Truth or Dare

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  “…You know I do…”

  She knew how badly he’d wanted it.

  Another few minutes.

  “…tonight…now?”

  Time for her to make her escape. Gathering her napkins with her plate, she carried them to the counter. She knew how this worked.

  Gina was the key to Charlie. The only future Tyler wanted. The one he’d sacrifice anything for.

  “Not hungry after all?”

  Maggie pulled it together despite the unraveling sensation within her. With a quick look over her shoulder, she smiled. “I can take mine downstairs so you can get out of here. Hold on to the wineglass or dump it in a Ziploc or something.”

  Make her own pity-party juice box with one of those little coffee straws floating around in her junk drawer.

  She was pretty sure she’d hidden a bag of Oreos in the back of her cabinet, too. And she was so turning on The Vampire Diaries. For the next ten hours.

  It was going to be a self-sorrying binge of epic proportions. Just as soon as she cleared out of Ty’s place, shoulders back, head high. Strong and stable smile in place.

  Only then, Tyler was shaking his head as he reached over her and took her plate. “Gina can yank my chain every other night of the year. I’m not ditching you tonight.”

  She blinked back tears, but too quick they were rolling over her lids and down her cheeks as she nearly choked on emotion. “You’re not?”

  “Nah. Friends don’t let friends take their wine home in a baggie,” he said, heading back to their living room picnic with her plate and dropping onto the couch before meeting her eyes again. “And last I checked, they don’t blow out when they’re needed, either. Grab your napkin and let’s eat.”

  —

  After Maggie had gone, Tyler walked through his apartment wishing the evidence of her being there hadn’t been so easy to clear. But she’d washed the dishes while he dried. The leftover pizza was in the fridge. And his space was empty enough that there was nothing left to distract him from what he’d done.

  He’d blown Gina off.

  Politely. Carefully.

  But sugarcoating aside, that was exactly what he’d done. And he couldn’t even regret the risk he’d taken doing it.

  The hurt in Maggie’s eyes had wrecked him. He knew what that gallery meant to her. Knew about her plans and all the sacrifices she’d made. And how the gallery represented the stability and comeback from the mess that asshole Kyle had made of her life.

  So when Gina had called asking him to take her out for a drink, just that once he’d said no, citing a work emergency as his excuse. It hadn’t been a lie. It just hadn’t been his work.

  She’d been miffed. But he’d made all the right noises to appease her ego. Something he had no shortage of experience with. He asked her what she was wearing, how she’d done her hair. Things he couldn’t care less about, but knew Gina would get off on. And then he’d hinted with a few obvious questions about a gift. And that had done it. Scored him the rain check on the drink for the next night. The assurance he hadn’t fucked up all his efforts with this one rebellious act.

  He just hadn’t been able to walk away from Maggie like that.

  God knew, he was giving up everything else for Gina. This one night was for Maggie.

  —

  Maggie dreamed the new owner was some adorable, shriveled little ninety-six-year-old with a twinkle in her eyes, who smelled like apple pie and wanted nothing more than to own an art gallery for a few months before she retired to France. At which point she would gift the business to the woman who had poured her blood, sweat, and tears—Maggie had totally cut herself more than once working on framing, worked up a serious lather during renovations, and the tears…well, they’d been a recent thing but definitely counted—into growing the floundering business to the success it had become.

  It was such a nice idea that when she woke Friday morning, she had a moment of peace beneath her covers where she actually believed it was true.

  That had been a great moment.

  And then the phone rang and it was Hedda, inviting her for dinner to meet the new owner, Royce…who was not female.

  But maybe he was doddering and ancient. A sweet old guy who would pat her hand and tell her she reminded him of his great-granddaughter.

  There was a chance. And after the way she’d been screwed over, by balance-in-the-universe standards, it should have been just that.

  But as it turned out, balance wasn’t on the agenda for the evening. Something Maggie should have figured out when the evening kicked off with Hedda and Royce (not ninety-six, and by Maggie’s estimate, not interested in retirement anytime soon) showing up to the restaurant an hour late, both looking as though they’d spent that time getting sweaty in the back of a windowless van with a mattress on the floor. Hedda’s makeup was smudged and she was sporting a hickey the size of a sun-dried tomato on the side of her neck. Royce’s shirt looked as though it had been hastily rearranged, the buttons careening off toward his left side and an unrepentant bit of tail hanging shamelessly from his slacks.

  They were an eyesore.

  Still, it might not have been so bad if whatever had happened in the back of that imagined van stayed in the back of the van. But no such luck, as handsy appeared to be the theme for the evening.

  Yuck.

  “And this is my savior,” Hedda began, gripping Maggie’s hand in her own. “My gorgeous, brilliant girl. The daughter of my heart and key to my continued sanity, Margaret Lawson.” Then, resting her other hand at the center of Royce’s chest, where she rubbed her index finger up and down, she looked into his eyes and spoke solemnly. “I’m entrusting her to you.”

  Maggie kept it together, the way she’d been doing from day one with Hedda. The woman was over the top, and Royce didn’t strike her as much better. But maybe she was judging him too harshly. Maybe he was eccentric, but serious about this new endeavor. Maybe she just needed to give him a chance.

