by Sasha Gold
“I’ll take it,” I tell him.
Jane gasps, Trig’s eyes widen and even Tammy looks surprised.
“It’s just for a few weeks, Maggie,” he says. “Starting as soon as you can.”
“That’s fine.” My heartbeat stutters. I’m going to see him every day, not just a few times a week at a noisy dinner table. He’s trying to help me. I lead my life, trying to make something with what I’ve got and he’s watching. Noticing.
“Thank you, Trig,” I say softly.
“All right then.” He was prepared for an argument, I suppose and now that I’ve agreed, he stands there awkwardly. He nods at Jane and Tammy and me. “I’ll get back to work.”
He turns and his heavy footfalls fade. Several of the stylists tell him good-bye and the receptionist suggests he come back soon. And then he’s gone.
Chapter Sixteen
Trig
Two days later, I barely recognize Maggie when she walks into my garage. Her hair is copper-colored and hangs, straight as a pin, down to the small of her back. She wears an outfit she must have borrowed from Jane. A skirt and sweater. A skirt. I never thought I’d see the day Maggie would wear something other than jeans and a hoodie. With her hair out of her face she’s gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous.
Five seconds after she walks in I know… Hiring Maggie is an epic mistake.
All work grinds to a halt. The men draw closer and stare at her like they’ve never seen a female before. Maybe I should introduce her to them but the way they’re eyeing her pisses me off. Instead, I take her to the office to show her around. Not much has changed since I took over from my father. I have the basic equipment and all she needs to do is answer to phone.
“Are you going to give me some sort of training?” She slips out of her jacket.
It’s hard not to stare. Jane’s conservative and too-big clothes can’t hide the fact that Maggie has curves. “Answer the phone. Be polite. Don’t cuss. Don’t touch anything.”
Moving to the window that overlooks the shop, one of my men is hanging around like a pup looking for a scrap of bread. I glare at him, a silent command to get back to work. He lifts his brows, grins at me and strolls back to his bay. The rest of the men seem to be busy. Maybe the lecture I gave them yesterday about staying away from Maggie will be enough. If not, I’ll call another meeting this evening and make my point a little clearer.
“Answer the phone and don’t touch anything,” she muses while she looks around. “That sounds pretty complicated. Maybe I should write it down.”
“Also, don’t be a smart-ass or talk to my men.”
She smiles at me and my blood heats. Great. I’m going to leave my office with a raging hard-on.
“I can do more, for you, Trig.”
Jesus.
“Wes told me about the accounting software you use and I read up on some of the basic stuff.”
She folds her arms across her chest, accentuating the curve of her breasts, breasts she’d kept hidden under her bulky hoodie. Jane’s clothes fit her, sort of. My sister-in-law was rubbing off on Maggie which was a good thing. Maggie needed that motherly influence. Like Wes I see Maggie becoming more like Jane, Soon she’d start with some of Jane’s expressions. I tried to imagine Maggie muttering good gravy… hunky-dory… okey-dokey…
You would think this image of Maggie, the good, Christian girl, would ease my throbbing cock, but strangely, it’s no help. I’m too far gone.
“I can do more than answer the phone, Trig. I know Wes asked you to give me a job, so don’t pretend it was your idea. I’m pretty smart and I’d like to prove it to you.”
“Thanks, but this is your first day. Let’s just keep it simple.”
She purses her lips and I just know she’s forming some argument but she says nothing.
I take a step closer and her scent hits me. It’s different. Soft. Floral. Everything’s different from her make-up to her attitude. My thoughts spin and I fight to regain control. Maggie’s here in the garage, working for me, wearing normal clothes and looking just like a regular, young woman. A fucking hot, young woman.
In the last five months she’s crept into my heart and I can’t push her out. I realize now, now that I’m already committed to it, that her working here is just a small part of my problem. Seeing her every day, looking like she does, acting the way she does, saying things the way she does, not about sex explicitly, but in ways my mind spins into images of hard, punishing sex, will likely destroy my ability to focus on anything else.
