Chapter 13
Ian
Two months later - May
“How’s the tour going?” Pamela asks as she drops into the chair across from the couch.
Nate and I have been on tour with one of the more popular country music singers. There was a falling out with her previous security company, and they ended up hiring us. There’s a break in the tour this weekend, and Jack and Ella moved their engagement party so that we could attend.
“It’s fine. I don’t love traveling all the time, but it’s been relatively uneventful.”
Nate and I share the sentiment of not enjoying being on the road, given how much we traveled while in the military. We would both rather be home. Except he’s developed an obsession with one of the flight attendants, so he seems to hate it less than I do.
“Are you excited about the party tonight?”
I shrug because I know what she’s about to bring up. “Just go ahead and spit it out. We both know what you really want to ask.”
She laughs. “Fair enough. Maggie will be there. How will it be seeing her again?”
I knew it was a bad idea when I took a rideshare to her house two months ago after having a few drinks with some of the guys from work.
But I needed to see her. I needed to touch her.
My desperation was overwhelming. I couldn’t fight it anymore.
I didn’t plan what happened when I got there, but it was amazing.
And I’ve gotten off more than once to the memory of that.
I never told Pamela about it, mostly because I didn’t want her to tell me she didn’t think I should’ve done that. Pamela thinks Maggie isn’t good for me. She told me that what Maggie said to me was unacceptable and unnecessarily cruel.
But my heart, and my dick, apparently, don’t care. I’m still just as obsessed with her as I was last June when I first met her.
I left her apartment that night, pissed at myself for doing what I did and at her for letting me.
I’m just torturing myself, knowing she doesn’t think I’m a worthy enough man to take a chance on.
I don’t know how to get over her. There isn’t a day that goes by that I haven’t thought about her at least once, but if I’m being honest, it’s much more often.
Uncomfortable with the feelings thinking about her brings up, I clear my throat. “Can we talk about something else?”
Pamela gives me an understanding smile. “Sure. Did you think about what we talked about the last time I saw you?”
My gut clenches. “I did. I started writing the letters.”
Her face lights up. “That’s great, Ian. I think this will be really good for you.”
We’ve been working through the guilt I have regarding the decisions I made on the mission that killed my friends.
While I can recognize that it was an impossible situation, it does nothing to absolve me of the guilt that they died and I lived.
Pamela suggested that I write letters to their families.
She said I didn’t have to send them, but felt that it might be good for me to put some of those feelings on paper, while including some of the happier memories I have of each of them.
I shift so I can pull the folded-up papers from my back pocket.
“Do you want to hear what I have so far?”
She nods, and I swallow down the emotions I’ve just started allowing myself to feel since coming to Pamela.
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. My name is Ian, and I was in the army with your son…”
Goddamnit, why does she have to look so good?
Maggie looks like a walking wet dream. The way her dress hugs her curves is taunting me for even thinking I could stop this magnetism I feel toward her.
I’ve avoided everyone else because I’ve been too busy watching her all night. Every time she smiles or laughs with someone, it goes straight to my dick.
I know she saw me, but she looked right through me as if she couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge my presence. It’s equally infuriating as it is exhilarating, like this is a game. She let me lick her pussy two months ago and now pretends like I don’t exist.
Standing in line for drinks, I’m fighting the urge to find her again when a hand grips my biceps. Thinking it might be Maggie, my heart skips a beat.
“Ian.” Pamela’s voice has my gut filling with disappointment.
“Hey, Pamela,” I reply, trying to sound as casual as possible.
She glances between our shoulders before leveling me with a serious stare. “I don’t have a lot of time. I want to get back to the table, but I need to tell you something.”
Her words pique my curiosity. I raise my eyebrows in question as we take a step closer when the line moves forward.
“I might’ve been wrong.”
My brow furrows at that. I have no idea what she’s talking about. She pats my pec with the hand not gripping my bicep.
“I don’t think Maggie said those things to you because she actually felt that way.”
My stomach flips as shock rolls through my body. “What do you mean? Did she say that?”
Pamela shakes her head. “No, I didn’t say anything to her about knowing what happened.
But I’ve been talking to her all night. I wanted to see what the deal was with her.
And besides her watching you like a lost puppy, there’s just something about her…
I think there’s more going on than either of us understands. ”
She was watching me, too?
But anger replaces the blooming excitement.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information, Pamela?” I spit out, frustration dripping from every word.
She grimaces. “I don’t know, exactly. Maybe don’t write her off quite yet.” Patting my pec one more time, she leaves, and I get drinks for Nate and me as my thoughts spiral.
Returning to where I left him a few minutes earlier, I hand him the beer and take a sip. He looks as grumpy as I generally feel.
“Why do you look like you smell shit or something?” I bump his elbow.
“Nothing, man. I think I’m just exhausted.” He looks around with a sigh. “I’m going to go say hi to my sister.”
“Oh, which one? Is Pamela here?” I ask excitedly.
Even though I literally just talked to her, I can’t help but fuck with Nate. None of the guys know I’ve been talking to Pamela, but we’ve admitted we’re friends. It weirds Nate out, and his reaction amuses me, so I take every chance to bring up our friendship.
“Not fucking cool, dickhead,” he calls out over my shoulder as he stalks away.
