“I’ve got a T-shirt and some sweats you can wear,” he said, setting them beside her. “You get dressed while I go down to look for your keys.”
Twenty-five minutes later Ty walked back into the apartment, swinging Maggie’s key ring around his index finger.
“You found them!” Maggie called from the couch, swimming in his borrowed clothes as she struggled to get up.
And struggled some more.
A low giggle had his focus snapping to the bottle of allergy stuff he’d left on the counter in the kitchen—a bottle now located on the coffee table in front of the couch and looking significantly lighter than it had last he’d seen it.
He gaped. “How much did you drink?”
Maggie shrugged, waving his question away like an annoying gnat.
“I needed more. But it’s working now. I can feel it.”
And yeah, the way that hive-riddled face pulled back in a swerve said she was feeling it a lot. There was no way he could drop her back in her apartment like this. Not alone.
“Maggie? Any idea what Ava and the guys are up to tonight?” And what his chances were of getting through to them, or when they’d be home.
She raised a brow. Then switched to the other. “Movie.”
And that would explain the radio silence after his text.
“Oohh, ’n’ you got my purse, too,” she sighed, and he had to admit her lungs sounded about a thousand times better.
He carried it over to her and she slung the short stiff strap over her shoulder, taking her keys in one hand as she reached out to—holy hell!
Ty’s hips shot back as Maggie’s fingers snared the front pocket of his jeans.
“Hey, stand still,” she snapped. “I wanna get up.”
And playing pocket soccer was her plan to do it? This was bad.
Taking her wrist, Tyler gently but firmly extracted her hand from his pants and helped her back onto the couch. Looked her square in the swollen slits of her eyes and grimaced. “So Maggie, I’m thinking maybe we hang awhile. Talk.”
A delighted smile. “Really?”
No. “Sure.”
She shuffled around on the couch, settling back in. “Okay, let’s play a game.”
Great, she was going to owe him for this. “What do you want to play? Poker? Gin?”
Thank God her face was swollen the way it was, because the look in her eyes when she answered might have been a real problem otherwise. “Truth or dare.”
Tyler leaned close, smiling his most patient smile. “Not a chance.”
—
Head foggy, tongue thick, Maggie came to beneath the gentle rubbing of a hand—big and warm—at her shoulder. Opening her eyes as far as they would go, all she could see was gray. Voices sounded in the distance, but it was the one at her ear—
“Time to get up, Maggie.”
—that had her snapping to attention.
This couldn’t be—
She hadn’t—
Horrified, she planted a hand, struggling to sit up, then froze at the harsh grunt confirming her situation was every bit as bad as she suspected.
She’d been sleeping with her head in Apartment Three’s lap. Her cheek pressed against his abdomen, her arm tucked up against the side of his chest.
“Tyler?” she asked in a whisper, afraid to meet his eyes.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked, brushing the hair from her face with a gentle stroke.
She took a bracing breath, relieved when the air moved through her lungs without resistance. “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you!”
“Took me by surprise, too,” he said with a gruff laugh she could feel rumbling from deep in his chest, right through her own. “Especially considering you were mid-sentence when you knocked out.”
Looking up at him, their eyes met, and she saw something in Tyler’s expression she didn’t know how to read. Something tender, which made her feel shy. Nervous.
Aware. Of him. Of her. Of them together on his couch. Of the press of their bodies and the comforting weight of his arm resting over her hip.
Of how good it felt being this close to him. How for the first time in too long to think about, she maybe wanted to get closer.
“I should get up. Get off you, at least.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but neither of them moved. And then slowly, his brows drew forward, darkening the eyes still holding with hers. “Maggie?”
Her hand inched higher over his chest and, God, his body was amazing. The muscles beneath her palm, firm. Defined.
“Your friends are here.”
She froze, her hazy thoughts sharpening fast.
“I left the door unlocked for them and—”
“Hives, huh?”
Maggie jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, then twisted around to see her friends piled up at Tyler’s front door, their expressions guaranteeing she’d be hearing about this for weeks.
Perfect.
Slinging an arm around Ava’s shoulders, Sam grinned. “Looks like Apartment Three scratched Maggie’s itch for her after all.”
Chapter Nine
Unenthused about the prospect of the day ahead, Maggie lay in bed, willing the sleep that had abandoned her to return. She didn’t want to get up because as far as she was concerned, there was only one thing worse than waking up with a hangover she hadn’t earned the fun way, and that was waking up with an all-too-clear recollection of what had transpired between her and Three.
The guy had saved her bacon in no small way.
He’d carried her up two flights of stairs. Princess style.
Bought her medicine. Let her use his shower. And found her keys.
But after he’d gotten her drunk on allergy medicine—that was her story, and pride demanded she stick to it—things started getting a little fuzzy around the point when he’d given her a change of clothes.
And now that she was thinking about clothes, holy cow, was his T-shirt soft. And the smell—
An indelicate grunt sounded from the space immediately behind her and a pointy elbow caught her in the spine.
Ouch.
