Chapter 7 – Clay
Something smells good.
I open my eyes and immediately reach for my phone on the bedside table to check the time.
I never sleep this late. I’m usually up by five, already across town pounding on the doors of Golden Farm to train with Dallas before my shift at the station begins or before he gets to work on his farm. Sadly, that won’t be happening today after last night’s injury.
Tossing the phone back onto the table, I sit up abruptly, my mind racing to make sense of where that smell is coming from while trying to piece together the fragments of last night that I can’t seem to remember.
After leaving the ER, I’d decided to take an Uber back to my apartment across town instead of heading to Dallas’ place to pick up my truck. The pain meds had really knocked me out, and I wasn’t about to risk getting into an accident.
When I’d gotten through my front door, I’d felt loopy and out of it. I remembered taking two more pills and then passing out face down in my bed. That had to have been close to around one in the morning...
Did I lock the door behind me?
I rub the side of my body, feeling the soreness of the contusion more without the effects of the drugs in my system any longer. I glance at the bottle next to my phone and decide against taking any more.
It’s not that bad.
I hate taking medicine, even though I know it will help ease the ache from the bruises that have now shown up.
I have a 24-hour shift at the fire station tonight, and I can’t afford to be medicated when I need to stay sharp and focused.
The doctor had assured me nothing was broken after reviewing the scans Maggie took, but this feeling reminds me of the time I got kicked by a foal as a teenager—except now, in my mid-thirties, recovery will take a lot longer.
I swing my feet out of bed and creep quietly toward the kitchen to figure out what’s going on.
Pushing the door open just a crack, I spot a figure that looks a lot like Maggie.
Her back is turned to me as she stands at the stove, finishing up a pan of bacon and eggs.
A pot of freshly brewed coffee and a bowl of sliced strawberries sits nearby.
I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the doorframe, watching as she moves with a comfortable familiarity about my home. Her hips sway gently, still dressed in her scrubs from last night’s shift, humming softly to herself a tune that sounds a lot like a NSYNC song.
Is she even old enough to know who NSYNC is?
I watch with amusement as she moves around effortlessly. It’s impossible to ignore how much she’s grown since I last saw her. She’s changed from the awkward girl who used to babysit my nieces and nephews—still stuck in that in-between phase of childhood—into someone with quiet confidence.
Back then, she was all sweet smiles and kindness, her warmth radiating from her even through her clumsy tween years.
I know that she’d always enjoyed my visits when she babysat the kids.
I used to toss them—and her—into the pool, just to hear them squeal with laughter.
But back then, she was just a kid—the sweet-as-pie daughter of the fire chief.
She’d show up to town events glued to his side like a shadow, smiling quietly but never saying much.
Now, I’m struggling to reconcile those memories with the woman who is standing in front of me.
Her once-awkward frame has filled out into soft curves, her long hair is styled in some sort of twisted updo, and her features have matured, softened with age, lips fuller like everything else on her body.
She’s starting to look a lot like her mother had in her twenties—a woman that I remember very well.
She’d passed away when Maggie was only five years old, and I was twenty.
I still remember watching that scared little girl clutching her dad’s hand as they approached the casket to say their final goodbyes.
Her mother had been a close friend of my older brother’s; we all grew up together.
It was a devastating loss for the community, but what stuck with me was the sadness behind little Maggie’s confused eyes—too young to fully understand yet weighed down by the grief around her.
I wondered how she’d feel once she fully understood that the woman she looked up to was gone. I could relate to her in that way.
I rub my jawline as I watch her, wondering how she’s gotten in and why she’s here this morning.
Maggie’s always taking care of everyone, so in a way, it isn’t all that surprising that she’s broken into my home and is cooking me breakfast. Still, it’s caught me off guard, and I hate how much I like seeing her move so effortlessly around my space—like she belongs here.
I rub at a sore spot in my chest - I’m sure that’s from the fight yesterday and not because I like watching her in my apartment - and try to remind myself that she’s my boss’s daughter, and way too damn young for me to be leering at her like a creep in the doorway.
I stand up straighter causing her to finally notice me. She spins around, the words of the song she was humming still on her lips as she catches me.
“Oh, good morning, Clay,” she chirps with a wide smile as she sets a plate piled high with food on my island counter. “Thought you might be in too much pain to make yourself breakfast, so I stopped by.”
I raise a brow as I slide into one of the seats across from her. “Why would you do that?”
She giggles and I decide the sound of it is one of my new favorite things. “You’re not going to ask how I got in your apartment?”
I shrug, cutting off a big piece of pancake and popping it into my mouth. “Your dad’s the chief of the fire department. I’m guessing he’s taught you some breaking and entering tips for how to get into locked homes and save lives.”
She smiles sweetly and folds her arms over her chest which automatically draws my gaze downward to her breasts.
Very full breasts that remind me how much she’s changed.
Don’t be an old creep, Clay.
“You would be correct. And I broke in because you didn’t answer my question when I asked whether you had someone here to check on you. If you had a concussion, and with the amount of pain medicine the hospital gave you, it really wasn’t safe for you to stay the night alone.”
I shake my head. It’s just like Maggie to be thinking of everyone else but herself. “So... you just got here?
“No, I’ve been here since I got off my shift.”
I load my fork with the scrambled eggs next and pop it into my mouth. They are extra buttery and salted to perfect. I resist letting out a groan at just how good it tastes. “And what time was that?”
She turns her back to me to mess with the coffee maker that’s already finished brewing. I instantly recognize the motion as her intentionally avoiding my gaze, “Around three.”
I hum softly thinking about her sleeping in my apartment a few feet away from me all night.
