Chapter 31
MAGGIE
The next morning is cloudy and the sky threatens to crack open any moment with rain. Overnight, I came up with a plan and send out some emails right away.
When I get downstairs, Declan is on the phone and quickly hangs up. “Good morning, Maggie McNugget,” he says.
Smoothing my skirt, I say, “Morning, you have one more experiential lesson in the program. I checked your agenda this afternoon and it’s clear.
I have to observe you in a public setting, performing a business transaction or something similar in a professional manner.
I arranged an interview, figured you could show the world there’s more to you than the mastermind behind #BruiserButt. ”
I can’t quite read Declan’s expression, but his shoulders aren’t pressed back in his usual upright posture. “Wolf can take credit for that.”
“Coach Hammer wants you to reform your reputation, so I did some research and found Blair Covell, who can help spread the word. She’s well-connected and has written a few pieces on other big names.
” My inner troll adds that she’s also beautiful, has zero flaws, and is perfect for Declan.
The Official Blancbourg Guide for employees doesn’t say anything forbidding client and journalist dalliances.
Declan’s expression is somewhat slack. “I’ve heard of her. This is a purely professional meeting?”
“Yep. Coach’s rules stand and so do Cateline’s.”
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You want to revert to the rules? Are you suggesting we pretend we didn’t kiss? That we don’t—?” He waves his finger between us.
“You made a pact with the guys. I have to keep my job. That means we can only be friends.”
“You can’t square a circle, Maggie.” With his forefinger aiming upward, he spins it between us.
“You can’t get kicked off the team.”
Declan’s shoulders drop as if he knows I have a point. “Of course. I overstepped. That wasn’t appropriate. So, we’ll pretend it didn’t happen.” He casts his gaze past me like if we make eye contact, his lips will be on mine faster than he’d run the football down the field.
“So, we’re just friends,” I say to clarify.
“Still friends.” His tone is clipped.
“Friends do things like hang out, watch football games, grab pizza.” I try to sound normal, but I’m a few octaves too high.
“Sure. We won’t do anything friends wouldn’t do.”
“We might want to define what friend means.” His lips float toward amusement.
“Ha ha. You know what friend means.” I try to be dry and non-flirty.
“I figure we should clarify. Do friends do things like this?” Declan leans in and our lips crash together.
I can’t resist the gravitational pull as if there’s an us at the center of the universe.
His scent, his rough touch, his soft brown eyes.
Declan’s hands grip the sides of my arms, his chest rises and falls, and with his lips on mine, instead of feeling like a washed-up fairytale princess, I feel like a queen.
My fingers explore his jawline and then wrap around the back of his neck. My heart hammers against my ribs and my thoughts float away.
“I like this version of friendship,” Declan practically growls.
And cut scene!
“Best friends don’t swoon or crush or kiss or...”
“I say best friends should kiss. Often.”
Declan kisses me again. For the record, his lips should be illegal.
I’ll put out an all-points bulletin later to make sure the world knows to stay away from his lips—mostly because I want to be the only one allowed access.
I’ve known Declan for almost a decade and never thought about what it would be like to kiss him until recently.
Okay, maybe once or twice, but I didn’t think it would be like this.
The kiss intensifies and deepens. I’m upside down and inside out. The world brightens and darkens at the same time. I don’t think we’re breathing.
*Faints*
Okay, I don’t actually lose consciousness, but I can’t let this go further. I lean back slowly and we pull apart. Although Declan’s lips are no longer on mine, he doesn’t move away. Rather, he wraps his arms low around my waist like he doesn’t plan to let go.
“You and I were inseparable senior year and then went our separate ways. We were insta-friends and now is this insta-love?” I ask.
“No, this built over time. We’ve been the only solid thing in each other’s lives.”
I try to understand, to rationalize what’s happening. Attraction developed between when we last saw each other and now. But something is different.
What’s different? Setting? Context? That whole absence makes the heart grow fonder cliche?
“Declan, what’s going to happen when you go back to football? If I stay in Concordia?” Though it sounds more like Dughadnsnanoofball istacordia? because my face is mashed against his chest with me wrapped tightly in his arms. I don’t want to let go either.
But the awkward silence expanding between us confirms what must be done.
After a while, he says, “Maggie, is this about your parents? No offense, but it’s clear what kind of people they are. Social climbing, money-grubbing—”
I hold up my hand even though he’s right. “What is it about? One word. Playbook.”
“Right. So, shouldn’t I stay away from women who have the same agenda as your mother and father?” His tone has a sharp edge to it.
“Do you mean Blair Covell? This is the last phase of our time together and the best possible way forward. She’s going to interview you and you’re going to put your skills to work. Show her and the world that you’re a team player, possibly a family man in the future, reformed.”
“I don’t want to. I was thinking we could watch that new superhero movie. I make great popcorn,” he says more lightly.
“How about we do rock, paper, scissors?”
He playfully rolls his eyes.
We throw our fingers, symbolizing the three objects. I win two out of three rounds.
Declan pinches the space between his eyes and then brushes his hand up to his forehead.
“I want you to demonstrate that you’ve learned social graces.”
“Haven’t I already shown you? How many meals have we shared?” he asks.
I force a deep breath. Every word spoken is agonizing as I push him away—mentally and emotionally. The man himself is a superhero, a football player. No way I could physically push him away. “You’re meeting with Blair.” My voice is robotic.
Declan’s face wrinkles. “I don’t feel good about that. If I’m late or don’t show up, will you fail me?”
“Yes.”
He grips the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it. Just this once. But Magums, what about us?”
“I’m your teacher. You’re my student.” Now, I’m a shaky robot, malfunctioning, running out of battery, but the silence that follows makes it final.
The motherboard is powering down in three, two, one. It’s the final countdown before it goes kaput.
Loneliness is one of my earliest memories, and with Declan, it’s the opposite. He’s thoughtful, kind, warm, and his presence fills me in a way no one ever has before.
Too bad, I’ll soon have to say goodbye and we’ll go back to being text-only friends.