3. Maggie

CHAPTER 3

MAGGIE

This was a mistake. I’ve been at this party for nearly an hour now, and I’m regretting the last fifty-nine minutes of my life.

But then I see Viv getting all cozy with Jake and remind myself that I’m not here for me; I’m here for Viv.

Honestly, though? She doesn’t need my help.

Jake’s giving her plenty of attention. The guy may not want exclusivity, but he definitely wants Viv right here and right now.

That’s why I find myself nodding along with the conversation and chiming in with a laugh when everybody else does. It looks like I’m fully engaged, but I’m really just counting the minutes until I can beg off and get out of here. I’ll happily couch surf at Viv’s tonight while she stays with Jake.

Because the last thing I want to do is have an impromptu sleepover at the Kappa House.

The guys seem nice enough, but I’m not looking for anything, not even for a night.

If I were, then I’d summon the courage to talk to the guy who’s been making eyes at me for the last few minutes .

Ok, so I lied. I don’t regret the last fifty-nine minutes of my life. The last seven or so have been just fine.

So fine.

Like magazine-cover-model-fine.

He’s tall and broad with a smattering of tattoos across his chest. His hair is dark, and his eyes are flecked with gold. He’s got an eight pack and a V, and if he sidelines as a stripper, I just might have found my new hobby. Forget working in the garden. I’ll become a pro at ogling this guy five nights a week.

Like me, he’s not wearing a bathing suit, but his gym shorts are a closer match to the dress code than my too-small dress. My boobs are falling out the top and the hem rides up every time I take a step. At this rate, by the time I make it to Thurston Street, my tits and ass will be hanging out. And Viv’s tiny shoes are giving me blisters.

“Do you want a Maggie-rita?” Viv’s eyes are glassy, but her words are mostly clear.

“A margarita? No, I’m good.”

“Your name is Maggie, so it’d be a Maggie-rita. Get it?” She’s giggling, and that means we are past the point of no return.

“As yummy as a Maggie-rita sounds, I’ll pass. Are you staying here with Jake tonight?”

“He’s delicious, isn’t he? We’re crashing at the baseball house tonight. I’m totally not drunk, but I’m totally getting there, so I’m gonna tell Jake we should go soon, ok?” I nod as she turns toward Jake and says, “If we’re fucking tonight, we’d better start walking.”

Half a second later, Jake scoops Viv up into his arms, and I hear more giggles.

It looks like this party is about to break up and for a minute, I consider getting over the new rules I put in place and marching across the lawn to meet Gym Shorts Hottie.

But rules are rules for a reason .

Just as I’m about to break those carefully crafted rules and approach him, I’m saved by the bell. Or, in this case, a few dozen people. I think the volleyball games are over, and for some reason, half these people are naked. I look up to catch one more glimpse of Gym Shorts Hottie, but the crowd is too dense, and I’m too short.

Maybe I’ve dreamt him? Yeah, that’s it. I’m overtired and getting hangry, and my brain conjured up a built tattooed guy to distract me.

It’s definitely working.

And on the bright side, I can think filthy thoughts about my new crush all the way home, and I don’t actually have to talk to him or deal with him or be disappointed when he fucks up or heartsick when he betrays me.

Yep, unrequited crushes are way better than dating.

And I can guarantee that my rabbit vibrator is way more talented than his fingers (and probably thicker than his dick). It’s a win-win. Or maybe a win-win-win. Does the vibrator win?

I’d like to think so.

“Are you coming with us?” Viv asks from her perch on Jake’s shoulder. He’s hoisted her up there like he’s a pirate, and she’s a parrot. Who am I kidding? Viv probably hoisted herself. Knowing my best friend, she dismounted off his knee and flipped in mid-air before sticking the landing on his left shoulder.

“Nah, I think I’ll head to your place if that’s cool. I told Uncle Hudson I’d be back tomorrow morning, and even though it’s not that late, it’s probably easier just to sleep on your couch.”

“Totally. You know the code, right?”

“Yep. I’m all set.”

“You shouldn’t walk there alone,” she says. “Let me get one of the guys to?—”

I shake my head. It’s a sweet gesture, but I am more than capable of calling a rideshare. Besides, no one here is sober enough to drive but me, and I can’t even remember who drove us over here, let alone where they are or where their car might be. My feet are screaming in these tiny shoes, and walking across campus while making awkward small talk to whatever drunk guy Viv deems to be my chaperone does not sound like a good time.

While Viv beckons for some guy named Toad, I take the out and start to march up the hill toward the road. I have no signal out here and the house is far enough from the main road that no driver could see me if I stayed back there. The grass is patchy, but the gravel is worse, especially in these borrowed shoes. I thought the trip down the hill was tricky, but the trek upward is infinitely worse.

