15. Maggie

CHAPTER 15

MAGGIE

Two weeks later, I’m sitting on a bench in the quad when I spot JT through the wall of windows that lines one side of the café.

“Are you hiding from me?” JT asks as he makes quick work of the patch of grass that stretches between the entrance to the café and the row of benches where I’m sitting. “I thought we were lunch buddies.”

“We are,” I insist. “I couldn’t resist the sunshine, though, so I decided to eat outside.” That’s true, though it’s not really the whole story. It rained for a week straight, so, like everyone else on the lawn today, I’m taking advantage of the break in the weather. But I’d probably be out here even if in the middle of the thunderstorm. Just walking through the café a few minutes ago made me nauseous. As soon as I stepped inside, I was hit with an onslaught of competing smells and a wave of thick, humid air. I didn’t even grab a salad. I just hightailed it out here and snagged a seat.

I’m feeling a little rundown today, and I’m betting that all my late-night study sessions are to blame. My sleep cycle is off, and I had no time for breakfast, which means I should be starving. Instead, I just feel queasy, tired, and gross .

Thankfully, there’s no study group tonight, so I should be able to get some good rest and shake whatever nasty bug is trying to descend on me.

JT drops his bag next to mine and sits down, tilting his head up toward the sun for a moment. While he soaks up the mid-September rays, I have no shame in taking a minute to admire his profile. I’m not in the market for anything more than the loose friendship we’ve struck up over the past few weeks. But if I were, then he’d be at the top of my list. And the bottom. And every entry in between.

He’s handsome, no doubt, with his warm hazel eyes and dark hair that’s started to curl a bit at the ends, like he’s overdue for a trim. His lashes are long, his teeth are a little crooked, and his jaw is perpetually covered in a day’s worth of stubble that I really want to trace with the tips of my fingers.

I don’t, of course. I keep my lusty thoughts to myself and steal glances whenever I can. He sighs and lets his eyes drift close, so I allow myself another second of ogling. The sleeves of his gray hoodie are rolled up to reveal corded forearms, and it’s a lovely view. My eyes trail over the vee of his waist and down to his muscular, denim-clad thighs. What this man does to a pair of jeans should be illegal. I’m hoping he gets up to grab his lunch soon just so that I can watch him walk away.

“Are you done?” he asks, and I blink at his question.

“What?”

“I’m hungry,” he says, patting his abs. “I want to grab some food, but if you’re not finished ogling me, I can hang in for a few more minutes and let you get your fill.”

My cheeks heat and I open my mouth in protest. “I was?—”

“Eye-fucking me,” he finishes. “No judgment. Hell, I can’t even claim I don’t do the same to you every chance I get.”

As if to prove a point, his gaze sweeps over my body, starting at the top of my head and making its way slowly down to the tips of my toes, greedily taking in every inch in between.

My face feels like it’s on fire and my light-headedness returns. But this time, it has nothing to do with food or smells or feeling sick. I’m catapulted back in time to our night together and this isn’t the first time my thoughts have drifted back there.

“What are we going to do about it?”

“Hmm?” I ask, willing my brain to stop fantasizing and to start making sense of what he’s saying.

“I like you,” JT says, half a smile pulling at his lips.

I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. “Oh, I like?—”

“And I want you,” he interrupts, letting the words roll off his lips like that’s a totally normal thing to say to the person sitting next to you on a park bench.

“Oh,” I stammer again.

“Go out with me, Maggie.”

His voice is low and lazy, his stance relaxed. There’s no pressure in his words, no game in his play. He hasn’t said anything that isn’t true. I’m sure I’m just as bad at hiding my desire from him as I am at being sneaky with my stolen glances. And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t noticed the way he looks at me, too. Our attraction is mutual. But that’s as far as it can go for me.

“I can’t,” I say, turning to face him fully.

He quirks a brow at my answer. “You can’t? Did you join the sisterhood recently? Get married?”

“My grandmother just jumped for joy up in heaven at the mere mention of me becoming a nun, so thanks for that,” I quip. “But now I have to tell her the truth and let her down. And no, I’m not married, nor do I ever intend to be. A relationship is not on the horizon for me. I don’t date,” I explain.

Once again, he arches a brow, prompting me to elaborate. But there’s not much more to say, so I just shrug and repeat myself. “I don’t date. It’s nothing personal.”

“It’s completely personal,” he argues, but there’s no heat behind his words. If anything, he seems kind of fascinated. “You don’t date? At all?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Ever?” he asks, like he’s interviewing me for a feature article on things that don’t make any sense.