I can’t get away from her and I can’t get enough of her. Anytime I go a few days without seeing her, I get wound up, easily pissed off. When I see her again and get my sweet Maggie fix, I feel better.
She looks different and yet the same. I know her ways, her habits. When I leave the office, she’ll sit down, grumble and start reading the book she had tucked under her arm. While she reads, she’ll twist a strand of hair around her finger, just like I’ve seen her do dozens of times.
A flush creeps across her skin as the silence stretches between us.
“I need next Friday off so I can go to orientation,” she says, quietly.
“That’s fine.” I point to a file on the desk. “We need to treat this like a regular job. I want you to fill out the application and personnel paperwork. Social Security and all that. Citizenship.”
I turn to leave the office and as I pull the door open, she replies.
“I have a Green Card.”
“What do you mean a Green Card?” I half expect her to laugh at her little joke, but she’s dead serious.
“I was born in Ireland. I came to the U.S. when I was three months old.”
The news stuns me. “Huh.”
She shrugs. I’ll get my citizenship automatically when I turn twenty-one.”
The way she rattles that off makes me think she’s explained it a time or two before.
“How did I not know this about you?”
Her lips curve into a smile. “I never told you.”
“But you can work here?”
“The Green Card allows me most rights of a citizen, except for voting and running for office.”
“Okay. Just so long as you’re legal.”
“I am legal, Trig. Completely.”
Her tone returns to her usual sassy style. She sits down, looks up at me and bats her eyelashes.
“Don’t do that. Remember? Our talk?”
She loses the playfulness and pulls the file closer. “Right. Sorry.”
I shake my head, turn and leave the office. The other men focus on their work but the whole vibe here in the garage is changed. Charged. There’s a woman working here and that’s fucked up the balance. I keep my head down and work like hell to not think about her, and make sure to stay out of the office for the rest of the day.
Chapter Seventeen
Maggie
School is super busy but I keep working for Trig. It’s a full class load, 15 hours, and Jane is worried that I’m doing too much. She wants me to have the full college experience. I feel like I am. The classes are wonderful. I especially love the Ancient Civilizations class. The prof has traveled all over Italy and Greece working on excavations.
The students are great too. It’s nothing like high school where kids nap during class. Tuition is expensive so I guess the students want to get their money’s worth. I’m grateful for the grants and assistance Mr. Hendricks lined up for me.
I only work at the garage on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I take my books with me, and despite the banging and clanging coming from the shop, I manage to spend most of the day studying. Since Trig doesn’t want me to do anything but answer the phone, I have plenty of time.
It doesn’t feel right that he’s paying me ten bucks an hour to study. On the other hand, the perks are great. Like seeing the boss climb into the big rig he just did a brake job on and drive it out to the yard. Or watching him attach a huge chrome fender on a custom rig the men jokingly refer to as Optimus Prime.
> Trig’s strong and powerful. Watching him do his work and how much he clearly loves what he does makes me even crazier for him.
Mel will be back in two weeks and I can’t help feeling bummed that I won’t be able to come to the garage. I’m sure Trig doesn’t feel the same way. If anything, he scowls at me more than ever. He’s irritable with the men too. When Jesse walked into the office looking for the first aid kit, Trig was three steps behind him, barking at him to get the hell out.
Kyle calls a few times a week, griping about high school and how much he misses me. I tell him I miss him too, but that’s a little bit of a white lie. I love Stowe. I love my classes. I especially love that no one gives me a bad time because I like academics.
My last day of work at the garage, Trig leaves early. Before he goes, he steps into the office and tells me to take the afternoon off. He doesn’t want me at the garage when he’s not there. I want to argue and tell him that I’m fine. I rarely talk to the men, but when I do they are respectful. Trig acts like they’re all animals and I won’t be safe here without him.