The elbow was followed by the thwack of a limp hand across her face and the icy press of size-seven toes at the inside of her knee. Rolling onto her back, she nudged Ava’s sprawl of limbs out of her way, mentally amending her previous thought. So there where two things worse, and sharing a bed with her flail-acious friend was the other.
Ava cracked an eyelid. “God, you’re hideous.”
Maggie sighed. Her eyes were still uncomfortably swollen, and her lips felt like they’d just had a bead of repurposed fat injected into them—she was probably looking at another few days before her face hit normal.
“Ava. Why are you in my bed? Again.”
“You ODed on allergy medicine. I saved your life by sleeping in here with you.”
Mm-hmm. Right. “I kicked you out last night. I remember.”
Fist shot high overhead, Ava stretched. “Yeah, I went next door and jammied up. But by then, the sleepover seed had already taken root. So I came back and crawled in. You know I like overnights.”
Then Ava’s brows knit together and she gave her pillow a tentative sniff. Looked back at Maggie and inched closer, sniffing again. “I didn’t notice last night, but something smells really good.”
“Ava,” Maggie squeaked, laughing when the sniffing ended up with Ava’s nose burrowed against her neck. “First with the nonconsensual sleepover and now you’re practically—umph—on top of me. I’m not that kind of girl!”
The front door opened and closed with a thunk.
“Seriously, what is that? Pepper…tea?” Ava asked, a concentrated frown on her face.
“I know, it’s nice, huh? Haven’t you noticed how good Apartment Three smells?” Maggie pulled a corner of the T-shirt up to her nose. Then frowned. “Except, this is no laundry detergent. You don’t think he— He wouldn’t have—”
A burst of laughter broke free of her chest at the thought of her
former nemesis sticking her with a shirt from the top of the hamper, just for old time’s sake.
“Given you the shirt off his bathroom floor? That would be awesome.” Ava’s nose was working down her chest. “Except it smells clean. In fact, it’s not the shirt so much as you.”
The body wash. She hadn’t been able to smell it last night with her nostrils swollen shut, but—
“Maggie, you sure you weren’t getting your itch scratched upstairs, because Apartment Three is all over you.”
“Ava,” she howled, “you are so violating my bubble.”
“Pfft. You’re my BFF. You don’t get a bubble.”
“Donut delivery,” Sam called down the hall. “If you’re not decent, no objections here—holy shit!”
Maggie looked past the dark fall of Ava’s hair draped over her to the door, where Sam had grabbed the frame with one hand, a bag of old-fashioned donuts spilling out around him. “Sam! What the heck?”
So much for her plan to put off washing the floors one more week.
Ava sat up, basically straddling Maggie’s leg, an amused look on her face. “Behold, the power of girl-on-girl suggestion.”
—
Climbing one stair at a time, Maggie told herself to get a grip. The next five to ten minutes didn’t have to be a big deal. Yeah, they had to happen. But the angst over a simple T-shirt-and-sweats handoff followed by a few words of gratitude—not necessary.
So she wasn’t entirely clear on how those last moments had gone down prior to falling asleep. And after waking, she might have been a bit more touchy-feely than normal. So what? Tyler would assure her she had nothing to burn with shame over. That she hadn’t actually been feeling him up the way she was pretty sure she had been. And that everything with their precious new friendship was still on the up-and-up.
At the top of the stairs, she went to his door and knocked.
This would be fast. Painless.
He’d make a crack about her laying off the sauce. About the hives being an improvement. Something. She’d give him the finger. But in a half-affectionate, you-know-how-grateful-I-am kind of way.
No meaningful talk.
No heartfelt embrace.
No Enrique Iglesias singing in the background about being her hero, baby.
Ty’s heavy tread sounded as he approached the door. The lock tumbled and her belly followed suit.
That hot rush through her veins wasn’t anticipation. It wasn’t excitement to see him.
Definitely not.
It was nerves over the justifiable concern she’d drooled on his stomach. Snored. Or elbowed his ’nads as she flopped around…asleep in his lap…while he’d sat there with his arm resting against her in a way that made her think maybe he hadn’t minded too much.
The door swung open and Tyler greeted her with her favorite smirk and a wicked glint in his eyes. “Morning, gorgeous.”
He was joking. The tightness when she rolled her eyes reminded her of what the mirror had solidly confirmed. Gorgeous wasn’t on the menu for today. But instead of delivering some snappy comeback, Maggie found herself off balance and out of sorts. Too caught up in the sight of him standing in front of her, and the nervous flutter starting up in her belly with frenetic vigor, to do anything more than give herself a mental slap.
Because suddenly, she knew what her absurd reaction to their close proximity was about. What had been quietly, insidiously building since their first date.
God, maybe even before.
She recognized the signs from all those years ago. The rush of excitement and prickly awareness whispering over her skin every time Tyler was around. And when he wasn’t, the sense that somehow she was waiting, almost holding a bit of breath, anticipating when she’d see him next and finally be able to breathe right again. The distracted thoughts. The reading into every casual, inadvertent action…the denial.
This was a crush.
And that was the dead-last thing she needed getting in the way of their burgeoning friendship.
What was she going to do with a crush? She wasn’t interested in a relationship. Had sworn up and down to Tyler she wouldn’t fall for him. But now, here she was, blinking up at the man who was making her tongue-tied and her heart beat too fast.
