Page 8 of Raise The Bar
“I’m so sorry, Maggie.”
“Don’t be silly. You couldn’t have known. It was a long time ago.” She’s trying to make me feel better, but I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. I know I should drop it and move on.
“You must really miss her.”
Regret hits me as soon as the words leave my mouth. I don’t know her well enough to be having this conversation. But her reaction catches me off guard. Maggie looks up from her lap and meets my eyes. I swear those eyes could bring a man to his knees. I’d kneel before her gladly just to keep those eyes in my life. We stare at each other for a minute and then she speaks.
“It probably sounds weird, but I feel like she’s still here. The memories of her are so vivid, so alive in my mind that most of the time, it’s like she never left.” Her face is thoughtful as she continues. “If something important happens, I picture how she would have reacted to it and it’s almost like she was there. She was such a huge part of my life that I feel like she’s still with me.” I nod like I understand though never having experienced anything remotely like it. The fog clears from her expression. “I’m sorry,” she laughs nervously. “I think I just unloaded on you more than I ever have to my therapist. You should send me a bill.”
“The first session is always on the house.” She smiles and I grin like an idiot. I can’t help it. It’s impossible to not smile when she’s smiling. “I saw a therapist once.”
This piques her interest. “You did?” Her head tilts to the side, a few curls on top of her head shifting with it. “How did that go?”
“Great. By the end of the hour, I’d convinced her to follow her dream of being a painter and to reconnect with her estranged brother. We didn’t actually get around to my issues.”
Maggie’s head falls back in loud, joyous laughter and it’s glorious. The sound gives me more pleasure than my last dozen one-night stands. It’s a sexy, throaty laugh that’s just the slightest bit silly.
“That did not actually happen,” she wheezes, trying to catch her breath.
“I swear, it’s the truth.” I rest my right hand over my heart like I’m pledging allegiance to the flag. “She sent me a landscape she painted. It was terrible.” My grin widens as this starts another wave of laughter.
“What did you do with it?”
“I framed it. It’s hanging in my guest room.”
Maggie covers her face with her hands and continues to shake with laughter. As I watch her come up for air, delicately wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, I have the sudden urge to take her hand. Just to hold it.
What is wrong with you? You’ve never acted this way over a woman before.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I need to get myself back to familiar territory. “We could get a drink, maybe grab a bite to eat.” Finish what we started on New Years, perhaps?
She tilts her head pensively and I give her the smile that always seals the deal.
“No, thanks,” she says finally, looking away. “I think I’ll just wait for Betty and Josh.” She doesn’t ask for a rain check or say “maybe some other time” she just flat out says “no.” It takes me a moment to recover from the shock of being turned down.
“Sure,” I nod, my smile never faltering. “I understand.” But I don’t understand. Not why she turned me down, or why I have an overwhelming need to change her mind.
Chapter 4
Maggie
“If I eat any more, I’m going to explode,” I say as Betty offers me the last slice of pizza. I lay back on Josh’s couch, gazing up at the white ceiling and wishing I was wearing sweatpants.
“My renter’s insurance doesn’t cover pepperoni-induced explosions.” Josh reaches over me and takes the pizza from the box Betty holds out to him. They got back a half hour ago with pizza and beer. While I couldn’t stomach a beer after my afternoon glasses of wine, I did manage to put away four greasy slices of thin-crust pizza and now I am ready for a nap.
Focusing my eyes on the ceiling, I notice that whoever painted it missed several spots making it look uneven in places. Now that I see it, I can’t unsee it. I like balance and symmetry, always have. I have the sudden urge to buy a gallon of paint and fix it myself. As well as I’ve gotten to know Josh, I don’t particularly want to tell him that painting his ceiling would help me sleep better at night.
Callum left shortly after I turned him down. He suddenly remembered he had to meet his mom back at his place. After managing not to run into him for months, of course I’d see him when I looked like a mess and desperately needed to pee. Betty had invited me to get drinks with them twice since the New Year’s Eve fiasco but I just happened to have plans with my sister on both occasions. It’s not like I was pissed at him. Okay, maybe I was kind of pissed at him. He’d been there with a date and failed to mention it while flirting with me. It was my first time on the scene since my breakup and his apparent interest followed by his rejection had stung. Seeing him today brought those feelings back, but within minutes my defenses were lowered. I don’t see how anyone could possibly stay mad at the guy. He’s likable to the point of being obnoxious. Still, I had managed to turn him down when he asked me out. If that’s even what he was doing. Maybe he was simply being nice. He didn’t seem put off in the slightest when I’d said “no.”
I’m further irritated by how good he looked. His tousled hair was longer than it had been the last time I saw him, curling adorably at the top. The beard is new and it suits him. It’s one of those short, well groomed beards like Chris Evans has. Or is it Chris Hemsworth? Does Chris Pine have a beard? One of the Chris’ anyway. He was dressed in jeans and a faded blue t-shirt that showed off his biceps and made his eye color stand out. Casual looked great on him, although I’m quite sure anything would.
Including nothing.
I groan audibly, forgetting I’m not alone. Thankfully, my friends both seem to interpret my horniness as indigestion.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex. Too long, in fact. I miss being touched, being held. That dizzying feeling when you not only want someone, but you know they want you too. I’m a physical person and touch is my love language. I’d felt that way about Mark in the beginning, but before long it faded away and I spent too many years trying to regain what was lost.
Enough of that, Maggie. Save it for your next session with Winnie.
