16. Maeve
Chapter 16
Maeve
I wake up with a knot in my stomach, anxiety corroding my mood. Usually, I love my birthday but this year the only good thing about turning twenty-seven is that Callum’s out of town. I think he might have forgotten my birthday, actually. That would’ve devastated me a year ago, but now it feels like a blessing. I can do whatever I want without him breathing down my neck.
My phone buzzes quietly on the nightstand. Sitting up, I unplug it and open my text messages, grinning when I see that the East Coast crew has been active this morning. I have all sorts of birthday wishes from Mom, Dad, Bria, Lucky, Tristan, Evie and even Liam, via Lucky’s phone. Delphine left an off key rendition of happy birthday via voice memo, and Portia sent a digital gift card to a local bakery, wanting me to have cake no matter what. My heart fills to overflowing, tears of gratitude and sadness rolling down my cheeks as I respond to each of them.
Another message comes through while I’m on a brief FaceTime with Lucky and the fam. It’s Jaime. Wrapping up the video call, I switch over to text.
Are you up yet?
Yes, why?
How soon can you be ready?
I want to take you somewhere.
My stomach does a little flip. He wants to take me somewhere? Does he know it’s my birthday?
Half an hour later we’re headed down the road, toast and cafecito in hand. The sun’s having a hard time waking up, and the rest of the world feels sleepy too with its lethargic traffic. Licking the lingering sweetness from my lips, I stick the cup between my knees. I’ve held out this long, but my curiosity is getting the better of me. “So, where’re we going? Is it a surprise?”
He cocks a half smile. “San Leandro.”
“For what?”
“The shooting range.”
I look at him askance. “Are you serious?”
“Every girl should know how to handle herself,” he says, squeezing my knee.
“I can handle myself.” I pause, using air-quotes for emphasis. “Just fine, thanks.”
He glances at me as we sail through a yellow light. “Humor me.”
By the time we pull into the parking lot of the Carson Rifle & Pistol Range, I’m more than just a little nervous. It’s not the guns. My family always kept firearms. I’ve never really handled them, but I’m used to them. No, I’m thinking about Callum’s creepy GPS. Would he find this inappropriate? It’s not exactly in the same vein as ballet class and Trader Joe’s.
I suppose it could be explained away as an errand. Then again, I haven’t heard from Callum since he left, so maybe he’s too busy to care what I’m up to. He’s probably passed out with some random girl right now in a swanky hotel room in Vegas. Suddenly I have the urge to defy him, whether he knows or not.
Zipping my bomber jacket, I walk around to the back of the car where Jaime’s retrieving a black carrying case from the trunk. Doublechecking the lock, he shuts the trunk and nods toward a squat building across the lot. “Ready?”
“Let’s hope so,” I say with a sigh.
“I almost forgot.” Reaching into his jacket, he pulls out a small, rectangular card and hands it to me. My license. “Happy birthday.”
“How did you—” Oh, right. My birth date is on my license. I look up at him. “Where did you find it?”
“Under the couch.”
“In the living room?”
“Mhm.”
“That’s funny because I looked there and didn’t see it,” I say. “In fact, I searched the house top to bottom.”
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“Thank you.” I squeeze his bicep, partly because I just like touching him. “But I call bullshit on it being under the couch.”
“Just be happy you got it back.”
“I am, but?—”
“The less you know, the better.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. You sound like my brothers.” I huff, tucking the license into my wallet. “It’s like you all operate from the same script.”
Inside, the shooting range is brightly lit, with a series of paper targets hanging down the lanes. The air smells faintly of gunpowder and metal, and it’s loud. Jaime says he’s not a regular, but he seems familiar with the guy behind the counter. We find a pair of lanes side by side, where he gives me a mini lesson as he slides a pair of earmuffs onto my head.
“Here, these too.” He hands me protection glasses before donning a pair himself. It’s sexy. “Any questions?”
I look at the gun I’m holding, gingerly testing its heaviness.
“It’s a Glock 19,” he explains. “It’s one of the more lightweight guns.”
“It looks like any other gun, I guess,” I say. “Why don’t you go first? I learn by watching.”
Standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, knees and elbows slightly bent, he grips the gun with one hand supporting the other. “You want to be ready for the recoil,” he says.
Bringing his gun to eye level, he focuses on the target, exhales slowly, and shoots. The gun fires with a sharp crack, but his body hardly moves. I glance down the lane, where his target now boasts a neat hole through the center.
“Your turn.”