“You want to come in?” he offered, without any apparent awareness of her distress. “I’m assuming you’re here about the whole undying gratitude thing. I know you’ll never be able to thank me enough, but I’ve got a few minutes if you want to try.”
Pull it together, girl.
This was not the time for awkward staring.
Forcing some sass she didn’t feel, Maggie handed over the clothes she’d washed and the plastic sleeve of powdered sugar Donettes she’d picked up that morning. “Yeah, thanks for the good time, but I’ve got to scoot.”
Tyler nodded.
“There’s this thing. I’ve got to get to.” She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. The lie, because thing, what thing? “So I have to go. But I really do appreciate what you did.”
“Okay, Maggie. See you around.”
“See you.”
Chapter Ten
JANUARY
The thing about crushes was, they were hormone-spawned, pheromone-driven, chemical things. And unlike their more mature cousin, love, which was really something to worry about, crushes were notoriously fickle and generally sported the life span of a gnat. So Maggie figured she’d let this inconvenient little anomaly blow over on its own and within a few days, a week tops, she’d be laughing about it with herself while she drank alone…because this crush wasn’t something she’d ever own up to.
The only problem?
She hadn’t remembered how persistent a simple, uncomplicated crush could be.
It had survived Christmas and her trip down to Florida to see her family. And in all honesty, it had been a handy distraction during all her mother’s worried silences and her father’s awkward assurances they knew she was being smart. Careful. But once she’d boarded her return flight, she was hoping that distracting crush might just stay down south.
No such luck.
It sustained itself through New Year’s and the chaste hugs and cheek kisses the whole group had shared. Except for Sam, who’d somehow snared this passing gorgeous blonde he swept into a dramatic dip before planting what looked like a total soul kiss on her and then letting her go with a wink and a smile. And now, two weeks into January, Maggie’s crush wasn’t showing any signs of waning. In fact, if anything, it was getting worse.
Why couldn’t she get this guy out of her head?
She’d even given up her post–Hives Guy boycott of the gym in order to try and burn off those untoward thoughts about her neighbor. The one who’d mentioned that working out was the only way he could really clear his head. Of course, the minute she’d asked what he’d been trying to get off his mind was the minute he changed the subject.
Yep, red flag.
He was so not good crush material.
And his unknowing advice stunk. The gym didn’t seem to be working for her. Thirty minutes she’d been pedaling her ass off, and in her mind’s eye, she was still seeing Tyler’s shirt. The white oxford she’d discovered was her very favorite, and the one he’d been wearing the night he rescued her date. She was thinking about the way his sleeves had been rolled to just below his elbows, showing off forearms wrapped with ropelike muscles that shifted and flexed every time he moved his hands. The way the fabric pulled taut across the definition of his shoulders and back when he wielded that big ball—because, yes, that shirt had done the impossible and made bowling sexy. And she was thinking about how he’d been wearing it open with just enough neck showing to give a girl ideas about wanting to see more. About how easily the buttons might slide free…about how it would feel to push the open panels over his shoulders, down his arms. How close she’d have to stand in order to do it. What it would be like to look up from that scant distance and see Tyler looking down—
An Us Weekly sn
apped in front of her face, followed by Ava’s breathless, yet obviously amused, censure. “Geez, Maggie, maybe it’s time we had a discussion about the subtle art of scoping. And the selection process, while we’re at it. Because while that guy over in free weights is very nice to look at, I’m almost positive he’s married to the dude spotting him.”
“What? No!” she panted, barely managing to wave a hand through the air and bat away Ava’s claim. “I wasn’t looking at those guys. I swear.”
Truth.
“I—I had something in my eye.”
Lie.
“Yeah, we saw,” Ava laughed. “Lust. An obscene amount.”
Maggie coughed, trying to buy some time and come up with an excuse.
“Don’t bother. You’re wearing a sports bra and, sister, the twins are telling all your dirty secrets.”
Maggie’s hands flew up to her chest, but cupping the girls while she rode her stationary bike wasn’t much of a long-term solution. “Sam, give me your T-shirt.”
Ignoring her request, Sam grinned from his treadmill like she’d made him a tray of salted caramel bars and told him he didn’t have to share. “Time for Maggie’s biennial lay already?”
“Ha. Ha,” she panted. If only it had been that recently. It had been three years since Bruce, a French sculptor Hedda had introduced her to at an opening for a mutual friend’s show. He’d spoken more English than she’d spoken French, but barely, and they’d ended up sharing an uncomplicated night together before he’d flown home the next day.
As she thought about it, three years was a really long time.
Like long enough that maybe all this fluttery awareness with Tyler was simply the call of her neglected libido making a bid for attention. Maybe it wasn’t so much about Tyler as he happened to be the hottie on hand when her hormones flared up.
He was so hot.
And funny and sharp and all the other things that used to make up the list of qualities she found desirable in a man. But still. Maybe the solution to kicking this crush—if that’s even what it was—could be as simple as offering her starved libido a little snack. Not a full meal, but an appetizer. A small plate. A treat to tide her over for another year or so.
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