CLAM JAM

by RC Boldt

  I’m developing those more-than-friends feelings for my gay roommate.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ry

  The faint tapping at my bedroom door rouses me from sleep. Lifting my head, it takes me a moment to realize that an arm draped across my chest traps me, holding tight. Gazing down at a sleeping Maggie, I can’t resist grazing my fingertips along her cheek, mesmerized by how peaceful she appears.

  The tapping sounds again, and I gently ease from Maggie’s grasp and head over to the door. Cracking it open, I see my mother standing on the other side.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I’m about to start breakfast.” Her voice is hushed, and she tips her head to the side. “I didn’t get an answer when I tapped on Maggie’s door.”

  Shit.

  I search for the words. “She’s, uh …” I tip my head, gesturing toward the bed. “She had trouble sleeping.” My eyes close on a wince. That didn’t sound the least bit legitimate.

  Braving a look at my mother, she appears to be fighting back a grin. “Well, if you can tell her to be sure to bring her appetite to breakfast, that would be great.”

  “Will do, Mom.” Kill me now.

  She turns away as I shut the door quietly, leaning my forehead against it. How is it that my mother can still manage to make me feel like a teenage boy?

  “Morning.” Maggie’s husky greeting turns my attention her way, and my chest tightens as I take her in, rumpled with a case of bedhead and a sleepy smile on her face.

  “Morning.”

  “Guess I should get cleaned up for breakfast.” Swinging her legs over the side of the mattress, she slides off to stand. “Don’t want her getting any more ideas.”

  Maggie slips around me, a hand on the doorknob when I snag her wrist, tugging her close for a hug. Pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, I whisper, “Thanks, Mags.”

  Leaning away, her eyes meet mine as she smiles up at me sweetly. “Anytime.”

  When the door closes behind her, I lean my back against it. Because I’m so screwed, not to mention, I’m also a dumbass.

  I have to figure out a way to solve the fact that I’ve done something I never imagined was possible.

  I’ve cock blocked myself.

  * * *

  “Look at them! They’re amazing!”

  Maggie’s excited remarks make me smile as I watch her take in the sight of a few young girls who are figure skating in the indoor ice rink at the Olympic Center. They’re not much older than eight years of age and have likely been training from the time they started walking. Watching them spin and jump on the ice is nothing short of impressive.

  I’ve been showing Maggie some sights around Main Street. As we exit the Olympic Center after visiting the attached museum, I hold the door open for her.

  Walking along the sidewalk, Maggie stops me in front of a small shop, which has a little wooden toboggan with the Olympic logo painted on the side for people to pose in for photos.

  “Will you take a photo with me?” Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and there’s no way I can deny her anything when she looks at me like this.

  “Sure, Mags.” I climb in, trying to slide my long legs out of the way so that she can situate herself between them. She pulls out her cell phone, changing the camera to selfie mode, and offers it to me. I know the drill since she’s always telling me I have “longer arms” and, therefore, take better selfies.

  She leans back into my chest, and we both smile as I press the button a few times to capture the pictures. Handing her phone back, I wait for her to glance through them and give them the okay. With her hand cupped around the screen to try to diminish some of the glare from the sun, she falters at the sight of one of the photos. Growing still, she draws my concern.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The glare of the sun prevents me from deciphering anything on the screen of her phone.

  Turning her head, her eyes meet mine. “I really like this one.” She hands the phone to me.

  Flashing her an odd look, I glance down at the photo and see our faces smiling wide, happy and, dare I say, looking like we’re meant to be together? I stare at the photo so long that I have to swipe my thumb across it when the screen begins to time out, just to look a moment longer. Because we look like one of those happy couples.

  No. That’s not entirely true. We look like one of those happy couples, madly in love.

  Raising my eyes to meet Maggie’s, I say, “This is a total framer, Mags. I want one for my office at work.”

  “Yeah?” Her face lights up and her lips curve into a wide, happy smile.

