37. Maisy
37
MAISY
“Psst.”
I look up from tying my sheer sarong after changing into my swimsuit in Javi’s bathroom. Brody waits at the end of the hallway, pressed against the wall like he’s hiding from the cops.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I need to talk to you.” Craning his neck, he peeks around to see if we’re noticed by anyone in the backyard, then he drags me to a corner of the kitchen away from the windows.
“Brody,” I hiss, unsure what he’s up to.
Other than brief hellos at bar events or Tatum’s wedding, we haven’t spoken since high school.
In a hushed voice, he says. “I heard Ainsley cleaned your mom’s house.”
I raise my eyebrows, urging him to continue. “And?”
“Did she—I mean, did she mention me or anything?” He musses his blond hair, a sign of insecurity from the real Brody I uncovered when we were kids.
My mouth turns down in a sympathetic frown. “No, she didn’t.” When his face falls, I say, “You like her.”
“I want to get to know her. I’ve been trying for months, but she’s hot and cold.”
“Months?”
He sighs. “There’s something about her. I can’t explain it.”
“You always did have a soft spot for the loners like me.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve kept your secrets.” I say this jokingly, but Brody’s secrets are no laughing matter. And he has quite a few.
“I know you have, and I appreciate it.”
He taps a finger on his thigh, and I feign interest in the cabinet handles, neither of us knowing what to say as an awkward silence settles between us.
“I’ll go outside first,” he says.
He must not want to be seen with me, hence the covert operation to corner me for a chat. It’s like being in school all over again. After I discovered one of his secrets by accident, he began confiding in me and seeking me out for advice. But he never acknowledged our fringe friendship in public.
Shrugging a shoulder to hide the twinge of hurt, I say, “Yeah, sure.”
Brody ducks his head to meet my gaze, sensing where my mind drifted. “Hey. I was never ashamed of you. People would’ve got the wrong idea because of my reputation, and I respected you too much to let them start rumors. Also, I didn’t want Jensen to kick my ass.”
Surprised by both of his reasons for hiding our acquaintance, I focus on the latter. “You knew we were friends?”
His quiet laughter sounds like puffs of air. “Friends don’t threaten every guy in your class for daring to upset you.” He yanks on one of my curls, a throwback to preschool that makes me want to smack him, and says, “See you outside.”
He runs ahead of me and leaps into the pool, landing with a cannonball splash. Jensen wades through the shallow end, smiling as he jokes with Rock and Jake. After a minute of observing them from inside the house, I slip through the patio door.
Javi and Clementine live in one of the nicest houses in town, and their beach-entry pool comes with a grotto, a slide, and a diving board. The women lounge on a raised level of the pool deck, suntanning while keeping out of the splash zone.
Trevor appears to be napping in a lounger on the covered porch, obviously averse to the sun with his straw hat and thick layer of sunblock on his cheeks and nose. When Javi drops into the chair next to his, I take advantage of the opportunity and join them while Jensen’s distracted by the other guys.
I tighten the knot on the skirt covering my bikini bottoms as I make my way over, then sit at the foot of Trevor’s lounge chair, facing Javi. Not one for small talk, I get straight to the point and ask him about Jensen.
“How long has he been like this?”
“Like what?” Javi asks, looking straight ahead at the pool. With our dark sunglasses, it’s impossible to decipher where our eyes are aimed.
“Falling apart.”
Trevor shifts slightly, and I hope I haven’t woken him despite speaking in a quiet voice.
“Since December,” Javi says.
The implication in his response isn’t lost on me. Jensen’s been struggling since I approached him at Bruno’s, our first encounter in years. If he so badly wants to be with me, and I’m here, why is he declining?
“I’m worried about him,” I admit.
Trevor speaks up, evidently not asleep after all. “We all are.”
My stomach dips from the thought of saying the next words aloud. Not because they’re out of line, but because I can’t stand the idea of betraying Jensen’s trust. It feels wrong, like I’m sneaking behind his back. I’m at a loss, but find some comfort in knowing I’m not the only one concerned for his mental health.
