CLAM JAM

by RC Boldt

  “Shall we, Ms. Finegan?”

  “Oooh.” Her eyes light up teasingly as she links her arm through mine. “All prim and proper now, are we?”

  I wink at her. “Only for you, madam.”

  We push through the doors and head down the sidewalk, still arm in arm. We make our way to Max Londons, slipping inside and managing to snag two seats at the bar. After I order a white sangria for her and a Saratoga Lager for myself, we both let out long sighs before turning to each other with a laugh.

  “One of those days, huh?”

  “Yep,” I answer, nodding. “I’m so glad it’s over.”

  I catch sight of us in the mirrored wall behind the bar, quickly locking that image of the way we both look in my memory—tired but happy to be in the other’s company.

  She takes a sip of her sangria, savoring the taste of her favorite cocktail before blowing out a long breath. It makes me instantly tense because I’ve gotten to know Maggie pretty well already, and I know by that long exhale that something’s up. And it’s likely not too pleasant.

  She further confirms my suspicion when she falls silent, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass.

  Leaning in, I nudge her lightly with my arm. “What’s wrong, Mags?”

  Turning her head, her eyes rest on me. “I got an email from Shane today.”

  My jaw clenches so tight it’s a wonder I don’t crack any molars. “What did that dipshit have to say?” I take a sip of my beer, trying to calm my rage at the asshole who hurt her. The asshole who discarded her so carelessly.

  The asshole who’s likely realized what he’d tossed aside; has likely realized how fucking incredible Maggie is.

  Please don’t fucking tell me you’re going to get back together with him. Please. Don’t. Say. That, I beg internally.

  “He said he wanted to apologize for everything, but he didn’t think I’d accept his calls or text messages. That he wanted to apologize in person and thought that maybe we could …” She trails off, waiting for me to meet her eyes before finishing with, “… get together sometime.”

  Oh, fuck no.

  Nodding, I attempt to school my features by inhaling a deep, calming breath.

  Which doesn’t really work well at calming me.

  Studying her expression, I try to decipher what she’s thinking but come up empty. “What are you going to do?”

  She lets out another sigh, shaking her head and turning her attention back to her glass of sangria. “It’s been five months, and he suddenly feels bad?” Pursing her lips, she looks back at me. “I think I’m finally over it—over what he did—because I really didn’t feel anything when I read that email. I just felt …” Tipping her head to the side, as if trying to find the words, she finally says, “… bored. Irritated, maybe. But good because I know exactly what I want now—more than ever.”

  My shoulders sag in relief at her words. “You deserve better, Mags.”

  She gives me one of those sweet smiles. “Thanks, Ry.” Knocking her shoulder against mine playfully, her smile widens. “You know what we need to do, right?”

  Grinning, I reach over to snag a fresh bar napkin just as she pulls a pen from her purse. Sliding the napkin over to her, she writes on it:

  I want to be with someone who is not only the love of my life but my best friend, too.

  When she offers it to me, I mull over my response for a moment before deciding to be simple and to the point.

  I want the same. Always.

  Chapter Seven

  Maggie

  “Ryland James!” I bang on his bathroom door, hollering loudly. “Did you eat the last—”

  The door swings open, drawing my speech to a sudden halt because … ooooh, sweet, dripping wet abs.

  My eyes are riveted.

  He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and I don’t even realize I’m moving until Ry releases a sharp hiss at my touch. Because my finger is tracing over the slight indentations in his abdominal muscles.

  “Um …” He clears his throat, his voice husky and deep. “Mags?”

  “Uh-huh,” I murmur absently, my fingertip stopping one of the trickling droplets of water on his skin, tracing it down over his belly button, and—

  His fingers grasp my wrist, drawing my hand to a halt, and my eyes dart up to his in alarm because crap. That was like an out-of-body experience.

  “Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I just really, um … crap.” That’s all I can utter. Nonsense. No one would believe I have my graduate degree if they heard me right now.