The food is delicious, but completely unexpected and unnecessary.
Despite everything, I pride myself on being a gentleman, and I know all too well how uncomfortable my couch is—having crashed on it more than a few times after long nights out.
The thought of her sleeping on it all night without me knowing bothers me.
My mind wanders, wondering if she’d checked on me while I slept to make sure that I was okay.
I’d slept naked, as I always do. My cock twitches underneath the counter thinking about whether she’s not as innocent as she comes across and had got an eyeful last night, or if she’d stayed outside in the living room like a good girl.
The way she slides the mug of coffee across the counter without making eye contact makes me suspect she’s checked on me, and I hate how much my body responds positively to that thought.
“Well, thank you, for making me breakfast, and for being concerned enough to break into my apartment,” I shoot her a smile as she laughs, sipping from her own mug.
She crosses her hand over her heart dramatically, “I took an oath to do no harm. You’re not special, Clay. I’d break into any of my patient’s apartments to spend the night, check to make sure they’re still breathing every hour, and make them breakfast in the morning.”
I choke on my coffee, and pound on my chest, trying to clear the hot liquid as I shake my head imagining her tiny body stealthily tiptoeing into my room at night, leaning over my naked frame and checking my pulse every hour.
She giggles again, completely oblivious to what she’s just admitted to and the images I’m picturing now.
“The doctor said it was just a couple of bruised ribs.”
“I know, I checked your chart after you were discharged.”
“Isn’t that a breach of HIPAA?” I ask, taking another gulp of the coffee to distract myself from lingering on her face.
She’s added something to it—cinnamon or some shit that isn’t how I make it normally—but it makes the coffee better than I’ve ever tasted. As the warmth hits my tongue again, I can’t help but feel a shiver of pleasure spread down my spine at the unexpected flavor.
She leans forward on the counter, watching me closely, a small smile creeping across her face as if she’s caught my reaction.
“I knew you’d like it,” she deflects my question before turning back to the sink and beginning to wash the dishes. Suddenly, something about this entire scene fills me with dread.
I don’t need anyone taking care of me—I’ve lived alone since Savannah’s accident and her betrayal, and I prefer it that way. I don’t want to be looked after, especially not by someone as kind, tender-hearted, and innocent as Maggie.
I had made this clear to her a year ago when she’d complimented me. Although she claimed she would do this for any of her patients, and I wanted to be special to her, I know that I need to put a stop to this playful banter, and comfortable attempt at playing house right now.
I suck back the rest of the coffee and push my empty plate away.
“Leave the dishes, Maggie. I’ll do them after my shift. I should probably hop in the shower and get down to the station now anyways...do you need a ride home?”
I check my watch. Even though I still have two hours before my shift starts, I feel increasingly claustrophobic with her in my home and need her to get out of here immediately.
She turns around, all innocent brown eyes and soft chestnut hair that’s now falling out of her clip into waves around her slim shoulders. She doesn’t seem fazed by my sudden shift in mood but more concerned for my wellbeing. And that makes me feel even worse about what I’m about to do.
My cock twitches, brushing painfully in the loose fighting shorts I’d slipped back over my body with no boxers underneath. I palm myself under the counter, adjusting as best I can so that she doesn’t get an eye full when I stand up to leave.
I fucking hate this feeling.
I’m not a mean guy, and I’m trying to be a jerk to her, but she needs to go. Now. And I’m not sure how else to make that clear.
“Oh… ok. Should you really be working today, Clay?” she asks.
I take another sip of my coffee, then walk to the sink to drain the mug.
I then toss my dishes, along with everything else in the sink that she’d started cleaning, into the dishwasher, slamming it a little too forcefully.
I turn to face her, preparing to deliver another dagger of truth to end this visit.
“It’s just a couple bruised ribs. I’ve been taking care of myself just fine the past thirty-five years of my life. I don’t need you, or anyone else, to start now.”
She winces but nods, finally moving to the living room to grab her purse and hospital shoes as if she can’t get out of here fast enough.
You’re a dick, Clay.
I shake my head, “Wait, Maggie. I’m sorry. That was rude.”
I don’t need her to take care of me and frankly, I don’t want her to.
A girl like her deserves to be spending time with someone her age and not holed up in an apartment with a miserable guy who will just drag her down.
There isn’t much good left inside of me most days except for my family.
A girl like Maggie deserves to be surrounded by a lot of good.
She shakes her head as she rushes to the doorway, “No, I get it. I overstepped.”
I walk towards her and stretch out my hand then quickly snatch it back, thinking better about trying to comfort her.
It’s better this way and I’m going to make things worse.
“It was a nice gesture. I’m just not used to people doing things just because.”
That is true. Usually, women want something from me. Ulterior motives are the game most days.
She nods again, her eyes still on the floor before she finally meets my gaze.
She lifts her head, tips her chin in that defiant way as if to say nothing and no one can affect her and I both hate and love that this is her reaction—strong, unshaken, refusing to let me break her spirit. Her mom would be proud.
“Good luck, Clay,” and then without another word, she opens the front door and leaves.
I decide to let her go, turning around and heading to the shower to prepare for my shift, but once that warm water hits, my hand moves instinctively downward, gripping my already firm shaft as I jack off to visions of Maggie.
In my fantasy, she’s dancing in my kitchen to NSYNC and making me breakfast again, but this time, she’s naked and I’m behind her, squeezing her tight ass and palming her full breasts.
When I bust in under a minute, ropey strings of come that shoot all over my shower wall, I tell myself that’s the last time I’ll go there. Maggie deserves far more than I can ever offer.