I don’t protest, because he looks terrible. His normally tanned face is pale and he looks tired. Exhausted.
“Want me to drive you home?” I ask. I know he won’t want me to but I can’t help it. Seeing him like this twists something inside me. My eyes feel hot and prickle. I shove my books into my messenger bag. Gather my things. “I could take you, if you let me. One of the men could drop off your truck later.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m fine.”
I could have predicted he would tell me that. When I try to press the issue, he waves me off, dismissing my concerns. Instead of letting me take care of him, he insists on walking me to my car. I guess he doesn’t trust me to leave. He assumes I’ll blow him off and not leave early.
I text Jane to tell her I’m coming home early and can help with dinner.
Part of the way home, Trig drives behind me, but after about ten minutes he turns to go to his house. I get home early and Jane is delighted. She already has dinner made and insists I sit down with her for some girl time. Jane is at least as excited about school as I am. She claims we are fellow nerds, something that would have shocked and pissed me off a few months ago. Now I wonder if it might not be, at least, partly true.
After updating Jane about grades and school in general, I tell her about Trig leaving early. Her lips thin and her eyes widen with alarm. Her response scares me because I can tell she knows something that I don’t. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s surprises.
“What’s going on with him?” I try to keep my tone neutral.
“His headaches are from the accident. The one that killed his sister and parents. It nearly killed him too. Ever since then, he gets terrible headaches, especially when he’s stressed or mad. I keep asking him to get it checked out, but he refuses.”
Instead of being scared, I’m kind of pissed. “He’s never gone to a doctor?”
“He met with a neurosurgeon in the hospital, but he refused any treatment. Instead he takes some medicine that knocks him out. He wakes up the next day, not remembering anything.”
My anger vanishes. All I can think of is how Trig is home, alone, suffering. When I don’t respond, Jane changes the subject. She can never stand to dwell on anything unpleasant.
“Wes got a promotion this week. We are thinking about adding on a play room, a place for the boys to hang out together. Sort of like the rec room at Trig’s house.”
The rec room is cool. Everything about his basement is set up with the boys in mind. The model train set. The huge television. Trig’s just one of the boys when he’s down there. I recall that day, standing at the top of the stairs, shining the flashlight down into what seemed like the scariest place in the world. He did it to scare the living daylights out of me. It worked. He got what he wanted.
A shiver rolls up my spine. I had imagined terrible things and that his was filled with restraints and things he would use to torment me. Turns out there were Lego sets, video games and puzzles down there.
“I want the boys to have a play room they like as much as Trig’s,” Jane says.
“A play room sounds nice. If I weren’t living here, the boys could use my room.”
A flash of pain lights her eyes. Jane’s an open book and I’ve always known, from the moment I walked into her home, that she wanted to care for me and that I was important to her. Despite that, her affection still startles me.
She wraps her fingers around my forearm. “That room will always be yours.”
Her voice cracks and her eyes mist, but the moment passes and soon we’re talking about college classes and the boys’ latest escapades. She’s carpooling with a neighbor, so she doesn’t have to leave to get the boys. Around four-thirty, all four boys traipse in and demand my attention. Soon I’m listening to stories about school and kids in the neighborhood.
I’m happy to have some downtime with them. Talking with the boys doesn’t drain me or get on my last nerve like it used to. Jane promised I’d get used to it and I suppose she’s right.
But my mind wanders, too. I can’t help think of Trig and if he’s okay. He was supposed to come for dinner. Jane fixes a plate for him and I offer to take the dinner to his house. She says she’ll text him to let him know I’m coming.
Passing Wes on the driveway, I tell him I’m on my way to Trig’s house. That Trig’s ill. He gets a look on his face, stricken, and offers to go in my place. He thinks Trig and I don’t get along and I’m not sure how to explain that us not getting along is us getting along just fine.