  “So Royce, tell me about your background in the art world. What brings you to The Shrone?” she asked, aiming for professional and friendly.

  Only the man was still engaged in some deeply communal eye-lock with Hedda, and when he finally pulled his attention free, it was to grip Maggie’s other hand. As though swearing a sacred oath, he promised, “I’ll care for her as if she were my own.”

  —

  The cabdriver was going to think she was nuts. From the minute she’d climbed into the backseat, Maggie had been slingshotting from bouts of laughter to tears and back again.

  She was out of a job. That much was for sure.

  First thing tomorrow, she’d call Hedda and give notice, because there was no way in hell she was going to spend a single day alone with Royce.

  Not only did the guy know precisely dick about the running of a gallery, or art in general, for that matter, but she’d caught him watching her out of the corner of his eye while he’d frenched Hedda with a stray flake from the fritti misto stuck to his chin. Add to that the not-so-subtle innuendo about multiple partners, and the “accidental” brush of his hand over her ass?

  No way.

  The appetizer course hadn’t even been cleared before she feigned an emergency and ran for the hills. Or at least the nearest cab on the corner. Now, rolling past the storefronts and restaurants, the hipsters and transplants and all her favorite places to walk and shop and talk, Maggie swiped at the tears leaking down her face with the side of her wrist, considering the possible ripple effect of Royce.

  Working for Hedda as the gallery manager, she’d made enough to afford her apartment while building her savings. But if she was going to open her own place…if she was going to start from scratch…what would it cost her? How long would it take to find the right location? And once she did, how long until she was earning again?

  There were hundreds of factors to consider, and because her plan had been to take over a specific existing, profitable business…she hadn’t considered any of them.

&n
bsp; Ava’s phone was giving her an “In a meeting” message, so talking to her was out. And the guys, while she loved them, weepy chicks weren’t really their forte. Which left her wishing more than anything that she could call her parents. Give herself up to a good cry and have them tell her everything was going to be fine and would work itself out the way it was supposed to. Promise she’d come out on top and find a way. All the things they used to say.

  But that had been back before Kyle.

  Before even the vaguest hint of trouble left them silent, exchanging anxious glances, and then tentatively venturing some tail-tucking advice they prayed would be enough to keep all their lives from imploding again.

  Now if she mentioned a potential sale falling through, they were worried about her career choice, quickly reminding her of all the times they’d voiced their concerns. Asking if she was ready to listen and find something more stable.

  If she mentioned a new friend, they started to sweat. Reminding her to be cautious. Not to be so trusting. Always coming to just the brink of mentioning how her choices had the power to impact others, without actually saying the words.

  Not that they needed to. She never forgot that her relationship with Kyle hadn’t ruined just her life, but theirs as well. Her parents had been well-respected members of their church and community. Upstanding citizens with a daughter the town couldn’t praise enough.

  Until the day Kyle’s wife showed up during services and called her out for screwing a married man. Stealing a pregnant woman’s husband.

  It didn’t matter that Maggie had no idea. No one believed she could actually be that naïve, not even her parents.

  They’d lost faith in their only daughter. Their trust had been shattered and even now, all these years later, that trust hadn’t been restored.

  If she called them now, they’d panic. So no, crying to her parents wasn’t part of the plan.

  And calling Tyler for a second night of comfort wasn’t, either. Mostly because she knew when he’d put Gina off the night before, it had been with the promise he’d see her tonight.

  But also because she couldn’t allow herself to become dependent on him. He couldn’t be her go-to guy for support. Not after last night, when he’d put his arms around her and she’d felt her world fall back into place. All the worries evaporate as a calm filled her.

  That’s when she’d realized.

  She loved him.

  Was in love with him.

  And whatever hope she’d had of their friendship joining the unrockable ranks of Ava’s and the guys’—it was lost. Because no matter how much she wanted to be just friends, she’d stopped thinking of him that way.

  Now all she could see when he looked at her was what might have been. What she couldn’t have.

  Maggie rubbed at the aching spot deep in her chest, trying to let out enough breath to relieve the pressure there. Trying to keep her focus on how she was going to pick up the pieces.

  What she needed was an interim job. Something temporary to keep her in paychecks while she reconstructed her life plan.

  But what were the chances of landing another position in a gallery that was within walking distance of her home? She might have to work in a different part of the city. What if she couldn’t afford her rent without dipping into her savings—the saving she’d need for the new business? Something would have to give, and Ford already charged her less than he should. She knew without question he’d float her a few months if she needed him to, only there was no way she could actually let him do it.

  God, she didn’t want to move. She didn’t want a roommate. She didn’t want a new job.

  Damn it, she didn’t want anything to change, but suddenly it was as if no matter what part of her life she examined, all the things she’d considered constants, everything that made up the foundation of her happy existence, the stability she’d been cultivating for years…all of it was coming apart.

  The cab pulled up to her building and, stepping out, she looked up at her empty apartment and the darker windows of Tyler’s apartment above. She needed to think. Needed to start fixing this screw-up she shouldn’t have allowed to blindside her.

