by A. M. Mahler
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” I said with a half chuckle. “It’s just started. We haven’t even gone out on an official date yet, though she stayed over the night of the injury because she felt guilty about causing it.”
“Sounds more like divine intervention.” My mom couldn’t stop smiling. And frankly, whenever I thought of Maggie, I couldn’t stop smiling either. A giddiness I can’t remember ever feeling before filled me up. The anticipation of seeing her again was almost overwhelming. I couldn’t recall there ever being a time that I was so utterly consumed by one human being before. Part of me even considered staying for the day and heading back after dinner tonight, but then I knew I’d feel guilty about that. There was a tug inside me between the life I always knew and the one that was now shaping up.
“She’s a hot mess,” I chuckled. “It’s adorable. Something is always out of place—her glasses are crooked, her hair is coming down in random spots, she has grease on her face, her fingertips are stained. When she is all put together, she doesn’t seem right, not herself.”
“And you’re always Mr. Fancy,” Devon said. He stood up and started piling the dishes up, laying the silverware on top. My brother looked tired, and I wondered if he got in late from a shift, and I woke him up early. Then again, he was a single father to three rambunctious boys. Tired was pretty much his default look.
Devon and Lindsey were the fairytale couple. High school sweethearts that married while still in college. They had kids right away. Lindsey majored in education but stayed at home to raise the boys. We were all devastated when she died of cancer. But Devon, he had to be strong for his boys. I never once saw him break down. He did all his grieving in private.
“There’s nothing wrong with being well-dressed,” I argued. “Image is my job.”
“So you’ve told us a million times.” Devon rolled his eyes then picked up the stack of dishes, walking to the sink. I got up, grabbed as many cups as I could carry, and followed him. He turned on the sink, and I opened the dishwasher. Looked like we’re both on dish duty. “I can’t wait for you to have kids. They’re messy.”
“I’ve been thrown up on, peed on, and bloodied by your kids,” I reminded him. “Not to mention that time they pushed me in the ocean when we were camping. I didn’t freak out.”
Devon turned to me and raised a single brow. My mother scoffed from the table. Okay. There was that time that Marcus puked all over my Italian leather loafers, and I cried. Those were expensive! And yeah, so what if I let out a small squeal of horror when Gavin peed on my Burberry shirt? That doesn’t make me wimpy. Though I did learn very important lessons about the kind of clothing I wore when I was around them. For instance, I left all that at home this weekend. I mean, I left it in Grayson Falls. Did I really just refer to New Hampshire as home? Even if only in my head?
“Have you changed that bandage since the doctor put it on?” My mother rose from the table and walked over to scrutinize my forehead. I hadn’t changed the bandage. I’ve been too afraid of the pain it was going to cause when it came off. Instead of answering my mother, I focused on loading the dishes Dev handed me once he rinsed them off. “Uh-huh,” my mother continued. “That’s a no. We’ll take care of that today. You have to treat it and change the bandage.”
“It’s fine.” Probably.
“Well, we’ll know soon.” She patted my shoulder and walked by. Devon chuckled. He took great pleasure in my impending pain.
“So, you’ll never guess who lives in Grayson Falls and I met.” I said to my brother, as our mother left the kitchen to sit with the boys in the living room.
“Who?”
“Zach Porter.”
Devon fumbled the plate he was rinsing, and it fell into the sink as he snapped his head up to look at me. “No shit?”
“No shit,” I confirmed. “And he disagreed with my assessment of McClaren. He seems to think that kid has something special and will pull through.”
“Hmm,” Devon said, picking up the dish he was just rinsing. “It’s tough to pick a side on that one. I think the kid sucks. He’s throwing melons out there. But I’m not a major league pitcher, so I guess what do I know?”
