opportunities. That our one date wasn’t the only one we would share.
On Monday, Ben met me as I walked from the parking lot to the school. He waited for me, his bookbag slung over one shoulder, taking my hand as we walked through the front doors of the building. His action, our connection earned more than a few stares as we walked toward my locker. For me, the scrutiny wasn’t anything new, but for Ben, it was a new level of awkward. As he dropped me off at my locker, before heading off in his own direction, he leaned down and kissed me.
As far as first kisses are concerned, I was expecting fireworks. Thank you to every romance book and movie that ever crossed my path. But there was nothing, aside from the slight shock that he had done something I hadn’t expected. Nothing from me, that is. Everyone else around us, well that was a different story. Gasps, coughs, catcalls, ohmygods… ya, those were easily heard.
On cloud nine, I stupidly waited for Ben to come for me after the first period. And then second. And third. And lunch. Most days, we crossed paths at least three times before lunch, but that day he was missing. MIA. So, I sent him a text from my lone seat at the table for four in the back corner of the cafeteria.
By the end of the day, I hadn’t heard from Ben. As much as I didn’t want to jump to conclusion
s, it was hard not to. I just wish I understood what I’d done wrong. If it was the kiss, I was taken off guard. He had to have known. But maybe he didn’t know it was my first kiss. I would get better at it. He just needed to give me time and practice. On my way home, I sent him a second text. Chastising myself for seeming too needy. But really, I didn’t get it. I wasn’t the one who reached out to him this morning. He waited for me. He asked me out. I wasn’t chasing him.
Three hours after locking myself in my bedroom to sulk, Ben finally messaged, asking if he could pop by. Knowing I didn’t want him anywhere near my house or my mother, I suggested he pick me up and that we go for a drive. My worries washed away, replaced by excitement. Maybe I had blown things out of proportion, making too many assumptions during the day. Allowing one thought to fester and grow.
I quickly re-curled the ends of my hair and touched up my make-up before Ben arrived. I dashed out of the house, without saying a word to my mother or her husband, who was sitting in the living room, watching television. They hadn’t even acknowledged I was home, so I knew they wouldn’t care if I was gone. Jumping into Ben’s car, I was bright-eyed until I noticed he was somber.
“Is everything okay?” I reached for his hand, as a sign of support. Ben pulled it away.
“Not really, I’ll find somewhere for us to talk.” He responded, pulling away from the curb in front of my house. He drove for about five minutes, in silence, finally parking in an empty parking lot of an old bowling alley.
“What’s going on?” I turned in my seat, concerned and worried.
“I’m not allowed to date.” He paused for a minute, debating whether to add anything further. “You.” His eyes were downcast on the last word.
“Why?” I asked the question, even though I already knew the answer.
“My parents want me focused on finishing school. On my grades for College.” He explained, even though we both knew there was more to the story. His parents wouldn’t have cared if it had been almost any other girl, but since it was me, they were worried he would get swept up in the mess that was rumored to be my life.
Hooked Page 4