I lean back on my hands, portraying a relaxed posture I’m nowhere close to feeling on the inside. “I think he needs professional help.”
A quick side-glance at Jensen, and my heart pounds faster. He’s staring at me with concern crinkling his brow, as if he can somehow sense the guilt and distress thrashing inside my rib cage.
Javi tucks his hands behind his head and crosses his ankles. If he’s faking the lazy vibes, he’s a phenomenal actor. “He does need help, but he won’t accept it. I’ve made the suggestion many times over the years, and he gets defensive—angry, even—which isn’t like him.”
“You give people advice for a living. What should I do?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” I ask, my arm hairs standing on end, knowing I won’t like his answer.
“On whether you plan to stay in Walford or leave. If you’re staying, make sure he knows, then be here to support him. If you’re leaving, cut ties now and let us deal with the fallout.”
“Javi,” Trevor warns.
“No, Trevor. I won’t tread lightly. And I’m not trying to be rude or place blame or run her off. I’m simply trying to eliminate sources of stress.”
“You think I’m a source of stress for him.” My accusation lacks venom because I might agree with Javi on this point.
“Your uncertainty is,” he says. “The thought of you leaving again hangs over his head like a dark cloud. He needs reassurance.”
Leaving again.
“I do reassure him. Often.”
Javi sighs with a subtle, pitying shake of his head. “The only reason he wouldn’t believe you is if you don’t believe yourself. If you’re staying, give him something concrete. Put a label on your relationship, make a plan for the future, tell him how you feel about him. Anything to help him feel secure in what you have. Guys want to know they’re loved, same as women do.”
The first person I can recall saying “I love you” to was Tatum. When we became friends, she said the phrase to me so often, I naturally reciprocated. Graham and Miguel say they love me, but I’m unsure if I’ve ever said it back, though I do love them, as well as Marcus and Judge and Pam.
I love several people in a platonic, friendly way, but I’ve never declared my romantic love for anyone. Regardless, showing people how much I love them is far less terrifying than telling them. There’s a certain amount of raw exposure in saying the phrase I love you , at least for people like me who put a ton of value behind the sentiment.
Trevor must be able to read my mind. He pokes my leg with his foot to grab my attention and says, “I’ve been told I have the emotional depth of a pencil?—
“I said that once, and you always bring it up,” Javi complains.
“—which isn’t true. I feel lots of things under the surface but only share my feelings with people who are important to me. Obviously, Javi isn’t important, but Gina is. I try to tell her and show her how much she means to me every day.”
“That’s sweet of you,” I say.
“You’re the only person besides Gina to accuse me of being sweet.”
Javi’s head moves back and forth, which is how I know he’s studying our interaction. “You two are eerily similar.”
“That’s why Jensen likes us better than he likes you,” Trevor says in his dry, matter-of-fact tone.
Not in the mood to stick around for their banter, I stand and say, “Thanks for the chat, boys.”
“Maisy.” The seriousness in Javi’s voice freezes me in place. “Be careful with him. But look out for yourself too. If you notice him getting worse, I’m around.”
On that parting warning, and concerned Javi knows something about Jensen that I don’t, I join the ladies and claim the empty lounge chair on the end next to Lucy. On Lucy’s other side, Tatum rubs her baby bump while discussing home furnishings with Gina and Clementine.
“Everything okay?” Lucy asks, eyeing me as I arrange a towel before lying on the chair.
“Yeah. I was just trying to get some free advice out of Javi.”
“Any luck?”
“Maybe,” I mutter, my gaze trained on Jensen.
When he looks my way, a grin lights up his face. Half a second later, he’s doused by a big splash of water, followed by a tackle from a roaring man-child: Brody.
Taking a risky gamble twice in one day, I ask Lucy, “Have you noticed any changes in him lately?”
She hums in thought and tilts her head, discreetly studying Jensen. “He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”
Interesting, but not surprising, that Javi and Lucy’s observations differ. Jensen hides himself well, showing people only the parts he wants them to see. Javi sees a man in decline, but Lucy sees a man on the rise. Perhaps she doesn’t know him as well as I initially thought.