“There’s this cool little brew pub in town that seems to be the local favorite. Zach goes there a lot to watch the games. The bartender knows everyone’s orders. It’s crazy. They’ve got good beer, and its family friendly. We’ll go when you come to visit.” A tingle of anticipation ignited inside when I thought about showing Dev and the boys Grayson Falls. It wasn’t a big place, but it had some cool stuff they’d like, like Ryan’s brother’s farm. Maybe they could ride horses. I bet they’d get a kick out of that.
“Sounds like a plan,” Devon said. He handed me the last dish, shut off the water, and dried his hands. I added soap to the dishwasher, closed the door, and set it to wash. It was only half full, which would piss off my mom, but I did it anyway because some things just don’t sink in to a son. I’d just have to try to empty it later before she found out.
Dev and I refilled our coffee mugs and headed into the living room for a lazy Saturday morning with the boys. Oddly, no one was sitting on the couch, so I stretched out and settled in for Mandalorian reruns.
Before I realized what was going on, my brother sat across my chest and pinned my arms. I immediately started fighting him off, but once the boys climbed on my legs, I stilled. I didn’t care about sending Dev flying across the living room and into a hard, immovable object, possibly breaking a collar bone, but I was not going to do that to the boys. It looked like this was going to happen. Resigned to my fate, I waited for the pain. My mother appeared over me and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“You can do it, Uncle Simon!” Gavin said.
“You’re strong like Iron Man!” Travis chimed.
“See how much skin you can get, grandma!” shouted Marcus, the little traitor. That kid used to hold a special place in my heart until about two seconds ago.
“It’s best to do it fast, baby,” my mom said, patting my cheek. I looked up into the eyes of the woman who brought me into the world, nursed all my illnesses and wounds, comforted me when I had bad dreams, guided me through times of uncertainty and high school. The woman I trusted more than anyone in the entire world. I closed my eyes and gave myself over to her gentle touch.
The pain was stunning and fast. I heard the disgusting sound of the band aid ripping away and taking my skin with it. The sting, oh, the sting.
“FUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!” I shouted. And silence followed. The only sound was my heavy breathing and some whimpering. Also mine.
“Uncle Simon said the F-word,” Gavin whispered. With the exception of an occasional excited utterance like Devon had this morning, we were very mindful of our language around the boys.
“Is he going to get grounded, Daddy?” Marcus asked.
“He’s already grounded, buddy,” Devon said, still perched above me.
My mother leaned down and studied Dr. Stuart’s work. “It doesn’t look infected, so that’s good,” she said, as if she knew. She was a writer not a medical professional. But she did raise two sons and now three grandsons, so I supposed she probably had a good idea of what a stitched wound looked like when it got infected. “Come on, let’s go upstairs and put something on it. I hold stock in Neosporin.”
The boys scrambled off me, followed by Devon. When I stood up, I punched him in the shoulder as I walked past. Laughing in response to me, he turned and dove onto the floor with his boys as another epic wrestling match began. The sound of Devon’s grunts and shouts, along with the boys’ hooting and hollering filled me up. Maybe this wasn’t technically my home anymore, but it was still where I came when my heart needed to recharge.
Maggie
T
he 24-Hours of Le Mans was a race in Le Mans, France referred to as the “Grand Prix of Endurance and Efficiency,” and it had been my secret dream since I first heard of it. Constant racing for twenty-four hours, it was the most prestigiou
s race in the world, and unlike other races that were on a closed track, had a fixed distance to race, and were won by the driver that crossed the finish line in the least amount of time, the Le Mans was won by the car that covered the farthest distance. It was a race of prototypes. Like horse racing, it was part of a Triple Crown—Le Mans, the Indianapolis 500, and the Monaco Grand Prix. There was an American version, but the crème de la crème of racing went to France. There was no set design to a car as long as it met certain measurements. Since it was a race of prototypes, there was near absolute freedom and flexibility to the design.