But I can do hard things , I think, laughing to myself. It’s the phrase I uttered daily, sometimes minute-after-minute when things went south last semester.

It might be corny, but it’s true. I’ve faced adversity and come out on top. Sometimes that means leaving a toxic situation even though it’s difficult and everyone around you thinks you’re a drama queen who feeds off the negativity.

And sometimes, it’s scaling a small mountain in a dark backyard wearing shoes that are at least a size too small. My blisters will have blisters tomorrow morning, and— fuck! The heel of my borrowed shoe gets caught in a tangle of weeds and that’s all it takes for me to go tumbling down the hill like the girl in that old movie. But as I bump and bang my way to the bottom, I remind myself there won’t be a masked man to rescue me once I come to a stop.

Oof. When I finally stop rolling, I give myself a minute to get my bearings before opening my eyes and lifting my head. My body aches, and my right ankle already feels tender, and I haven’t put any weight on it yet. But I remind myself that adversity is my bitch. I muscle up onto all fours, certain I look ridiculous and not caring in the slightest. I lean my right leg back and hiss as soon as it comes in contact with the hard earth. Collapsing in a heap, I decide that this patch of dry grass is just as good a bed as Viv’s couch would be.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

I tilt my head toward the voice that has just cut through the thick night air and my misery.

There’s no mask, no faint British accent, and no sweet love story.

But Gym Shorts Hottie is better than a movie boyfriend any day.

“I’m fine,” I say reflexively, even though that’s obviously not true.

To his credit, Gym Shorts Hottie doesn’t take my polite response for an answer. We’re far enough from the house that the partygoers aren’t paying us any attention, so at least I’m spared the humiliation of a bunch of nosy drunks.

My rescuer is kneeling on the ground next to me, but he’s no longer got that whole smolder thing going on. He’s moved into serious mode, and it’s every bit as hot.

“Let me rephrase that. What hurts the most?”

I blink up at him as I settle back on my elbows. He’s even better looking up close. “My ankle. The right one.”

He nods, assessing me. “What’s your pain on a scale of one-ten?”

“Seven and a half.” I would much rather talk to this guy about his major, his favorite movies, or his first name, but maybe I should save flirty banter for after the medical eval and after the pain meds I’m hoping Viv has in her bathroom cabinet.

“Got it. What else hurts? Rank ‘em if you can.”

“Everything? Um…in order, that’s my ankle, my shin, the side of my leg, and my pride.”

I catch him smiling and feel like I’ve won an award.

“How’s your head? Any pain at all? Sharp? Dull? Throbbing? Pounding? ”

I shake my head and will myself not to make an awkward joke about the parts of my body that are throbbing or could use a good pounding. Nope. I am a twenty-one-year-old woman, not an eight-year-old kid. “No throbbing or pounding. Or pain of any kind in my head.”

He smirks before schooling his features.

“Actually…”

His eyes are on mine. “What’s up?”

Reaching back with my left hand, I run my fingers over my scalp and pull a sharp stick from the tangles of my hair. “Ouch. That was a fifteen on the pain scale, by the way,” I say, tossing it aside.

“You’ve got some more,” he says. “Ok if I hold you steady?”

I nod, unable to think of a question he could ask that I’d say no to.

He puts his left hand on my back and it’s warm and strong. I may or may not flop like a rag doll against his stabilizing grip. He reaches his right hand into the nest that is my hair and gently pulls out a few more twigs and a clump of grass. The tips of his fingers trail over my scalp, checking for any more debris, and I’m a puddle of goo. I’m not sure anyone’s ever taken such gentle care of me, at least not since I was little.

“Feel like standing on that ankle yet?” he asks.

Just the thought of it has me anxious.

“Thought so. There’s a picnic bench about thirty feet away,” he tells me, nodding in that direction. “If it’s okay with you, I’m gonna carry you over to it so I can get a better look at your legs. Your injuries.”

“Yeah, sure. Thank you.” My arms loop around his neck on instinct as he cradles me like a child and walks me toward the picnic bench, the flashlight on his phone illuminating the way.

Just my luck, the bench is occupied. I’m craning my neck to see if there’s a flat surface anywhere close or maybe a hole I could crawl into. (I’d take Hottie with me, obviously).

But it turns out I don’t need to hide. Hottie knows the bench-sleeper.

“Hey, Dresden. You good?”

“Brick! Ollie said you were here, but I didn’t believe him. You never come out anymore, man.”

“Yeah, I?—”

“Where’s Ollie? We should do shots. He brought the good stuff.”

Hottie’s nodding. “Funny thing, Ollie actually sent me over here looking for you.”

