Chapter 30 Maya
MAYA
The single girls’ club was in session, and we were thriving.
That was a lie.
We were drinking wine on my couch in our pajamas on a Saturday night, while half our friend group was out doing couple things with their obscenely devoted partners. Still, thriving sounded vastly superior to the tragically single leftovers, so we were going with it.
Samara was on the floor, painting her toenails a shade of red that could stop traffic. Hannah had claimed the armchair and was eating chips directly from the bag. Poppy was tucked into the other end of the sofa, swirling the wine in her glass.
And I was horizontal, a blanket over my legs, and a Sauvignon Blanc balanced on my stomach like the picture of grace and dignity I was not.
“This is nice,” Samara said, without looking up from her toes. “Just us. No couples being disgusting in the corner.”
“For real. You know Jack fed Mia a strawberry last week.” Hannah’s voice was flat with disgust. “With his fingers. At the table. While we were all sitting right there.”
Poppy groaned. “Harle kissed Cassidy’s forehead four separate times at brunch on Sunday.”
“Cam calls Emily ‘sweetheart’ approximately every ninety seconds.” I took a sip of wine. “I timed it.”
“You should have seen Annie’s face when Aiden surprised her with a visit at the library.” Samara pointed her nail brush at the room. “See? This is better. No one here is going to hand-feed anyone anything.”
“Unless you count Hannah feeding herself chips like she’s being paid per unit,” I said.
“Fuel.” Hannah grabbed another handful, unbothered. “I’m a machine. Machines need fuel.”
Poppy’s phone buzzed on the cushion beside her, her face lighting up at the name on the screen.
I propped myself up on one elbow. “Excuse me, but who’s got you smiling like that?”
Poppy’s smile widened as she flicked me a glance. “It’s just Zack. He’s helping me get the bakery books in order because I am, in his words, a creative genius with the financial literacy of a golden retriever.”
Samara laughed. “He’s not wrong.”
“He is absolutely not wrong, and I love him for it. But Jesus, would you get a load of this guy?” Poppy cleared her throat and dropped her voice, low and gruff, reading the message aloud. “Hey, Persephone. I’ve got some time to go over those estimates if you want to shoot them through to me.”
We all laughed, and Hannah shook her head. “I always forget your real name is Persephone.”
“Same,” Samara agreed. “It’s so pretty, though.”
“It’s very pretty, and nobody uses it except Zack, who has literally never called me anything else.” Poppy was already tapping out a reply, her thumbs flying.
“What are you saying back?” Hannah leaned over to peek.
Poppy tilted the screen toward her. “Hey, it’s my favorite grump, with nothing better to do on a Saturday night than text his bestie. I’ll send them tomorrow. Love you.”
She hit send and tossed the phone back onto the cushion.
Samara capped her nail polish and looked up. “Honestly though, how has nothing ever happened between you two?”
Poppy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Not this again.”
“I’m not stirring! I just think it’s wild, that’s all. Like, genuinely wild.”
“Yeah,” Hannah agreed. “Like, he’s so hot. And perennially single. And smart. And he’s always looking out for you, and—”
“Because he’s my best friend. That’s what best friends do.” Her smile tightened before she continued, “Besides, I’ve had my fill of romance. Zack is the only man in my life, and I’d like to keep him, which means not going there. Ever.”
“Fair enough.” Hannah’s tone said she’d learned not to push this particular button.
Instead, she turned her attention to me, eyes gleaming. “Speaking of men. How’s Operation Bang Nate progressing?”
I groaned and pressed the wine glass against my forehead. “It’s not progressing. That’s the problem.”
Three pairs of eyes sharpened.
Samara’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, not progressing?”
“I mean, it has been ten days, and the man has not made a move.”
“Ten days?” Poppy’s eyebrows shot up.
“Ten days. After the river, I thought okay, he’s easing into it.
Taking his time. Being sweet. Fine. Then on Tuesday he showed up at my door with takeout and a movie, and we spent the whole night on this couch.
He had his arm around me, his hand was on my thigh, and I was losing my mind.
The movie ended. He kissed me goodnight and left. ”
Poppy’s mouth fell open. “Noooo.”
“Thursday. He takes me to dinner. A proper dinner, at an actual restaurant, with candles and wine and he’s wearing this shirt that does things to his shoulders that should be classified. And I’m sitting there absolutely positive that this is it, he’s going to take me home and—”
“He dropped you off.” Hannah said it like she was reading a eulogy.
“He dropped me off. Walked me to the door. Kissed my forehead. And left.” I let my head fall back against the cushion. “I genuinely considered screaming into the street.”
“The audacity,” Poppy murmured.
“He keeps checking on my ankle. Asking if I’m comfortable. Bringing me food. Being this perfect, attentive, thoughtful man who is apparently determined to wait until I’m a hundred percent healed before he touches me. I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
“So, he’s being a gentleman,” Samara said.
“I don’t want a gentleman! I want him to stop treating me like I’m made of glass, take me to bed and bang my brains out!”
Poppy swirled her wine. “He thinks he’s being noble.”
“Idiot,” Hannah said around a mouthful of chips.
“Absolute idiot,” Poppy agreed.
Hannah pointed a chip at me. “Giving you multiple orgasms is noble. You should tell him that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Maya Brookes. What is your Yearbook entry?”
I stared at her as the wheels turned in my brain. “What, you think I should tempt him?”
“Fuck yes, that’s exactly what you should do.”
Electricity crackled through my body. “You’re right.”
“Yessss!” Samara pumped her fist. “Because why should he get to decide for both of you?”
“Exactly!” The word was a battle cry, and before I’d even made a conscious decision, I was shoving the blanket off my legs and swinging my feet to the floor.
My ankle twinged in protest. I did not care.
“Mom and Dad are out tonight, which means Nate has the place all to himself. I’m going over there right now. ”
“Door’s that way,” Poppy called out when I headed down the hallway.
“I’m getting some sexy underwear on!”
“He doesn’t stand a chance,” Hannah called out behind me.
She was right. I hit my bedroom and tore through my underwear drawer like a woman possessed. Buried beneath sensible cotton and sports bras was a long-forgotten impulse buy. Black lace. Borderline scandalous. Lingerie made purely to be taken off by someone else.
My fingers closed around it and I pulled it out, holding it up to the light.
Fucking perfect.
“You bet he doesn’t stand a chance,” I muttered to myself, already stripping off my pajamas.