Page 66 of Sirens
And now she was part of it. Really, she had tried to resist becoming involved.
Sort of.
A little.
But if McGarvey somehow found out about her involvement in today’s little stunt… Well, things were going to get significantly more complicated.
Complicated. Like the man whose voice lived in her brain. The man whose touch lingered on her skin. The man who?—
—was standing in the doorway of Sirens looking like he was about to take away someone’s birthday.
And maybe beat them with it.
Which shouldn’t even be a thing, but with the way his—well, everything—was flexing, he probably could.
It was in the process of noticing theeverythingthat additional concerning details began to reveal themselves to Maggie’s keen investigative eye.
His clothing, for one. The tight black t-shirt and jeans fit him just as well as every exquisitely assembled ensemble she’d ever seen him wear, but it was somehow…wrong.
“Jeans!” she said, not realizing she’d spoken aloud until Darby raised an eyebrow at her.
“What was that?”
Past the pink crown of Darby’s head, Maggie saw McGarvey’s narrow-eyed gaze begin its eventual swivel in her direction, and she dropped it like it was hot down below the bar faster than fucking Frodo at the Black Gate.
“Nothing,” Maggie said, pretending to be engrossed in examining the glassware dishwasher racks. “Just… Um, remembering I left my…jeans at home. And they’re my favorite pair!”
“Ooookay,” Darby drawled, head cocked at a curious angle as she peered past the collection of mermaid-shaped draft beer tap levers.
Meanwhile, Maggie’s mind was Tokyo-drifting straight into some very unwelcome realizations. If McGarvey was here, wearing non-work attire, and appeared to be freshly showered, then…
Oh.
Sweet.
Mother.
Of.
Fuck.
What had Myrtledone?
Scrunching down over her shoes, Maggie crouch-walked toward the bar’s waist-swinging door that allowed a narrow slice of vantage through which she could track McGarvey’s movements without being seen. Perhaps the one time in her life that being vertically challenged proved to be an asset.
Only, just as she had the absolute mouth-watering perfection of McGarvey’s body perfectly lined up in the gap, a black-apron-veiled crotch shoved itself into view.
“Ugh, where is shenow?” Kurt huffed dramatically, setting his tray on the bar’s hinged fold-open segment above her head with a hollow slap.
“She’s right here, you dick!” Maggie whispered and poked the exposed knob of his hairy ankle with the tip of her nail, feeling a vicious stab of satisfaction when Kurt nearly leapt back a full foot.
“Mag— Ow! Jesus.” The tips of his manicured fingers brushed into view as he bent at the waist to massage the part of his shin Maggie had shoved the swinging door into.
“You want to kindly get the fuck out of the way?”
“But what are you?—”
“I think she wants you to move,” Darby helpfully translated. “Shove off. Make like a tree and get outta here. Take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. Got it?”
