Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
I sip from the water bottle in my hand, waiting for Maggie to show. Why doesn’t Fran have anything stronger at this dinner party? And where is she going to seat all these people?
“Is she here yet?” I’m not sure when Fran slinked up beside me; she was quiet and stealthy. Her sneakiness reminds me a little of Fur Ball. Last night, she slipped from her bed to sleep right on top of my head and I never saw it coming.
I clear my throat. My play-it-cool instinct wants to question who, but we both know who. “Ah, not yet.”
“Maybe she isn’t coming after all,” says a voice on my other side. Rosalie.
“She’ll be here. She got a date,” I say, my tone more clipped than intended.
What do I care if she got a date? I just wanted an excuse to see the girl.
To hang out. We can still do that. Of course, I was thinking something small and intimate.
Something like me, Callum, Zev, Roman, and the girls.
But this works, too. I should know better—I did ask Fran for a party.
I peer about the crowded, quaint space of Fran and Callum’s living room. There are more people in the kitchen.
“I thought you said you were just friends,” Rosalie says.
“We are.” But my chest tightens with the words.
“They are. But he likes her,” Fran says. “As in, big, serious feelings.”
“No.” I roll my shoulders. “Nothing big. We are just friends. No feelings. I just thought it would be fun for us to all hang out. That’s it.”
“Right,” Rosalie says. “Where’s your date again?”
“Bailey’s talking to Stella.” I nod toward the nice woman I have zero interest in.
“I thought it was Kaylee,” Rosalie says.
Fran peers at the two of us. “She clearly introduced herself as Mailey.” She shakes her head, her brows lowered.
“Mailey?” I say. “Hmm. Could be.”
“What’s with you and names?” Rosalie says.
“Hey, you didn’t remember either.” I tighten my grasp around the water bottle in my hand.
“Oh, Callum has a theory on this,” Fran says. “Lucca can’t get serious if he can’t even remember a simple name. It’s like a defense mechanism.”
“Defense—what? None of that is accurate. I just have a poor memory when it comes to names. And no desire to be serious.”
“You remembered my name,” Fran says. “First try.”
“Ohhh.” Rosalie peers at me, then Fran, like a blind woman who can newly see. “That’s because you were Callum’s girl, and there was no chance at commitment with you.”
Fran nods, her smile much too large. “The classic ‘afraid to commit’ matter.”
“I’m not afraid to commit. I don’t want to commit.”
“It’s not very original,” Rosalie says, with a one-shoulder shrug. She’s looking at Fran.
“No,” Fran says. “But it’s very accurate.”
“It’s not,” I say, looking from one to the other. But they seem to have forgotten I’m here. “I don’t have issues.”
“Hey,” Rosalie says. “He’s always remembered Maggie’s name. First and last. Maybe it’s a sign.”
“It has to be,” Fran says. “Maybe this time, his feelings run deeper.”
I scoff. “I feel for Maggie the same that I feel for either of you.”
And suddenly they do look at me. Both of them.
No words. Just stares that say they do not believe me.
But why is the idea so insane? I have female friends.
Sure, most or possibly all of those friends have significant others.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with a woman who is single.
Maggie said so herself, the day we worked together on that tiny, child soccer pitch.
Well, I don’t need to be gawked at. I step out of the Fran and Rosalie sandwich I’m currently in and walk toward Callum and Kaylee—crap, or was it Mailey? Why do Americans have so many names that sound the same?
I take one more step when Callum opens the door right next to him.
Maggie steps in, her long, ashen-brown hair down around her shoulders, a smile swelling her cheeks, her eyes bright as she greets Callum.
My heart pumps in my chest, physical joy running through my veins at the sight of her.
And then some tall, blond idiot walks in behind her, one hand on her back.
And the joy coasting through my veins turns to ice.
I am feral. All at once, I’d very much like to take someone out.
Preferably someone tall, blond, and with his hand on Maggie’s back.
Huh.
Fran might be right about me.
I might be having more-than-friendly feelings right now. Is affectionate violence a thing? I look at Maggie—affection. I look at him—violence. I feel them both.
I am turning into a caveman. And I am much too good-looking to be a caveman.
I charge over, as if I have no control. I am Caveman Lucca who needs to claim what’s his.
The only problem: nothing in front of me is actually mine.
I’ve just discovered that I’m a complete idiot who’s half smitten with the only girl I can’t have.
And I didn’t even realize it until this very second.
Moving through the crowded room, I stand right in front of Maggie. “Hi,” I say, peering down into the sweetest face I’ve ever seen. My gaze roves over her honey-brown eyes and onto the small heart-shaped freckles below her eye.
Has her face always been this beautiful? It’s as if I have no choice but to fall for this woman. There was never any hope. I thought we could be friends. Just friends. I thought I’d be okay with that. I was wrong, and it’s hitting me like a brick to the temple.
“Hey, Lucca,” she says, smiling up at me. That smile says so many things. She may not know that she’s falling for me, too. But she is. It’s possible that, like me, she already has, and she just doesn’t know it yet.
I take the salad bowl from her hands and shove it into the gut of the spineless blond with his hand on my girl’s back. With both his hands around the bowl, I lightly wrap one arm around Maggie and lead her in the opposite direction of the food table.
“You made it,” I say as if we are the only two people in this room.
“Yeah.” She peers back at the man who is following us, as if he were tethered to Maggie’s spine. Someone get me some scissors. We need to cut this cord. “Uh, Mark, this is my friend, Lucca.”