  “Definitely.” My eyes drop to her lips, and when her tongue darts out to wet them, it takes everything I have to stifle my groan.

  “Hey, you two!”

  Maggie and I jump apart, interrupted by the energetic greeting. Turning, I see Stacy standing nearby, eyeing us curiously. Maggie scrambles to stand, exiting the toboggan as I try everything in my power—including thinking of such things as having to one day endure a colonoscopy, old, wrinkly, saggy women skinny dipping, and my parents having sex—to deflate my hard-on. Once I’ve succeeded, I rise, stepping out of the toboggan and onto the sidewalk beside Maggie.

  “Hey, Stacy.”

  “You guys enjoying your day?” Stacy smiles, turning toward Maggie. It’s not hard to miss the way her eyes take in Maggie’s form, as if assessing her attire and finding her subpar.

  “Absolutely!” Maggie nods enthusiastically. “Ry’s been showing me around and this place,” she waves her arm to encompass the downtown area, “is so cute. There’s so much to see.”

  Stacy’s eyes flicker to me. “You should stop in the shop. I’ll be sure to have your favorite ready for you.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Ry’s mom mentioned you own a shop down here,” Maggie says.

  “Stacy owns Sweet Sensations bakery. She’s had it for about,” I turn a questioning gaze to Stacy, “how long now?”

  “It’s been opened for about eight years now.” Stacy’s eyes fall on Maggie. “I make his favorite dessert.”

  “It doesn’t happen to have chunks of peanut butter and chocolate in it, does it?” Maggie grins.

  In a staged whisper, I pat my flat stomach. “As if I would eat that garbage.”

  Maggie knocks her shoulder into me, grinning. “Whatever. I’ve seen you dipping a chunk of dark chocolate into the peanut butter at home.”

  Aghast and with a mock indignation, I say, “I know not what you—”

  “You live together?” Stacy interrupts.

  With an easy smile, Maggie answers, “Ry and I have been living together for a while now.”

  It doesn’t escape my attention that she doesn’t specify that we’re only roommates.

  And that, in itself, makes the tiniest bit of hope unfurl in my chest.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Maggie

  Do you know those memes or GIFs where someone’s quoted as saying, “Oh, no you di’int!”? Well, that just happened.

  In my mind. Like I totally finger snapped in a Z formation at Stacy. Twice. Once was for her little scan of my outfit and clearly dismissing me as not good enough; the second was the moment she discovered that Ry and I live together—have been living together. She did this little squinty thing with her eyes, and her nose wrinkled the slightest bit like she’d just tasted something bad.

  She tasted me. Wait, no. That sounds weird. She tasted more confirmation that Ry is not hers. He’s mine.

  Um, I mean … Crap. My mind is so convoluted right now. The truth is I want Ry to be mine. Even though it’s not possible. Even though last night was a total odd, how-did-that-happen, oh-we-just-got-carried-away kind of thing.

  Doesn’t mean I’m not channeling my inner mean girl right now. Like in the movie, aptly named, Mean Girls, I’m channeling my inner Regina George.

  Minus about ninety-nine point nine percent of the bitchiness, though. Which means that, basically, I’m lame.

>   “So you make desserts? That sounds so cool.” Confidently—and casually—I link my arm through Ry’s, tipping my face up to his. “We should definitely stop in and check it out.”

  He’s peering down at me with the slightest grin that seems to say, I know what you’re up to. “Sure, Mags. If that’s what you’d like to do.”

  Of course, that’s what I want to do. Go and taste desserts at Ry’s ex-girlfriend’s shop. The same ex-girlfriend who clearly didn’t get the memo—or shredded it, perhaps—that he’s gay. And doesn’t have any desire to move back here.

  Sounds like a grand ol’ time, right?

  * * *

  I take it back. All of it.

  It was a great choice to come here. Brilliant, in fact.

  “This. Is. So. Gooooood,” I moan to Ry, who’s sitting at the small round table across from me. He looks amused by my moan-speak.

  “Glad you approve.”

