Chapter 9 – Maggie
“Hey,” I respond with a smile.
“You’re one of Lucy’s friends, right?”
“Yep.”
“Are you home from college?”
“Yea, just got in two weeks ago. I attend an X-ray tech school in Houston.”
“That’s pretty cool,” he murmurs, “you get to look at bones and shit all day.”
I chuckle politely because that’s not all we do. “Yeah. Something like that. How about you?”
I try to remember Hank’s age. Lucy had mentioned there was about a ten-year gap between her and her older brother, so I guess that puts him around thirty which means Matt is likely around that age too.
“I work at the Lonestar Junction Rodeo in facilities.”
“Do you like it?”
He shrugs, “Keeps things interesting. Always something broken that needs fixed around the rodeo. Guess I get to stare at broken stuff all day, too.”
I smile politely and look back towards the game.
We sit in comfortable silence as the water laps around my waist. Matt is nice enough and I enjoy the company while my friends act like fools by the ice luge placing their lips on the tip and sucking down alcohol but I’m not really in the mood to talk.
Lately, drinking has made me feel horrible, so I don’t feel like I’m missing out on the fun by sticking with water.
“You’re not drinking?” Matt asks, stating the obvious as he looks down at the water bottle that I’ve swapped my red Solo cup for.
“Yea, I’m not feeling it tonight and have to drive home.”
He arches a brow, “Oh, come on.” He removes my hand from the ledge it was perched on like we’re friends and not hardly acquaintances as he tries to guide me out of the pool. “Let me pour you a shot.”
I yank my hand away from his grip. I’m not a child that he can drag around, and while I might seem sweet, I don’t appreciate being told to do something against my will.
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, don’t be so boring. Lucy said you two got wasted last year at the pool party, so I know you like to have a good time.
I’m just bummed our paths didn’t cross back then.
I think we could have had some fun.” He sends a wink my way and I instantly want to throw up.
At least I know it isn’t from drinking too much.
Yes, last summer Lucy and I had snuck some tequila from her parents’ cabinet and taken one too many shots, but I’d ended up throwing most of it up on her lawn before falling asleep in her room and missing out on the whole pool party.
That was the same day that I’d foolishly confessed my feelings to Clay Cameron at the co-op barbecue.
I’d been embarrassed—no, humiliated—and my pride took a serious hit when he patted my shoulder like I was a child and let me down easy.
I blame that for why I drank so much with Lucy later that night, leading to the hangover from hell the next day.
When I finally got home, still reeling, I told my dad what I’d done, cringing the entire time but leaving out the part about telling Clay I thought he was the cutest guy I’d ever seen.
I open my mouth to respond but am cut off when the deep, familiar voice of the man I was just thinking about fills the space next to us on the pool ledge.
“Pretty sure the lady said she wasn’t interested in drinking with you.”
When did he show up?
Matt glances at Clay, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, Cameron. Did someone call the fire department?”
Clay’s mouth remains a firm line as his gaze falls to me then slowly turns back to Matt. “Nope.” He emphasizes the P in the word “nope” before kneeling down to my level. “Hank invited me to drop by. My shift ended early tonight.”
Matt nods but makes no move to leave, and I can sense the irritation simmering beneath Clay’s otherwise calm demeanor.
“Are you good, Maggie?” Clay asks, subtly shifting his shoulder to signal to Matt that the conversation was over and block his view of me. I realize now that’s Clay’s way of protecting me. To shield me from their view. He’d done the same thing to Kaleb a few weeks ago.
I shrug, trying not to read too much into it.
I’m sure he does that for every damsel in distress that he saves.
“I’m fine.”
“Yea, she said she’s good,” Matt responds with a hint of annoyance in his tone.
Clay’s gaze locks on mine as he searches my eyes earnestly. It seems like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Waiting another beat, he stands from his crouched position and, without another glance in my direction, walks away toward Hank and the beer pong game.
I release a breath of air I didn’t realize I was holding.
A pang of disappointment flutters inside me, which is completely ridiculous.
I’m not sure what I expected him to say, or what I wanted him to do in that moment.
My interaction with Matt had been entirely innocent.
While it had irritated me that he was trying to persuade me to drink with him tonight—when I was finally feeling good—it wasn’t as if he was making a move on me. At least, I don’t think he was.
I don’t need Clay’s protection any more than I need his attention. And he’d made that abundantly clear when he told me he didn’t need anyone looking out for him two weeks ago.
I bite my lip, watching Clay reach the pong table and shake Hank’s hand without sparing another glance my way. I wasn’t expecting to see him here tonight and I definitely didn’t need him to save me from Matt.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I say, pushing myself up from the poolside ledge and standing.
I walk around the pool and enter the house, navigating the familiar layout of Lucy’s place. Once I find the downstairs bathroom, I shut the door behind me and sit on the toilet, rubbing my hands over my face in an effort to calm my racing thoughts.
Even with no alcohol in my system, I’m still feeling the effects of spending almost seven hours in the hot, Texas sun.
I cradle my head in my hands, feeling my legs buckle slightly on the toilet. I grip the toilet paper holder tightly, trying to steady myself as I fight to remain upright.
I should probably head out.
The familiar exhaustion is creeping into my bones again and the last thing I need is to make a scene by passing out in the middle of their party.
I’m not ready to leave yet—my first summer hangout and it’s barely night fall. But I know this feeling all too well: and when it hits, it’s best to be alone and in the dark, resting.
After finishing in the restroom and washing my hands, I move to open the door, only to find Clay leaning against the frame, his broad shoulder braced against one side and his arm stretched out across the other caging me. His eyes lock onto mine, a heated gaze full of determination.
“Clay, what – what are you doing?” I ask, wobbling slightly on my feet.