“Not anymore,” I explain. “I did, but it ended in a fiery blaze that burned my life down. So, I don’t do it anymore.” My explanation is oversimplified, but it’s also the absolute truth. Clay was my first and only serious boyfriend. I’d had a few boyfriends, a few hookups. But when we met freshman year of college, something just clicked. I figured we’d be together forever. It turns out I was wrong about a lot of things.

JT is looking at me like he doesn’t quite understand, so like any good mathematician, I try to explain the answer in a way that’s a little more relatable. “It’s like this: say you love sushi, but then you get a bad order, and it makes you sick. It’s probable that you’ll swear off sushi forever. You can’t ever enjoy it again because you can only think about how sick it made you. Your friends still love sushi, and that’s great. Good for them. They don’t understand why you won’t try it again. But there’s no way. Every time you even think about trying it, you picture…well, you get the point.” My stomach sours at the thought and if I don’t switch subjects soon, my analogy is going to get way more graphic. “Anyway, it’s just something I don’t do any more.”

JT studies me, and I’m afraid he’s going to want to dissect the spoiled raw fish theory I just rambled on about and…yuck. I definitely should have found a different analogy.

“You ok, Maggie? You’re looking a little green.”

I start to nod, but that just makes the world spin. “I’m fine. I just… ”

He hands me his water bottle and it’s perfectly cold to the touch. I know this because I press it against my forehead and then against the side of my neck. He whips his hoodie off to reveal a fitted white tee, which he also removes. Deftly, he takes the water bottle from my hand and douses the t-shirt with a splash, before handing the open bottle back to me. “Take a drink, just a little at a time,” he says as he presses the cool, damp cloth to the back of my neck, and I let my eyes flutter closed in relief. In seconds, I’m starting to feel better. Well, if not better, exactly, then at least less like I’m going to hurl.

I open my eyes to see a small pack of pretzels in his outstretched hand.

“Trust me,” he says.

I don’t, but again, it’s nothing personal. I don’t trust anyone. I can thank The Traitor and The Tramp for putting the last nail in that coffin. But instead of delivering a heartfelt speech about the demise of my ability to put my belief in someone else’s promises, I take the salty snack that’s offered and crunch down on two pretzels.

For the next few minutes, I take small sips and eat some more pretzels. Before too long, the ringing in my ears has stopped, and I no longer feel like I’m on a carnival ride. That’s when I realize we’re not on the bench anymore, or out in the sun.

“I didn’t carry you this time,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “I would have, but you walked the ten or so feet on your own steam, so I figured I’d save the display of muscles for the next time you need medical assistance. Speaking of, you sure you’re okay? There’s a med staff on campus. It’s not far and?—”

“I’m fine,” I say, because I am. “Embarrassed, but fine. I promise. I skipped breakfast and I’m just feeling a little off.”

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed, Maggie,” he says, his voice sincere. “We’re friends, right? ”

“Definitely,” I say.

His smile is so bright, so heart-stopping that it makes me wish I could reconsider my stance on dating just so I could be on the receiving end of it more often. But I can’t. Nothing—not even a sexy grin, or a chiseled set of abs, or a million sweet gestures—could make me rethink my no-dating policy. I’m protecting myself these days. If I don’t, no one will. Except Viv, of course, but she runs the risk of getting arrested in the process, so it’s probably best if I just guard my own heart.

His eyes sweep across my face in careful perusal. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Much. The pretzels helped. I’ve had a busy day, and I haven’t eaten. I’m good now, honest. I should get to my next class, but thanks, seriously. Pretty sure I’d have passed out or…worse if you hadn’t taken care of me.”

“Happy to do it,” he says, flashing another smile my way. “Can I give you my number at least? In case you start feeling woozy again.”

“Yeah, sure,” I agree, because even though I’ve sworn off guys, I haven’t sworn off friends. And even though I’m feeling better now, I don’t relish the idea of wandering around campus looking for the med center while trying not to puke.

Ew. I shake the gross thought off as I hand JT my phone. I text him back and hear his phone ping. He types my name in, then slips the phone back into his pocket as I gather my things.

“Which direction?” he asks, standing.

“I’m heading to Fisher Hall for Calc III. But it’s not far. I don’t need an escort. Besides, you haven’t even gotten your lunch yet.”

“It’s cool. I’ve got time to swing back here after I walk with you over to Fisher. And I know you’ll be fine on your own, but humor me, okay? I have visions of you fainting and cracking your?—”

“You can walk with me,” I interrupt, “as long as there are no mentions of bodily fluids.”

He lifts his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “Deal.”