Jesse and I had been working on specs for about three years now, and I was nearly certain that we could get the backing for this from Ryan. In the event I misjudged him and he passed on it, I planned to pitch it to Colton Donavan and his company, CD Enterprises. Given what I knew of Colton from reading his interviews, I was sure he wasn’t capable of saying no to an opportunity like this. He’d probably even want to be the primary driver.
I had the specs all worked out. Now, I was working on the design of the car. It needed to be as aerodynamic as possible, light, with no unnecessary metal. I was currently favoring a cross between an Indy car and a stock car. Not much of a driver’s cabin—only what was necessary to encase them in and keep them safe. Enlarged headlights, which wasn’t something you’d find at all on a stock car because the track was lit at night and headlights were needless weight, but in Le Mans, when you were racing in the dark on an unlit course, strong headlights were essential.
The more I sat here with this design, the more it started to look like the Batmobile, and I didn’t see anything wrong with that. Sleek, fast, durable. Just without the ability to fly.
But maybe that would be fun to add in after the race—purely for the thrill.
I got into my office early that morning after the most restless weekend in recent memory. Nothing held my attention. I tried reading, watching movies, working on this new design, hanging out with my brother. Nothing gave me any sort of fulfillment. I went to bed late last night and woke up early with the realization that I missed Simon. I’d known him for a little over three weeks now and somehow, I missed him like I would an arm. We’d done nothing more than kiss and cuddle on the couch. But in that time—and through his clothes—I learned his body, how it responded to mine in the most innocent of ways, and more recently how my body craved his.
We texted a little while he was gone, but that wasn’t nearly enough to quench this building need I had for him. There was no other way to describe it. A month ago, I was going it alone, perfectly happy in my small life doing my own thing, which really was nothing at all. Now there was somebody that I needed—someone I wasn’t related to that was of so much importance I couldn’t effectively function without him for two days.
I hadn’t even had sex with him yet. Once I did, because I think that was a foregone conclusion at this point, was this need going to turn into obsession? Or would it all go away? That thought saddened me. I didn’t want this to go away. I was excited to see where this was going.
I sensed someone looming in my doorway and assumed it was my brother coming to get coffee. But when I looked up, it was Jamie standing there. Of course, she looked like she just stepped off a runway in a breezy summer ensemble of loose-fitting linen pants and silk shirt. Her hair was up in a messy bun that dollars to donuts she spent twenty minutes futzing with to get it to look like she didn’t care. I found you can achieve the same look by actually not caring.
“Good weekend?” she asked, walking over to the coffee maker. I had better stuff in here than she and Ryan did. The funny thing was, I got my coffee from the General Store, which was owned by Ryan’s wife, so Ryan could have good coffee, but for some reason chose not to.
I shrugged. “I didn’t actually do anything.” I shut down the screen on my drafting board as she got close to me. She likely wouldn’t know what she was looking at, but I wasn’t taking any chances of leaks to Ryan before the design was ready.
As her coffee brewed, she turned and locked me into her suspicious gaze. “What about Simon? Didn’t you stay over his place? And you stayed with him the next day to work from home. I haven’t seen you since you left here last Thursday.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I said. When she had her coffee, I popped off my exercise ball and moved to the coffee maker to refill my own cup. It was just shy of eight a.m., and I was on my third cup. That’s not strange for me. I was usually a three-cup drinker, but cup three was usually much later in the morning.
“Where did you sleep at his place?”
“On the couch.” Absolute truth.
“Where did he sleep?”
Ugh. I might have been a strategic omitter of information, but I wasn’t a liar. “On the couch.”
She spun around mid-walk to the couch, looking both victorious and frustrated. “I want all the details,” she demanded. “Is he good? Someone that hot has to be good right? I can’t believe you got him before me.”
I don’t know if she was trying to get a rise out of me or not, but that comment struck a nerve. A very foreign and protective nerve.