I watch him take a seat at the table, a few seats over from Maggie, who’s still chatting with Pamela. I don’t know what to make of what Pamela said. Why would Maggie want to hurt me like that? Why would she want to push me away when she wants to be with me?
Unable to tear my eyes away from Maggie when Pamela starts talking with someone else, I hold my breath as she twists in her chair, and our eyes meet.
I’m not sure what I expected to receive, but a fury-filled glare was not it.
And it infuriates me right back.
After a few moments of the intense staring contest, I mutter, “Fuck it.”
Tossing the beer bottle in the trash can, I cross to the room, my stare laser-focused on one blonde goddess whose mere existence is terrorizing me.
I slap one hand on the table in front of her as my knuckles turn white with the grip on the back of her chair, her vanilla perfume invading my nostrils.
Her eyes widen as I bend down so my lips brush her ear. “Mags,” I drawl out. “I need to talk to you. Meet me in the hallway.”
I stand and pivot on my heels. I have no idea if she will follow me, but I’m begging the universe to intervene and make her. I’m also not quite sure what my plan is, but I need to get her alone.
Pacing the hallway, I open a few of the doors on the opposite side of the hall. Finding most locked, the only one that opens appears to be a small closet. I turn when I hear a door behind me open.
Maggie steps into the hall and lets the door close behind her. Her guarded eyes find mine as she toys with her necklace. “You wanted to talk to me?”
My long steps eat up the space between us.
When I’m within a few inches of her, my hand snakes around her to find her lower back.
Just the warmth and softness of her body beneath my fingertips is enough to be my undoing.
With her eyes on mine, I apply pressure to propel her toward the closet. “Come with me.”
Her feet stay planted momentarily before she takes a step with a sigh. “I hope this is where you murder me because I’ll be honest, I think that’ll probably be easier at this point.”
My steps falter at her statement. There’s no way for her to know about my past, but it makes me nauseous to even think of anything happening to her.
“I would never fucking hurt you, Maggie. Never.”
My tone is more serious than she meant it, but it’s vital that I make it clear I would never do anything to bring harm to her.
She wraps her lips over her teeth and nods.
I continue moving us down the hall, my eyes locked on her questioning gaze. Pulling open the door, I move her into the closet, spinning her around so her back is against the door.
“Ian, what are we doing?” Maggie asks, her breathy voice going straight to my groin.
I can’t take not touching her. The compulsion is too strong to ignore for another second.
It feels like I’ll be torn limb from limb if I don’t give in.
I press my body into hers, my hands sliding up her sides until they settle on her neck.
Her pulse beats wildly in her neck as I cup her jaw and run a thumb over her bottom lip—it’s sticky from the shiny gloss I watched her reapply multiple times tonight.
A low moan is loud in the silent room when my other hand squeezes the sides of her neck.
“Mags, what is it?” Being this close to her again is making my brain fuzzy.
Her neck muscles flutter under my palm when she swallows. “I don’t understand…”
“What is it about you? Why? Why can I not get you out of my fucking mind?”
My hand on her neck slips down her silky skin until it meets the neckline of her dress. Annoyance that there’s so much fabric between us floods me. I run my finger along the top of the dress and smirk when she shivers against me.
“Does it make you happy that I can’t stop thinking about you?” I ask gruffly.
Shaking her head, her fingers wrap around the wrist of the hand holding her jaw. “If that’s true, why did you leave me last time?”
If I weren’t centimeters away from her, I wouldn’t have heard her. Her tone is part anger and part desperation, which I can certainly relate to.
I angle her head back to expose more of her neck to me. Dropping my head to nibble on her neck right below her ear, I speak against her skin. “I don’t really think you should be the one demanding answers since you’re the one who broke up with me.”
I silence her protest by doing something I’ve been dreaming of for almost a year—kiss her.
My lips consume her. My tongue flirts with hers as heat and goosebumps battle it out on my skin.
My conscience screams at me that she might have been lying about not having a boyfriend.
But I think the time to have been worried about that was when my tongue was buried in her pussy instead of her mouth.
We’re well past that. Besides, she and I both know she should’ve been with me all along, so I reason with myself that it’s a valid excuse not to ask again.
As she arches her body away from the door and into mine, I take the kiss deeper. I reach down and grip her dress, dragging it up her legs until I can toy with the band of her thong. Running my palm down her bare ass cheek, I revel in the way her skin feels against mine.
My hand trails around her hip, and my fingers slip underneath until laughter and loud talking from right outside the door have both of us freezing. I wait for them to pass and am about to pick up where I left off when I’m pushed back forcefully.
“Get off of me!” Maggie whispers-yells at me, her eyebrows pinched and pupils blown wide.
“Maggie, please.” I’m not above begging at this point.
She covers her face with both hands as she shakes her head adamantly. “No, Ian.” Her hands lower to her sides, and the stare she levels me with has me freezing—raw pain evident in every feature. “I can’t do this. Look, I’m so extremely sorry for everything I said, but this hurts too much.”
Before I can respond, Maggie whips the door open and sprints down the hall. I drop my chin to my chest, and my hands go to my hips as I catch my breath.
This will be a new development to discuss in therapy.