  If my tongue had a voice of its own, it would probably say something like, “Just the tip. That’s all I want.” The tip of my tongue tracing over Ry’s abs, that is. You know, just to prove someone Photoshopped him. Or not.

  Because I’ll take one for the team. I’m a giver like that. People might even think of canonizing me as a saint after all this. Really.

  Oh, and then … Abracadabra! Poof! He’d no longer be gay, profess his undying love for me, and wouldn’t ever leave me for another guy.

  Or woman.

  Wow. That scenario even sounds crazy in my head.

  Shaking off my thoughts, I take one more glance down at his abs—just one more glance—and that’s when I see it.

  “Oh, boy,” I breathe out. Ry is hard, tenting the towel, and I really want it to drop. Accidentally, of course. Like an “oops” moment. Totally harmless and innocent.

  Oh. My. God. I’m a horrible person. I’m thinking of my roommate’s penis! My roommate who has quickly become one of my best friends.

  Oh, the shame!

  Where did this inner slut come from? It’s like she’s been lying in wait—for him, apparently.

  But, really. I can take a little peek, right?

  “No, you can’t.” My head jerks up to see Ry looking down at me, his expression a mixture of what looks to be amusement and pain.

  Crap. I just said that out loud—that bit about taking a peek. Crap, crap, crap, craaaaap.

  “Did you actually need something, Mags?” His voice sounds strained, and he’s still holding my wrist captive. Which is likely a smart move on his part. Ah-ah, but I still have another one.

  “Don’t make me grab that one, too, Finegan.”

  He’s on to me. Dang it.

  Letting out a sad, defeated sigh, I pout. “Your abs are inhuman, Ry. It’s like someone carved you or something.” I shake my head, gazing adoringly at said abs once again. “Or Photoshopped the hell out of you.”

  His husky laugh washes over me. “You finished lusting over me, now, Mags?”

  Sighing, I meet his eyes. “I guess.” Then a thought hits me. “Wait a minute. You just got arous—”

  “I ate your leftover sushi.” His words are rushed, hurried, throwing me off track.

  Glaring, I tug my wrist from his hold, hands going to my hips in a huff. “How could you? You knew that I was loving that kamikaze roll! Ugh!” Turning and stomping down the hall, I toss over my shoulder, “Just for that, I get to choose the movie for tonight, buddy.”

  “Can’t,” he calls out. “I’m going out with Jack tonight.”

  I stop dead in my tracks before darting over to the dry erase calendar we have on the kitchen wall. Sure enough, it’s marked there: Jack, 7pm.

  I don’t want to admit how depressing that sight is, having nearly forgotten that Jack is actually Ry’s boyfriend. He’d been out of town a lot lately for his job, and I guess I’ve gotten a bit spoiled by having Ry to myself. Aside from the times Sarah came over, of course. Just last week, the three of us ordered pizza, and when Sarah and I applied mud masks to our faces, Ry complained that he felt left out. The night ended with the three of us sitting there on the couch, mud masks in place, watching The Princess Bride and quoting the entire movie aloud.

  That definitely went down as one of my favorite Saturdays to date. Not to mention, the surprise in Ry’s tone when he ran his hands over his face after rinsing off that mask, remarking at how smooth and soft his skin fe
lt.

  “Mags?” Ry calls out from the bathroom as I hear him moving around, likely prepping for his date night with Jack.

  “Yes, I just forgot. Sorry.” I attempt to make my tone light. Sarah’s working a crazy long shift at the hospital tonight, so I guess it’s just me, myself, and I. I’ll likely catch up on some episodes of Kimmy Schmidt and gorge on some popcorn.

  Wild and crazy, that’s me. Just living the dream, people. Living the dream.

  Ry finds me standing in the kitchen, still staring at the calendar. Sidling up to me, he smells so freaking awesome that I literally want to grab him by his shirt, press my face to his chest, and breathe him in.

  If that doesn’t flash, “Weirdo Alert,” I don’t know what will. Good God, I need to get a grip.

  “You want me to cancel?”

  Turning to face him, I give him an incredulous look, shaking my head. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “You sure?” His head tips to the side, a tiny lock of hair shifting over his forehead.