Tatum adds her very loud opinion on the subject. “He’s happy because of Maisy’s magic sauce.”
Clementine and Gina giggle at her innuendo, but I lose my opportunity to make a snappy comeback when Javi yells, “Ice cream!”
Jake, Rock, and Brody race out of the water like they spotted a shark, and Trevor acts as pool attendant, passing a folded towel to each swimmer.
Meanwhile, the ladies gawk at the man lifting himself out of the pool like he’s in a slow-motion movie scene. All we need is a sexy soundtrack as we drool over the bearded, tanned, tattooed eye candy. From his veiny forearms to his defined abs to his sculpted chest, Jensen’s muscles pop with each movement. He lands in a squat, and his thighs bulge against the hem of his black swim trunks. He rises to his full height and shakes his head, slinging water droplets in all directions. The hand raking through the wet strands, causing his biceps to flex, is what draws several appreciative sighs from our group, including one from me.
“Goddess, have mercy.” Gina attempts to whisper, but her words reach my end of the row, and I bark a laugh. She leans forward to address me. “I’m married, not blind.”
I’m not a jealous person, so I return her blushing grin with a knowing smirk and say, “Nobody, man or woman, would be blind to that.”
As if on cue, and proving my point, all the husbands rush to their wives with bowls of ice cream in hand. We laugh at their obvious efforts to divert the women’s attention away from the bad boy prowling my way.
Rock scoops up Lucy and places her in his lap to spoon-feed her. It blows my mind how over-the-top he is with her when he never showed interest in girls as a teenager. She loves every second of his possessive, doting behavior.
Jensen crawls onto the end of my lounger, stopping on all fours with his knees caging my legs. “Did you enjoy the show?” he whispers in my ear.
Using one finger, I slide the sunglasses up my nose. “Maybe. Five out of ten, if I’m honest.”
“Bullshit.” Water drips from his beard to my neck. He darts his tongue out to lick me, and I fight back a shiver. “Your little see-through skirt hides nothing, birdie. Wrap yourself in a towel if you walk around again.”
When he asked me at the last minute to join him for a swim party, I grabbed the first bathing suit I could find. My cheeky bikini bottoms expose half my butt, perfect attire for an exotic beach but wholly inappropriate for a backyard swim among friends in Walford.
Despite agreeing with him, I bristle at his command. He can be bossy in the bedroom, but I’m my own woman everywhere else. “If you would’ve given me more notice, I would’ve found my one-piece suit. I’ll use a towel, but not because you’re ordering me to.”
“I’m only trying to prevent two inappropriate displays. Like the one currently in my pants because your tits look amazing in that skimpy top. If we were alone, I’d lather you with that coconut tanning oil, slide my dick between them, and play with your nipples.”
“Go away,” I hiss, darting my eyes around to see if anyone’s paying attention to us.
Turns out, everyone’s looking because we’re the new couple, and they’re intrigued by our pairing. None of our friends saw our relationship coming aside from Javi.
“I can’t,” Jensen says earnestly.
“Why not?”
Still on his hands and knees, he drops his gaze to his shorts. Rock and Lucy, nearest to us, grunt and giggle, respectively. Jake whistles low, proving he also heard our conversation. Tatum’s clueless, shoveling ice cream down her throat, as are the two couples at the opposite end.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper-yell at Jensen.
I assumed he was joking seconds ago when he mentioned the situation in his shorts. My cheeks heat, flustered from being the source of entertainment for everyone and by his predicament. Believe me, it’s no small predicament.
“It’s your fault for being hot as sin.”
“Fix this,” I say, gritting my teeth.
“Scoot forward and let me sit behind you.”
“I doubt that will improve your situation,” Trevor quips from the foot of Gina’s chair, which is four lounge chairs away from mine.
Everyone’s holding in their laughter, close to erupting. I hide my face in my hands. Death by embarrassment is imminent.
His lips at my ear again, Jensen whispers, “I can stand up and let these ladies see what I’m packing, or I can slide in behind you. Your choice.”
I scoot forward. As I do, I wonder if I’m the only one who notices Brody floating on a raft in the pool, eating his ice cream alone.