  Another glance up at the waiting emptiness and Maggie pulled out her phone. She knew it was a mistake, but still her thumbs were keying in the message.

  Maggie: Don’t suppose you’re still interested in that second chance.

  Her phone pinged and her heart sped up even as a kernel of guilt took root.

  Leo: How about tomorrow?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Maggie was going to hell. She’d wanted to cancel the date thirty seconds after she made it. Wondered what had possessed her when she knew the guy was looking for someone in his life, while she’d realized less than forty-eight hours earlier that she wasn’t just hung up on another man, but was actually in love with him.

  So why Leo?

  Why this date?

  Why now?

  The only answer she could come up with was she desperately, hopelessly needed someone to distract her from the shambles her life had become over the last month. And aside from Tyler, Leo was the only man in the last year who seemed even remotely capable of it.

  And when she’d called Ava to purge her guilt, she’d gotten the straight talk she needed.

  The dictate that she not be an idiot. Hot Doc would clear April for the pact and she should just suck it up and go. He was a big boy who would understand her acceptance of a single date didn’t equate to a binding marriage contract.

  So instead of texting Leo with a tricky case of Ebola, Maggie picked a nice dress from her closet. Did her hair. And tried not to think about November and the first time Leo had planned to take her out, but hadn’t shown.

  She tried not to wonder what would happen if Leo was late. If he got called back to work for an emergency and she ran into Tyler. But then that thinking came to a crashing halt because Leo wasn’t late.

  He was on time. Charming. Comfortable and easy.

  Looking the part of Hot Doc, in a nicely after-hours way. The scrubs had definite McDreamy appeal, but a suede sport coat and jeans weren’t wasted on the guy, either.

  He took her to an intimate wine bar first and then to dinner at one of the city’s most popular new restaurants. Told her about his medical exchange trip to Asia, and asked about the gallery, listening closely when she told him about the recent turn of events.

  The conversation flowed from one topic to the next. The guy was, without question, a competent date and Maggie couldn’t deny that she’d enjoyed herself immensely, nearly putting Tyler out of her mind for at least a few minutes at a time. But best of all, when she was with him, she still felt in control. No threat of slipping into a pair of bad-idea jeans with Leo.

  He was safe.

  Exactly what she needed.

  After dinner, Leo drove her home and walked her to the door.

  “I had a good time tonight, Maggie.”

  She smiled at him sincerely. “So did I.”

  “I’m glad.”

  And then, before she realized what he intended, his hand slipped around the small of her back and he’d pulled her in for a kiss.

  If she’d had a clue what was coming, she’d have stepped out of range or put a few of her other evasive tactics to use. But the guy had no tells. He’d been all stealth, catching her in a light embrace and kissing her before pulling back to look into her eyes.

  “Sweet,” he murmured, a hint of a smile there on the lips he’d just pressed to hers.

  Maggie didn’t know what to say. What she thought.

  She couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed her without her knowing it was coming first. Without inviting it on her own terms. It surprised her.

  Tyler’s kiss had taken her by surprise, too, but in a wholly different way. With Tyler’s kiss, even seeing it coming, she hadn’t been prepared for the impact. For the way it affected her in a full body-and-mind meltdown kind of way.

  This kiss wasn’t like
that.

  This kiss was…nice.

  Like Leo.

  The gruff sound of a throat clearing from the end of the walk had Maggie jerking back like she’d just been busted making out by her dad. Only this was definitely worse, because while there wasn’t any judgment on Ford’s face, just a sort of sheepish apology, the fact that Tyler was standing beside him looking at the sidewalk told her he’d seen.

  Leo was quick to recover, leaning in conspiratorially toward her ear. “Sorry, Maggie. Didn’t realize we had an audience.”

  Maggie was about to make a crack about it being a little early in their relationship for exhibitionist kink, when she stopped short. She wouldn’t have thought twice before saying it to Tyler, but with Leo? It was different.

  “Hi, guys, you remember Leo?” she offered lamely, wondering if all three of them could see the heat in her cheeks.

  Ford rubbed at the back of his neck and started up the walk toward them, Tyler a step behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  But whatever nerves she’d been suffering, apparently Leo was immune. “Apartment Three I know, but I don’t think we’ve met. Leo Martin.”

  The guys made their appropriate noises of greeting, and Ty went inside while Ford ended up letting Leo have a look at his hand, which had healed well.

  After another minute of sidewalk chitchat, Leo seemed to give up on Ford going inside without Maggie, and with a parting squeeze of her hand, took off.

  Ford held the door and when he caught Maggie’s curious stare on him, shrugged. “It was a first date. You girls put your rules in place for a reason. Just making it a little easier to follow them.”

  “Well, I appreciate the big brothering.” Riding a wave of warm emotion, she stepped in and gave him a hug. And then to really show her gratitude and make sure he didn’t start worrying about her intentions, she added a quick jab. “Except he already kissed me. Without gagging, I might add.”

  Ford grinned, heading for his door as Maggie started upstairs. “Strong stomach. Maybe you’ve found Forever Guy.”

  Maggie returned a dutiful laugh, thinking she really hoped not, as it seemed kinda crummy form to be thinking about another man’s kiss when Forever gave you his first.