I manage to convince Wes it will be fine. All I’m doing is dropping food off and then I’ll be back. I say good-bye, load the bag of goodies Jane gathered and head over to Trig’s in the waning, winter light.
Chapter Eighteen
Trig
The pain always starts at the base of my skull. Before long, it corkscrews my shoulders. My head feels like it’s squeezed by a vise and sometimes the agony makes me sick. The meds I take knock me out big time, but even so, I still dream. Usually about Maggie. I’ll wake, the pain gone, resting in my bed with the sheets twisted.
I’d like to think she dreams of me and that in her dreams she wants me like I want her. It’s wrong and totally fucked up but I can’t help what I want. A friend told me once that our lives come down to three things: what we say, think and do. I figure it’s okay to think about Maggie naked in my bed, me exploring every inch of her soft body, as long as I don’t actually do it. During the day, I can keep her away, but at night I can’t fight my need.
I’ve stripped down to my boxers and drift in and out of sleep. The dogs bark half-heartedly, and I should check on them, but I’m not going to when I feel like this. They don’t usually bark at night, but fuck if I care. I go back to sleep. Other sounds float through my mind. The front door opens and softly shuts. Sometimes Jane brings me dinner. Leaves it in the fridge along with a note on the counter.
The scent of food hits me along with a soft fragrance and I sink into a dream of Maggie. She’s as difficult and contrary in my dreams as she is in real life, darting away from me when I want to hold her. This time she teases me, strokes my face with her fingertips and asks if I’m okay. Then she’s gone, but I hear her voice. It’s like she’s talking to someone. Jane… Wes? Telling them she’ll stay with me.
The pain eases. Her touch skims my shoulder. I wrap my fingers around her wrist and tug her closer. Of course, she resists. Even in my dreams she’s argumentative. I want to say something like how I need her, but the only thing that comes out is a growl. Rolling to my side, I wrap her up with my arms, pin her with my leg and hold her down. She laughs softly and says my name.
Beneath me, she breathes fast, panting. Like she’s scared. I tell her it’s okay and she strokes my head. I lie with my head on her chest. When she replaced the hoodie with girly tops I couldn’t help noticing her tits. They make the best fucking pillow. Ever.
Her heart thumps
hard, but her breathing slows. While her chest is soft and nice and better than I’d imagined even in my dirtiest thoughts, her body is tense. My dream-Maggie is still scared.
“S’okay.” I tell her.
Her hand settles lightly on my back. That’s better. The grip of pain weakens as I hold her. The relief makes me groan. I need her right here with me every night. Which is impossible. I know she’s not for me. Sprawling across her, my blood warms and hardens my body. Her breathing ratchets up again and I soothe her with a few words. Everything feels so real. I don’t want to scare her.
She’s soft and smells good and when I slip my hand under the hem of her sweater I revel in the feel of her skin. Nuzzling her neck, I kiss her, bite her gently, and she arches beneath me. Cupping her breast, I’m surprised how well if fills my hand. Her gasp makes me smile. Her fingers grip my shoulder and her breathing’s back to soft little panting breaths.
“Trig…”
I suck the soft skin of her neck. The need to mark her takes over the primitive depths of my mind. Beneath me she squirms. I half-expect her to protest but she doesn’t. My dream version of Maggie might be sweeter than the real-life Maggie.
With a flick of my finger, I snap open her bra clasp.
“Trig…”
I love hearing her say my name almost as much as the way her nipple hardens beneath my touch. Teasing her with my fingertips, I whisper how I need her in my bed every night, not just when I’m hurting. That I’m addicted to her scent.
“And your tits, damn. They’re bigger than last time.”
It’s true. In the past when I dreamt of her, she was nothing like this.
She draws a sharp breath and grabs my hand, shoving it away from her breast. Then she says something about not being some cheap hook-up. Also, she calls me a dick and laughs at me like the smart ass she is. Yanking her sweater down, she giggles, tries to wriggle away from me.