Licking my dry lips, I attempt to mimic Jaime’s position. Making sure my knees and elbows are loose, and the top of the front sight is level with the rear like he told me, I pull the trigger. Even though I’m expecting the recoil, the brutal force of it startles me. I freeze, adrenaline racing, my arms stick-straight in front of me.
“You okay?” he asks, coming over to my side.
“It hurt a little bit.”
“That happens. Here, get into position again.” When I do, he adjusts my stance gently with his boot, nudging my foot into a more balanced position. “Now bring the gun back up. Keep your arms firm, but don’t tense up too much. Use your core and let your body absorb the recoil, okay?”
I nod, trying to ignore the pinpricks of pleasure beneath my skin as his hands gently correct my form. There’s a sense of quiet patience and confidence in the way he instructs me. It’s reassuring, and by the time I take my next shot, I’m a lot calmer. It doesn’t hurt this time. I’m better prepared for the kick.
I watch Jaime go again, trying to concentrate on his methods and not the subtle play of muscles beneath his charcoal gray Henley. His form is immaculate.
“What do you think?” he asks after we both go a few more times.
“I think you’re really good.”
He shrugs. “I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
“I can tell. You’re like a sexy cop or something in those glasses.” I grin a little, biting my lip. “Are you gonna arrest me?”
He lifts his chin, his eyes flashing before they narrow playfully. “Only if you’re bad.”
“Did you want to do something special today?” Jaime asks as we head back to Oakland. “For your birthday?”
Before I can formulate an answer, my phone hums loudly from my lap. Callum . It’s difficult to hear him, as usual, over the loud music and voices in the background.
“What?” I repeat, plugging the opposite ear and shutting my eyes, as if sensory deprivation will help. “I can barely hear you, Callum.”
"I said sorry I haven’t called,” he says, sounding groggy and hoarse. “My phone died, and I couldn’t find my charger.”
All the shit he’s done to me over the years, and this is what he apologizes for? “Don’t worry about it.”
“Anyway, I have a lot of shit to get done between now and when we fly back tomorrow, so don’t trip if I don’t call,” he warns through a yawn.
“I’ll do my best,” I say dryly.
“Love you. Gotta go.”
We hang up. I stare at the screen, watching as it goes dark. This asshole really forgot my birthday.
Jaime looks away from the road for a second. “What’s up? You good?”
“He forgot my birthday.” I was prepared to go low-key today but fuck that. I love my birthday and there’s no reason not to celebrate it. “But I didn’t expect anything different from him, honestly. Let’s go get some cake.”
“Yeah, that’s messed up. Although I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t seen it on your license.” Jaime’s eyes soften. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I shrug, pulling up Portia’s digital gift card. “I just did.”
“Well, we can do whatever you want today.”
“Good, because I have a gift card for a cakery in Rockridge.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say cakery ,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “What’s the address?”
Twenty minutes later, Jaime and I walk into a cozy little cake shop on College Avenue and order an assortment of the most decadent cupcakes I’ve ever seen.
“You plan on eating all of these?” he teases, following me back to the car with a beribboned, pale-yellow box.
“Don’t worry, I’ll share.” I send Portia a picture of the cupcakes, thanking her for hooking me up.
The next few hours are some of the best I’ve had since leaving Boston. We get lunch at Foggy’s Pub on Shattuck, where I introduce Jaime to proper soda bread and Dublin Coddle with pints of Guinness on the side. We walk the Berkeley Marina, where the sun has finally broken through the fog, and eat cupcakes on the grass. Finally, we stop by my favorite Chicago-style pizza place in Rockridge to grab a few pies for dinner.
It’s nearly five by the time we head back toward the Hills. The sun’s just about set, and the streets are a soft purple, glowing with the lights of restaurants.
“Thanks for today.” I steal a glance at Jaime’s handsome profile in the fading light, the dark stubble that dusts his strong jawline, the dark lock of hair falling over his eyes. “It was sweet of you to celebrate with me.”
All day, small gestures have underscored this truth: the charcoal sketch of a ballerina he got me from an artist’s market, the sprig of golden yarrow he plucked from a bush along Marina Boulevard and tucked behind my ear, letting me play DJ in the car. The biggest gift of all was just spending time with me … no rushing to the next thing, no agendas, no complaints.
“It was a good day, but it’s nothing compared to what you deserve,” he says.
“I've enjoyed it," I say softly. I didn’t realize he felt that way, just like I didn’t realize until just now that I might be well on my way to falling in love with him.
“Is there anything else you want to do before we call it a night?” he asks.