  “You’ve got to taste this.” Reaching out, I raise the strawberry covered in chocolate and peanut butter to his lips. “Seriously. It’s like an orgasm in your mouth.”

  His eyes meet mine, and at that moment, I know he remembers what happened last night. Leaning in, gaze still locked with my own, he murmurs, “I do love an orgasm in my mouth,” before wrapping his lips around the tip of the strawberry and taking a bite.

  I’m sorry, but did my panties just go poof? Up in smoke? Because the look in his eyes made my hoo-ha feel like it was on fire.

  Ummmm, not like that because that would mean something was seriously wrong. Like in the form of the clap or something. And just ewww, right?

  But the moment his lips wrap around that strawberry—and he has nicer lips than any guy I’ve ever known—I feel it. That tingling arousal, down deep. Which makes my mind go where it has no business going.

  To the gutter. We all know nothing good can come from going there. Shame. Oh, the shaaaaame.

  “My eyes are up here, Mags.” Ry’s voice makes me aware that I’ve been, uh, staring at him. More importantly, at his crotch. My eyes fly up to meet his smiling ones, and I feel the rush of heat on my cheeks.

  “I was totally zoning out. Sorry.” Lame excuse, Maggie. So lame.

  “Lost in thoughts about …” One eyebrow rises in question.

  Shoving another peanut butter and chocolate covered strawberry at him, I give him my best squinty-eyed look. “Hush and take a bite.”

  Fingers encircling my wrist, he holds me captive while wrapping his lips around the strawberry, brushing against the tips of my fingers still holding it. The touch of his lips against my fingers combined with the look in his eyes makes me inhale sharply, recalling the way his mouth felt on my nipples.

  Watching me while he chews slowly, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and his eyes flash with amusement. Then he leans back in. “Are you chilly?” His eyes drop to my breasts before rising to meet my eyes, again.

  Slapping an arm across my chest, I fix a glare on him. “Yes.”

  “Mmmhmm.” He sits back in his seat, lips stretching into a smug grin.

  Pointing my fork at him as I anticipate digging into the chocolate peanut butter cake, I threaten, “Don’t even start or I won’t share.”

  “As if you could deny me?” His eyes go wide with mock dismay.

  Before I can answer, Stacy interrupts us.

  “Are you enjoying everything?” Is it just me or is she standing a little too close to Ry? I mean, really. Any closer and she’d be in his lap, for God’s sake. My grip on my fork gets tighter, and I realize that feeling I’m experiencing.

  I’m feeling stabby. Literally. Like, in my mind, I imagine her hand reaching over to touch Ry’s muscled arm just as my own arm shoots out, the tines of my fork meeting the flesh of her hand.

  Whoa. That was pretty graphic. Sheesh. I’m starting to fear that I’ll end up on that TV show Snapped.

  Maybe I need more sugar, and this weird jealousy thing will subside. Forking a piece of the cake into my mouth, as soon as the flavors hit my tongue, there’s absolutely no way I can refrain from moaning.

  Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.

  And I make a decision right then and there that Stacy needs to live and needs her hands to continue making these deliciously decadent treats.

  Dang it.

  Back to the drawing board.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ry

  “I’m a heifer. It’s confirmed.”

  Maggie’s been groaning as we walk along the sidewalk after spending far too much time in Stacy’s shop. She’s been trudging along, hand over her stomach.

  “You’re not a heifer.”

  “I am. I’m enormous now. I can feel it. My thighs? They just melded together.” She begins walking funny, and I roll my eyes.

  “Mags”—I grab her hand—“you need to sit for a moment?”

  We’re walking through the park that faces part of the lakefront on our way back to my parents’ house. A vacant bench has a bit of shade from the nearby tree.

  “Yessss, please.”