“Christ, Jamie, he’s not something to be objectified. He’s a human being. I didn’t get to him, no. Just because he’s good-looking doesn’t mean he gets around. We kissed. It was good, but the man had a head injury. I wasn’t about to jump his bones. We have stuff in common and enjoy each other’s company. We’re getting to know each other better. I don’t just jump into bed with people. It’s not my style. And there is no me before you, there’s just me.”
Wow. That was unexpected.
Jamie smirked slyly, and I realized I played right into her hands. She intentionally provoked me to try to find out my real feelings. I was such a sucker.
“Hey, Simon.” She looked over my shoulder, and my stomach knotted.
How much did he hear? Did she know he was there all along? If she did, the payback I inflicted upon her would be brutal. I didn’t appreciate being toyed with. This was why I didn’t have any friends.
“Good morning.”
Simon’s husky voice fell over me like silk. When I turned around, my breath caught. He was dressed more casually than I’d seen him before in jeans, flip flops, and a black V-neck t-shirt. The jeans were, of course, perfect, but if he ever put on beat-up, worn-out ones, I might climb his body like a tree. His laptop was tucked in one hand, but he reached up with the other and cupped my cheek before gently pressing his lips to mine. The kiss was soft and sweet but sent a jolt of power through by body. My first instinct was to deepen the kiss, but Jamie was there, and I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
When he pulled away and looked at me, a gentle warmth rolled through my body, and I just knew I had a smitten grin on my face. Vaguely, I was aware of Jamie leaving the office, but Simon and I only had eyes for each other. The topsy-turvy weekend I had seemed to right itself now that he was back.
“Oh, Simon,” I whispered when I noticed the bandage was off his head. I gently touched around the wound with my finger. The cut and stitches looked okay—well, they looked to be healing anyway as they had some clear gel on them—but the skin around the area was raw and angry.
“They held me down and ripped the bandage off. It was barbaric. It hurt worse than the actual injury did.”
Going up on tip toes, I gently pressed my lips to the red skin. When I lowered back down, I took his lips in mine and gave him a proper kiss. I tried to tell him with my body what I wasn’t ready to tell him with words, how much I missed him.
“That was nice what you said about me,” he said, finally pulling back. We were standing in my office with the door open after all. No need to create any more injuries around this place.
Of course, the sincere way he looked at me made me choke up. I muttered something unintelligible even to me and dove back to my exercise ball. That’s me, bringing the awkward since ... well, pretty much since the day I was born.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you
,” Simon said, putting his laptop down on the table in front of the couch.
I busied myself bringing my digital drafting board back up so I could avoid eye contact. “You didn’t embarrass me. I’m just not good at relationships. I don’t know what to do. What I said to Jamie, while it was all true, is unlike me. I’m just a little out of my element right now.”
Simon walked over, bent down, and kissed my forehead, before straightening and crossing over to the coffee station.
“Hey, Maggie?” Simon said. When I looked up, this time he was busying himself at the coffee machine.
“Yeah.”
“I missed you, too.”
Simon
T
he day was finally upon us. Colton Donavan was due to arrive soon, and everyone was freaking out. Everyone except Maggie. Unless this was her freaking out and I just never saw it before, which was entirely possible. The few times I’d seen her freaking out, her body went rigid, and she looked everywhere else but at me. Now, she was calm and collected, reviewing her specs for the car. She wasn’t giving the presentation, but she still needed to be prepared—and I’d bet my salary she didn’t need to review anything. She knew everything there was to know about this car.
Also, she was stunning, wearing a plain, black cotton dress. It was casual and flirty, and she paired flip flops with it. But oh, hell, she had legs that went all the way to the ground. Shapely and flawless, I had to literally restrain myself from pushing her down on the nearest bleacher and running my palms up and down them—maybe having a lick or two. I know they’re smooth and soft like a rose petal. I just know it.
I was pretty sure the car had been washed three times now. Twice before it left the building and then after it made it to the track. It was spotless. Every time one of the guys thought a fleck of dust got on it, they rubbed it with a cloth diaper. I had never seen anything like it.