“The Chabot Space and Science Center isn’t too far from here,” I suggest, still trying to shake the weight of my realization. “The center itself might be closing soon, but if I remember correctly, they let you access the telescopes for a few more hours.”
Sure enough, the center has just closed by the time we pull into the empty parking lot, but the observation deck that houses the telescopes is open. There, all of Oakland spreads out below us, its lights twinkling like the stars just starting to speckle the sky. “My nephew loves space. He’d go bananas if he was here,” I muse, stepping into one of the domes that houses a telescope named Rachel.
“What’s his name? ”
“Liam.” My heart squeezes the way it always does when I think about home.
“He’s in Boston, right?” Jaime asks.
“Yeah,” I say, peering through the telescope. “Oh wow, it’s clear tonight. Do you have any nieces or nephews?”
“Not that I know of.”
I peek at him, intrigued by his answer. “What do you mean?”
“I have an older half-brother, but we haven’t seen each other in years,” he explains.
“Is he back on the East Coast?”
“I have no idea,” he says. “He’s my dad’s kid. I don’t talk to any of them.”
“What about?—”
“Let me see.” Suddenly Jaime’s right behind me, his heat and solidity a delicious contrast to the nippy air.
Jaime can be a really private person, and I respect that, so I let it go. I start to scoot over so he can get a good look at the sky, but he holds my hips still, resting his chin on my shoulder as he peers through the telescope. My whole body gets warm, my heartbeat erratic. He smells so good, like cologne and detergent and cinnamon gum. And a little like cake, which makes me smile. I move my face slightly, rubbing my cheek against the soft bristles of his beard, my heart soaring when that makes him smile.
“That’s incredible,” says Jaime. He’s close enough that his voice vibrates against my skin. “The stars look so close.”
“And yet they’re so far away,” I add, my voice barely a whisper. I turn to face him before he can take a step back. “Do you think we’ll always be out of reach, too?”
“Listen to you, being corny,” he teases, his eyes meeting mine in the semi-darkness. He catches my hand before I can give him a good pinch and sets it on his waist. “Can you really see us existing beyond this?”
As much as I wish it wasn’t the case, I know he’s right. I’ll be cutting ties with everything and everyone related to Callum once I get away. “I guess not.”
He leans in, brushing his lips over mine in a gentle kiss full of promise. Yes. I’ve wanted this all day. Relieved, I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen it. We might not have forever, but we have right now, and what I want more than anything is to be closer to him. I just want more .
The world outside fades. I run my hands up under his shirt, and he laughs into our kiss, grabbing my hands. “Your hands are fucking icicles.” He hisses, but he lets me touch him, shuddering asI gently rake my nails lightly over his skin. With a small growl, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me again.
This one is bolder, almost desperate, and we sink into it like we’re trying to forget our cruel reality. His hands roam down my back slowly before cupping my ass and pulling me tightly against him. His hardness presses against my belly, making me ache for more than just a kiss, and I push back.
“Maeve,” he warns, but his lips move down my jaw and then my neck, sucking and nipping at my skin. A warm wave of desire washes over me, and I arch into him, nearly frantic with need. “Touch me,” I beg. “For my birthday.”
I’m half-expecting him to deny my request, but he slides his fingers into my leggings and down the front of my panties like he’s been just waiting for me to ask. “Like this?” he breathes, nibbling my ear.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Look how wet you are,” he murmurs.
I try to swallow my moan as I grip the wall behind me. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
His voice goes gritty as he trails kisses down my neck, his fingers rubbing slippery paths up and down my pussy. “What’s got you so wet?”
“You,” I whisper.
“You play dirty,” he says, his breath coming in warm puffs over my ear. “You know I can’t have you, but you tell me shit like that anyway.”
I’m tingling all over now, unable to speak. He knows exactly how to touch me.
“But you’re so beautiful,” he says, finding his way back to my mouth. “I can’t say no. You know that don’t you?”
He slips two fingers inside me, thrusting them slowly as his thumb circles my clit. “I—” I gasp, my hips jerking against his touch. I’m already so worked up, so close. “I?—”
“Shh.” His other hand slides up my stomach and cups my breast, roughly teasing the nipple until it hardens. “You wanted it, so take it like a good girl.”
“Oh, God,” I cry, shaking as I come all over his fingers. Pleasure cascades through my body with an intensity that makes my knees buckle slightly.
“The prima ballerina gets off on a little dirty talk. Who knew?” Chuckling, Jaime presses a hot, slow kiss to my ear. “Happy birthday, Maeve.”