  Walking over, Maggie immediately slumps onto the bench, hands on her stomach with a groan. “I have a food baby.” She pushes out her stomach, rounding it before letting it deflate. “Nearly five months along, by the looks of it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I sling an arm around her shoulders as we sit, relaxing, with nothing but the sounds of bustling activity surrounding us. Shoppers, tourists, people enjoying the water, out kayaking on the lake. It’s a gorgeous day and, luckily, stress-free since we’ve been away from the house and—more importantly—my father.

  “I kind of don’t want to go back.”

  Turning at Maggie’s softly spoken words, I take in her profile as her eyes remain on the lakefront before us. Her long hair is pulled back in one of those loopy ponytail things, and she’s a bit flushed from the warm weather. She looks happy, sated, and while much of that reason may be the indulging of sweets we just partook in, I’d like to think some of it is because she’s here with me. God, I could stare at her forever.

  Yeah, that was creepy as shit. But I don’t care. When Maggie is happy, it makes me happy.

  “Right now is just … perfect.” She turns to me, the gentle breeze tousling some strands of my hair. “You know?”

  Reaching out to tuck the stray strands behind her ear, I nod. “I know.”

  She leans her head against me, and we sit there, gazing out at the lake, not speaking but enjoying each other’s presence.

  It’s just as Maggie said. Right now is perfect. Because I’m with the one I love.

  Now if only I can get her to love me back.

  * * *

  I’m walking down the hallway toward the kitchen when I hear my mother and Maggie talking quietly. The hushed tone of Maggie’s voice makes me slow, pausing at the edge of the doorway and eavesdropping like a little kid.

  “Do you mind if I ask about Ry and his …” She trails off, and it’s evident in her hesitation that she’s unsure of how to ask her question. “About Ry and when he decided to come out?”

  My entire body jolts in alarm. Like Sylvester the cat in those old cartoons where he gets electrocuted—every hair standing on end, entire body stiff as a board—during one of the many times he’s chasing after Tweety Bird, the damn bird outsmarting him yet again. That’s me right now. Frozen in horror and panic combined. Because I’ve been so worried about my father that I didn’t take into account the chance that Maggie might ask my mother about my sexuality.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, honey.” My mother’s confusion is clear in her voice.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought you—”

  “RYLAND!” My father’s booming voice draws my eavesdropping to a screeching halt. Jerking around, I see him not but a few feet away in the entrance to the living room.

  Stepping around, now in plain sight of Maggie and my mother in the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye, I notice them exchanging a worried look. Likely because my father looks pissed.
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  But there’s nothing new there. If only I could make a living off that, I’d be a shoo-in for one of the top earners in Forbes magazine. Actually, now that I think of it, if being a world-class dick to your kid were something he could medal in in the Olympics, he’d be undefeated and bring home the gold.

  Every. Four. Years.

  “Yes.” I don’t phrase it as a question but as more of a resigned Fuck my life kind of way.

  He gives me one of those head-nod gestures, telling me to follow him as he walks into the living room. With each step closer to him, my feet feel like they get heavier, more sluggish with dread. As if I’m trudging through wet cement.

  Because the fact that my father wants to speak with me is never a good thing. Never. In fact, it would probably be better if we never spoke and, instead, just exchanged sign language.

  Uh, yeah. Maybe not even that. Because the only sign language I see us utilizing would be flipping each other the bird.

  Coming to a stop about two feet away from him, I do my best to maintain eye contact. You know, in all the books I’ve read, before graduating and while working for Eastern Sports, body language and displays of assertiveness and an air of authority are stressed. Yeah, I swear I forget every single damn thing I’ve learned and utilized over the years in the presence of this man.

  Forcing myself to straighten my posture even more, I fold my arms across my chest and look him head-on. He stares at me, and I wait for him to start up with the usual: to badger me about my job and the overall path I’ve chosen for my life.

  He glances past me quickly before his eyes return to rest on me, lowering his voice. “What the hell’s the deal with Maggie?”

  Brows furrowed, I frown in confusion because I have no clue what he’s asking. “What do you mean?”

  His expression turns hard. “I mean what the hell are you doing with that girl?”