“Fuckin’ A. Let’s go—” Bench-sleeper stands and that’s when he notices me. “Oh, my bad, dude, my bad. You two carry on. I’ll go find Ollie. I’ll even do your shot, Brick. You know, ‘cause you’re busy.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Drez,” Hottie says, holding back a laugh as he lays me down on the bench while the guy—Dresden, I guess—lumbers off in search of more alcohol.

The tumble I took down the hill must have damaged a few brain cells because all I can think to say is, “Your name’s Brick?”

Hottie laughs. “Nah. My roommate has terrible taste in nicknames. And enough tenacity to try to make them stick. I’m JT.”

“Maggie,” I say as he uses the flashlight to look over my leg. I have no clue if this guy has any medical training beyond reading the back of a Band-Aid box, but he smells good and sounds confident. And right now, that’s enough.

His touch is gentle as he looks me over. “How’s this?” he asks, pressing lightly against the tender skin on my ankle.

“Sore,” I answer. “It doesn’t—ah, yeah. That part hurts.”

“How about this?”

I shake my head. “Not too bad.”

“Okay, I’ve got good news and bad news, Maggie. ”

I shouldn’t like the sound of my name on his lips, but I do. Besides, this is my hot guy fantasy. It’s not going anywhere except maybe playing on a loop in my head for the next few days.

“Hit me with it,” I say, wincing as I picture myself waking Uncle Hudson in the middle of the night with a phone call from the ER.

“The bad news is, I’m no doctor. Or nurse. I’m just an exercise science major. But in my non-professional opinion, your ankle’s twisted. It’ll be sore and swollen for a few days, and you should ice it and elevate it, but you’ll be fine by the week’s end. Your shoes, on the other hand? They’re done. You broke the heel on the right one and a couple of straps on the left one. I really hope they’re not your favorite pair.”

I shake my head. “They’re not even mine. They belong to my best friend. My whole outfit came from her closet and she and I aren’t exactly the same size.” As if to emphasize my point, I tug futilely at the hem of the black dress that I’m now convinced is just a long tank top.

JT’s eyes follow my hand, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s heat there.

Then he swears and shines his flashlight again.

“Shit. You’ve got some scrapes on your leg, but I didn’t think much of them. I was more worried about your ankle. Looks like you’ve got a nasty cut, though, and it’s partially covered by a layer of dirt and gravel.”

Of course, I do. Only I would manage to fall down a hill and injure myself in multiple places right in front of the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. “Ugh. Well, I’m just going to hope that Viv’s stocked up on ibuprofen and Band-Aids. And that I can find the sheets. Or at least a blanket. She’s staying the night with her not-a-boyfriend, Jake, so I’m heading back to her place to crash. That’s where I was going when I slipped and fell and landed on my ass. I’m just glad no one was close enough or sober enough to notice. Except you. So, thanks. ”

We’ve reached the part in the dream where my alarm’s about to go off and it’s time to wake up. As much as I hate to walk away from Hottie—JT—I should probably make my way back to Viv’s and grab a shower after downing some painkillers.

“You’re welcome,” he says, as he scoops me back up. “Point me in the direction of your friend’s place.”

“Oh, it’s on the other side of campus. We drove. It’s not super far, but I have a terrible sense of direction, so if I try to lead you there, chances are we’ll be wandering around Bainbridge until daylight. And those abs don’t lie, but I doubt you want to carry me around for hours. I’ll just call a rideshare.”

“Or…”

“Or?”

“What do you think about heading inside for a bit? I’ll get you some ice, and I’m betting they’ve got a first aid kit somewhere. Let’s get you fixed up a little before we try to find your friend’s place. Sound good?”

I can feel my ankle starting to swell and the cut on my knee should probably be cleaned sooner rather than later.

“Yeah. I just…um. This is going to sound bitchy, but bear with me. I appreciate you more than you know. But can we not make a huge deal of this? Like…how stealthy are you? Think there’s any chance we can sneak in for some ice and bandages and sneak out before anyone spots us and it’s a big deal. I’ve had enough big deals to last a lifetime.”

JT nods. “Stealth mode activated. And just so we’re clear,” he adds, lifting me a little higher and pulling me a little closer, “I’m fully on board to carry you around campus while you look at each and every dorm room, house, and apartment to see if it might be the one your friend just moved into. Come sunrise, I won’t even break a sweat.”

I have nothing to say to that, so I rest my head against his very broad, very naked chest as he walks us around to the back door .

If I were looking for trouble, this guy would be it.

But I am not, so he’s just a nice guy who knows some first aid and has muscles for days.

That’s all.

Because I am done with trouble.

So done.