I smile at her and pretend the man she speaks to doesn’t exist. “Her very good friend.” I’m not sure I’ve ever felt jealous before—there was never a reason to. But the emotion rages through me now, like fire in a field of dead grass.
Maggie’s brows lift in question. “Right. And Lucca, this is my friend, Mark.”
“You work together?” I say, studying the inchworm in front of me. I don’t recognize him.
“Ah, no,” the man says. He even sounds like an inchworm—small and spineless. This guy might be worse than Mouse Man. He’s a mouse in disguise.
“We went to school together. We’ve been friends for years.” Maggie takes one small step and turns to face both me and the inchworm. In the process, she removes my hand from her back.
“Go Ravens,” he says, like the moron he is. He pumps one fist in the air. Seriously, how does a woman as magnificent as Maggie get stuck with guys like this?
“Ravens?” I say, looking him up, then down.
“Our high school mascot,” he says with a goofy tooth-filled grin.
“You’re one of those men whose mind and ego haven’t left high school,” I say. It isn’t a question. It’s clear he is.
His mouth falls open, but only a quiet hum escapes.
Maggie inhales sharp and curt. “Hey,” she says, a fake grin on her lips. “Excuse us, Mark. Just one second.” She holds up one finger before slipping her hand into mine and tugging me away.
This is more like it. She’s warm and soft, and her touch sends besotted embers through my limbs. Is this what people feel when they’ve fallen for someone?
“You can put that on the food table,” I tell Maggie’s date with a grin. I’ve got the girl; he can keep the food.
We maneuver past a few of Fran and Callum’s friends and into the hall leading to the bedrooms and bathrooms. But the second we’re alone, Maggie drops my hand and plants both of her fists on her hips. “What’s going on with you?”
I shrug. “I welcomed your friend.”
“No, you interrogated and insulted my friend.”
I wrinkle my nose. “He’s a little immature. Don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think. I think you are acting like a weirdo. Be nice, or stay on the opposite side of the house from Mark.”
“I’m on the opposite side of the house now.” And I like it this way.
She tilts her head. “Great. Well, I’m going to find my date.”
“No, wait.” I snatch her hand, threading my fingers through hers—this is even better. “I apologize. I’ll be nice to Marvin.”
“Mark,” she lectures, but I feel as though I’ve won. At least, she’s holding my hand.
“Mark,” I say, and it takes more effort than it should. Never in my life have I been in competition with an inchworm. I pull her hand to my chest, wrapped in the cocoon of my hold. “I’m just happy to see you.” Then, I bring her fingers up to my lips and gently press a kiss to the back of her hand.
“Have you lost your mind?” she says, pulling her grasp from mine. “Are you messing with me?”
“No, I’m truly happy to see you.”
But this only makes her huff. “Mark is waiting for me. And you’re acting crazy.” She takes two steps toward the living room before I snag her wrist.
“Maggie,” I say, a plea in my tone. “You can’t be serious about that guy.”
She laughs, but it isn’t a happy sound. “Why not? Because he liked high school? He’s nice.” Her eyes flick to the ceiling. “Much better than Mouse Man. And I like him.”
“You don’t,” I say, my face screwed up in disgust. “He’s—”
“You know nothing about Mark. So, simmer down. You’re like a protective big brother, and I don’t need babysitting.”
“Brother?” I grimace. “I am far from your brother.”
“You know what I mean.” Maggie slips away, and heads toward Marvin, the blond bozo who’s here with my girl.
I keep my eyes on Maggie. She’s looped her arm through the weasel’s. A foreign stabbing pain lurches in my gut. Something I’ve never experienced before. Is this what other men feel when they see me with the girl they like?
I charge to the left, where Roman and Stella are sipping on drinks. “I need your help,” I say, planting myself between the pair.
“Oh,” Stella says, flattening a hand to her stomach.
Roman grunts. “Hi, Lucca.”
“I need your help,” I repeat. “And seeing how I pulled some strings to get the two of you together, you’re basically obligated to help me.”
“What strings?” Stella says.
Roman puffs air through his lips. “You didn’t pull any strings.”
“I got you that counseling session—”
“You?” Stella says, eyes wide.
“And it was a killer deal, seeing how her license had expired.”
“Expired?” Roman says. “You set us up with a bogus counselor?”
“I helped get you the girl.” My jaw clenches. “And now I need the same help from you. Stella, I know you’re married, but are you opposed to luring Maggie’s date outside where Roman will be waiting to bust his kneecap?”
“Yes, she is very opposed,” Roman whines. “My pregnant wife isn’t luring anyone anywhere.”
“She doesn’t even look pregnant.”
“That’s kind of beside the point,” Stella says, her face contorting. “Back up one sec. Lucca, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes, I mean it,” I say, feeling impatient. “I would never know you have a bun in the oven.”
She smacks my shoulder. “Not that. Are you saying you have feelings for Maggie? You want help getting the girl?”
I breathe in, then exhale, my shoulders slumping. “Yes. I adore her.”
A grin spreads across Stella’s cheeks. “Fran was right. That woman seriously knows her romance cues.”
“You adore her?” Roman says, not quite as believing as his wife.
“Yes,” I huff. “It snuck up on me. I was surprised to call her my friend. So, this—well, it’s not what I expected either. But yes, I very much like Maggie McCrae. Now, who’s going to help me get rid of Melvin?”