There’s no denying it: JT’s a good guy. We only see each other twice a week at lunch, and I doubt we’ll be lifelong besties or anything. But as we walk across campus, and I listen to him whine about getting a B on his stats test, I realize that I’m lucky to call him my friend. And then I remind myself that’s all he’ll ever be.

“You said no?!” Viv screeches, her voice loud enough to drown out the blender that’s whirring on the counter.

“You know my No Dicks policy, Viv. Of course, I said no.” I shake my head as I reach into her cabinet for two tall glasses. I’m not queasy like I was yesterday, but I just feel sluggish and tired. Viv is convinced I’m lacking in protein and iron, and considering my diet mostly consists of half-eaten salads, frothy coffee drinks, and every combination of chocolate and peanut butter I can find, I think she’s probably right.

“I thought you suspended your No Dicks policy when you sat on his dick,” she says plainly. Her roommate, Lynley, visibly cringes. She’s a sophomore and a member of the cheer squad, but these two couldn’t be more different. I’m surprised they’ve lasted a month together in this apartment.

“You are so crude,” Lynley complains.

Viv shrugs unapologetically. “I like to think of it as honest,” she says, pouring the thick, protein-infused mixture into the glasses I’ve set on the counter. “Last call for kale-and-berry smoothies! ”

“Pass,” Lynley sneers, gathering her bag and retreating to her room.

We curl up on the couch, and I take a sip, hoping this concoction doesn’t taste like its ingredients. “Wow. This is actually…not awful.”

“Thanks,” Viv deadpans, rolling her eyes.

“Seriously, thank you. This is yummy, and I could definitely use the vitamin boost. I nearly fell asleep in class this afternoon.”

“In your defense, math classes induce sleep for lots of people.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Haha. I actually stepped out for a second to refill my water and force myself to stay awake. We were going over this fraud case study and it was fascinating. I didn’t want to miss any of it.”

“You are something, Maggie Baylor. You don’t want to miss a second of the tax fraud tale, but you begged off on another night with a hot guy. If you were anyone else, I’d take your temperature. But for you, it’s pretty on-brand.”

“I’ve never been boy-obsessed, and the one time I let my guard down, it ended in the very worst betrayal. You know this. So, yes, I turned him down, but to be fair, he wasn’t offering a replay of our first night together. I think he just wanted a date. Something casual, from the sound of it.”

Viv sets her empty glass down on the coffee table and pulls a fuzzy pink blanket up to her chin. “I’ll be your interpreter, okay? He wanted a date that was followed by a repeat of your bathtub escapades. Although I’d say it’s more than likely that he’d opt for a bed or a couch this go round. Either way, the boy wants you. That much is clear.”

“He’ll get over it,” I say with confidence. “While we were on the quad, half a dozen girls blatantly undressed him with their eyes. The man has no shortage of admirers.”

“Does that six include you? Or are you number seven? ”

Instead of answering, I take a long swallow of my smoothie.

“Look, I know how much they hurt you. And I totally get why you’re reluctant to jump back into a relationship. But does it have to be all or nothing? You said you agreed to be friends, right? Why not add some benefits?”

I sigh, and she giggles.

“You know I say this with all the love in my cold, dead heart, but you Margo Marian Baylor, are overthinking things,” she says, scrolling through her messages and tapping out a text.

I take no offense at Viv’s words. As usual, my best friend has a point.

She puts her phone down and holds her hand up in a closed fist, drawing a finger out, one at a time, as she bestows her wisdom upon me. “He’s hot, or so you’ve said. I don’t know anyone named JT, but you have good taste, and that’s enough for me. He thinks you’re hot, and he’s right. The sex is hot. And he doesn’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of you. This is prime friends-with-bens ground, and I really don’t think you should pass it up. That’s all I’m saying.”

“When you put it like that,” I say, laughing, “there is a kind of logic to it.”

“See? So…text him. Maybe he’s down to hang out tonight. The LAX guys are having a party. Tell him we’ll meet him there in an hour.”

I blink. “I thought we were staying in?”

She looks down at her phone and huffs. “We were. Jake said he was tired and didn’t feel like going out tonight, and that was fine by me. But apparently,” she says, brandishing her phone like it contains State’s evidence, “he changed his mind. Judging from the pics of him at the Delta Psi house, he’s found his second wind.”

I cringe as I look at her phone and see a bare-chested Jake being climbed like a tree by three blondes .

“Tell me again why no-strings-attached is the way to go?”

Viv just rolls her eyes at me. “Because, Maggie, I’m not heartbroken. I’m annoyed. But I know the score. Jake and I are not exclusive. He can hook up with other girls,” she says, pointing at her phone. “But it goes both ways. I can hook up with other guys which is why we are going to the LAX house. Text your bathtub guy. See if he’s up for a party.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up his info and let my fingers fly across my phone screen.