  Reaching up, I brush it back, offering what I hope is an easy smile. “Not a chance. You’re all dolled up and need to have some one-on-one time with your man.”

  He huffs out a laugh that sounds … off, but then he pulls me in for a hug, wrapping his arms around me, and I get the chance to smell him again. God, does he smell good.

  “I know it’s pathetic, but I’m going to miss you,” I mumble softly against his chest.

  “I always miss my Mags when she’s not around.” His voice is soft, hushed, his words washing over me as his large hand rubs my back affectionately.

  Smiling against his button-down shirt, I tease, “Do you always refer to me in the third person, too?”

  He doesn’t respond for a moment, but once he does, it’s not at all what I’m expecting. “If you want me to stay in, I can cancel,” he murmurs, his lips pressed against the top of my head.

  With a sigh, I pull from his embrace and force a bright smile. “No. Don’t you dare cancel your date.” I pat his chest. “Jack’s been gone for work, and I know you’ve missed him. Go.” I tip my head toward the hallway leading to the front door. “Have fun, okay?”

  His eyes study me for a moment before finally leaning in to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  He turns, and as I watch him, my eyes drift over him, observing how great he looks in those jeans that fit him in all the right places. His ass looks incredible; the black button-down shirt he tucked in emphasizing his trim waist.

  And not for the first time—and likely, not the last, either—I curse the fact that I’m not his type.

  Chapter Eight

  Ry

  “I’ve been thinking,” Maggie starts out as we’re sitting down eating dinner after work. We’ve both had a seriously hectic day and are too exhausted to care that we’re eating an unbalanced meal of macaroni and cheese with wine.

  “I’m ready to try dating again.”

  My fork clangs noisily against my bowl as my head whips up to stare at her. “What?”

  She jerks back slightly at my sharp tone, giving me an odd look. “I’m ready to try dating again.”

  No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, damn it! Not that I knew how it was really supposed to go, but this … definitely isn’t it. She’s supposed to say something like, “Oh, I think I’m in love with you, Ry.” And then I’ll say something back like, “I love you, too. And also, I’m not really gay.” Then she’ll say, “That’s a relief!” And we’d commence living happily ever after.

  Okay, so that isn’t suave in any way, shape, or form but give me a break. I’m a dude. We’re not exactly known for being flawless orators.

  But the idea of her going out and meeting guys, dating … It rips my fucking heart out. Because I want to be the one who gets to go out with her, to date her. I mean I kind of already do, but not in the same capacity. I don’t get to kiss her, hold her hand, or touch her like that.

  Fuck. I have to get my shit together. This can’t happen.

  “You look like you … disapprove?” Maggie remarks slowly, eyeing me carefully.

  Trying to school my expression, I shake my head, tugging on my earlobe as I attempt to find the right words. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

  She lays her hand on my arm, giving me a sweet smile. “Thanks, Ry. I appreciate that.” When she pulls back, I instantly register the absence of her touch. “I just feel like I’ve been relying too heavily on you lately. Kind of using you as a crutch, you know?” She forks a bit of the cheesy pasta into her mouth, chewing with a thoughtful expression on her face.

  She swallows and takes a sip of her wine. “It’s time to get back in the swing of things.”

  “Yeah.” I fork some macaroni and cheese into my mouth, not tasting it. I barely register anything else she says as she plans her first, official night out on the town to “get back in the saddle.”

  I’m too damn busy trying to figure out what in the hell I’m going to do to thwart her plans.

  * * *

  “You sure about this, Mags?”

  “Yep. It has to be done.” She has an expression of stern concentration as she gazes down at the engagement ring in the small, black velvet box.

  After dinner, she asked me if I’d help her figure out how to sell the three-stone engagement ring Shane had given her.

  Of course, I agreed, but now … shit. Selfishly, it’s like someone’s taken an ice pick to my chest at the mere sight of another man’s ring—someone she once loved and was prepared to spend the rest of her life with.

  Look, I know she loves me, but she doesn’t love me-love me.

  Congratulations to me for sounding like a twelve-year-old chick just now.

  “Ry,” her voice is thick with emotion, “do you think he ever really …” She trails off, staring down at the ring, and the moment I see a lone tear drop, trickling over one of the stones, I tug her into my arms.

  Enfolding her in my embrace, I press my lips to her hair, breathing her in. “Mags, there’s not a doubt in my mind that he loved you.” Closing my eyes, I breathe in her intoxicating scent combined with the slightly fruity scent of her shampoo. “Sometimes, people are just not meant to be … forever. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.”

  It’s brisk tonight, especially in downtown Saratoga Springs, and this street always manages to be more like a wind tunnel. Tugging Maggie’s collar up on her fleece, I run my hand down her back.

  As we stand there, a few steps away from the jeweler Jack had suggested we see, Maggie sniffles quietly against my chest. My heart aches, yet at the same time, I’m pissed off at the asshole. He clearly didn’t deserve her in the first place, totally discarding her as if she wasn’t the most incredible woman around.

  I pray to God I can pull this off. Because if I can’t have Maggie—have Maggie’s love—then I’ll have absolutely nothing. Which confirms that it’s time.

  Time to bring out my A-game.

  * * *

  “Hey, you two! Fancy meeting you here.” I sling an arm around Maggie’s shoulders, pulling her into a quick hug before releasing her to step toward the guy she’s talking to. She had told me she’d meet me at Irish Times pub after work. Clearly, it hadn’t taken long before she’d snagged someone’s attention.

  Holding out a hand, I introduce myself. “Ry James, nice to meet you.”

  He falters, eyes darting back and forth between Mags and me; he’s likely wondering exactly who the hell I am. She pipes up, “He’s my roommate.”

  “Ah,” is all he manages to say, shaking my hand, and it’s a shitty ass handshake. I squeeze a little tighter than I normally do. Just because. And I have to work hard at hiding my satisfied grin when I see him wince.

  “So tell me about yourself …” I trail off expectantly, since he has yet to tell me his name.

  “Conner,” Maggie supplies.

  “Conner,”
I say and repeat, “Tell me about yourself, buddy.”

  Just as his lips part to speak, Maggie lays a hand on my arm. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to use the restroom.” Flashing a smile at Conner, she adds, “I’ll be right back.”

  Looking over at the guy, he’s clearly feeling the full effect of her smile, and hell, I can’t say that I blame him. Especially with that lipstick stuff she’s wearing tonight. She was telling me all about it earlier, saying she was going to try it out. It’s supposed to last hours and not leave a mark on wine glasses or anything else. I really can’t get into that stuff, normally, but I was proven wrong when she exited her room after getting ready for tonight, and I saw her lips.

  Holy fucking shit. Whatever that stuff was, she needed to use it all the damn time. But only for me. Because it made her lips look more plump, more lush, and the deep shade of pink … It was torture not to kiss her.

  Turning back to Conner once Maggie’s out of earshot, I sling an arm around his shoulders. “So Con—you don’t mind me calling you that, do ya? Did Mags tell you about me?”

  He’s eyeing me warily, and I feel like a shark who’s just detected blood in the water. “No, she didn’t.”

  “Really?” I widen my eyes in faux surprise. “Well, she’s such an absolute doll face, taking it upon herself to try and find a new man.” I wait—to drop the real bomb—before adding, “For us to share.” And the moment my words really sink in, it’s priceless.

  Fucking priceless.

  Disengaging himself from the arm I’ve slung around his shoulders, he begins to stutter. “I, uh, I don’t …” Abruptly pulling his cell phone from his back pocket, he checks it, saying with fake urgency, “I forgot about something I’ve got to do.”

  Backing away, he holds up a hand as if he fears that I’ll jump him. “Great meeting you both!” He disappears in a flash, and I’m left standing there with a smug grin on my face.

  Job well done, James. Job well done.

  “Hey.” Maggie returns, stepping up beside me and glancing around in question. “Where’s Conner?”