Maggie : Thanks again for your help yesterday.

It’s not the greatest of pickup lines, but I’m not just going to dive into the deep end. I’m going to test the water first.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with an incoming text. Apparently, the water’s fine.

JT : Of course. You still feeling okay?

Maggie : Much better, thanks.

JT : That’s what friends are for, right?

As though it suddenly morphed into hot lava, I toss my phone in Viv’s direction. “I need your interpretive skills,” I say.

She glances at the phone, reads our brief exchange, and hands it back to me. “He definitely wants to fuck you.”

I laugh. “Where does it say that?”

“It was the winky face. Add that to the ‘friends’ comment, and he basically said he’ll be naked and waiting for you.”

My phone feels heavy in my hand, but Viv usually knows what she’s talking about in these situations, so I ignore the kernel of dread that’s settled in my stomach and type a reply.

Maggie : Are you having a good weekend?

JT : Yeah, it’s good so far. How about you?

Maggie : I’m with my best friend and we’re thinking of maybe going out later. What are you up to?

JT : Getting my ass kicked at Warlords II by an eight-year-old. I’m at my buddy’s house in Jersey for the weekend.

Womp, womp .

I guess that answers that question.

JT : Where are you heading out to?

Maggie : The LAX house, I think? But tbh, your night sounds like more fun.

JT : You saying you want to kick my ass at Warlords II?

JT : Because that could be arranged.

Maggie : We’ll see. I mean, friends do play video games together, right?

I’m pretty proud of my flirt-texting, but just as I’m about to pass the phone to Viv for approval, I hear a door slam. Seconds later, Lynley saunters into the living room in a teensy, tiny, backless purple dress. Her boobs must be held up by magic.

“Where are you going?” Viv asks absently.

“LAX is having a party and that guy Benji said I should definitely go, so that’s where I’m headed. Are you two having a movie marathon or something?”

“Or something,” Viv answers, her head still buried in her phone.

“Later,” Lynley mutters, and I can’t tell if she’s annoyed that we didn’t fawn all over her and tell her how gorgeous she looks or if she’s just perpetually pissed off at the world.

I don’t have time to ponder, though, because Lynley’s out the door and Viv’s headed to the kitchen and in the process of pulling out ingredients from every single one of her cabinets.

“Looking for something?” I ask.

“My roommate’s soul,” she says, unearthing a large pan and setting it down noisily on the worn countertop. “Nevermind, she doesn’t have one. “

“She doesn’t,” I agree. “But you’ve got the makings of a cooking show in here. Are we baking?”

“Brownie sundaes,” Viv confirms, digging into the back of the fridge and finding an unopened can of whipped cream.

I’ve been queasy for a few days and haven’t felt much like eating. But brownie sundaes sound like actual heaven right now. We move around the kitchen, making the treats and cleaning as we go. It’s been years since we’ve lived in the same state, or cooked in the same kitchen, but right here, right now, it feels like no time has passed since we were wearing braces and making goodies for the bake sale in seventh grade.

The timer dings just as my phone buzzes, so I let Viv check the brownies while I tap the icon for my messages. We were just assigned a group project in Risk Management, so I’m figuring Evie and Ross, my partners, are texting back.

I wholeheartedly ignore the little zing I feel when I see that it’s not my fellow math nerds texting me, but JT.

JT : How’s the party?

Make that a double zing.

Maggie : No clue. We ended up staying in. Brownie sundaes are far superior to lukewarm beer.

JT : Truth.

JT : (and I don’t even like brownies.)

Maggie : Wait, what?

Maggie : Did you just say you don’t like brownies?! Everyone likes brownies. They are chocolatey, gooey, and delicious. And that basically covers the requirements for Best. Food. Ever.

JT : I’m not really into sweets.

Maggie : I’m not really sure we can be friends now…

JT: For real?

JT : That’s crazy.

JT : If anything, I should be at the top of the friend list now.

Maggie : How do you figure?

JT : Because I’ll never steal your snacks. Stick with me, and you’ll have twice the brownies when I’m around.

Maggie : Hmmm…I hadn’t thought of it that way.

JT : See? That’s what I’m here for.

I read his text, and my imagination chases his words. I can think of a lot of things JT is here for, and none of them fall into the friends-only category.

And that’s not good.

Viv is scooping the warm brownies into bowls, so I join her and start doling out ice cream.

I need a distraction from JT. His combination of humor and sexiness is lethal, and I can’t get caught up in a web like that again. I won’t make it out this time.

JT and I are friends, nothing more.

If I repeat it enough, maybe I’ll remember it.