Role Playing(41)

She huffed out a breath, leaning against his wall. “I have some social anxiety issues. Nothing clinical. Just . . . I’m not good with other people.”

“Me neither.”

“No, really. At book club—I just didn’t know what to say to anyone, I didn’t care what anyone else was talking about. Then, I was at Deb’s party, and they were all talking, and there was this one woman who just seemed to love causing drama and needling people. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

It sounded like she was talking about Patience. He nodded. “I get being uncomfortable.” Then he had a thought. “She wasn’t mean to you, was she?”

He didn’t know why, but the thought suddenly incensed him. He hated it when the guys in the guild gave Boggy shit, so he imagined it was an extension of that . . . even though he now knew she wasn’t some fragile eighty-year-old. And let’s face it, even when he thought she was eighty, she was far from fragile.

“No, but I don’t have the time or the bandwidth to put up with privileged women who need to pick on other people just because they’re bored or want to feel better.” Maggie’s eyes blazed. “And if she’s stupid enough to try it with me, she gets what’s coming to her.”

“Start shit, get hit,” he replied, thinking of DangerNoodle’s frequent quote.

“Yeah, well, I imagine that’s frowned upon at casual suburban get-togethers.” Maggie looked frustrated, and there was a hint of a blush on her cheeks. “Kit’s continually telling me to chill out. And Deb is the mother of Kit’s best friend, so . . . yeah. I don’t want word to get back to him that I went full feral at a football party.”

“Kit is . . . ?”

“My son.” Now she smiled, a little wider, more natural. Just a little rueful. “He went to college this year. U Dub.”

“Miss him?”

“A ton.” She took a deep breath. “I tried harder, when he was here. To fit in, I mean. To not be quite so . . .” She gestured down at herself. “Me. He had enough shit going on.”

Aiden desperately wanted to ask what kind of shit she was referring to, but knew enough about her to know now wasn’t the time.

“I’ve just found it’s best not to interact a whole lot,” she muttered. “In person.”

“Not to pry, but . . . what do you do for a living, then?” he asked. “Because that’s got to be challenging.”

She let out a short laugh. “I work from home. Freelance editor.” He must’ve seemed skeptical because she laughed again. “Don’t worry, I present well in writing when I want to. I even use smiley faces and exclamation points when necessary.”

His eyebrows went up. “I can’t even imagine that from you.”

She rolled her eyes, then shifted to a hyperfriendly expression. “Hi! This is Maggie Le from Le Editorial. Here are the critique notes for your textbook. They may seem comprehensive, but I do hope you find them helpful. Thank you for your business!” Then she shot him a wide smile.

He cracked up. “You sound like a sociopath!”

“Yes, well, I have a different voice when I don’t get paid, but otherwise, you’re not wrong.” Her grin was tiny but evil. Adorably evil, if that was a thing.

When was the last time I thought of someone as adorable? First cute, now adorable? Other than, say, someone in a movie or TV show, or animated characters and whatnot, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered anyone either of those things.

“What do you do, then?” she asked. “I just figured you went to community college, maybe had a day job too. Are you studying for anything in particular?”

“I’m not trying to get a degree or credential, or anything like that.” He leaned back. “Once Dad died, I knew my mom needed help, but she didn’t need, you know, constant care. Not like Dad. But I didn’t want to go back to the west side until things were settled, and I had all this free time. So I tried a bunch of different things.”

“Like what? Basket weaving?”

He grinned. “If they’d offered it, I might’ve. I considered pottery, but I don’t like the feel of clay, and I can’t draw for shit.”

She grinned back.

“Besides, I met Gandalf and Dork in English class, and wound up starting the guild with Malcolm—Mouse, you know—and that’s been a nice distraction too.”

They were quiet together for a moment, a comfortable sort of quiet, just surveying each other with amused affection. Despite the pain in his foot, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this content.

She glanced at her phone. “I really ought to go,” she said, and this time, she sounded more regretful than wary. “I should get a little more work in, and if I don’t call Rosita by six, she’s going to probably get in the car with all five of her brothers and go hunting for your ass.”

He chuckled. “They look out for you, huh? That sounds nice.”

“They’ve got my back.” She smiled. “Sometime, I’ll tell you about them. Maybe.”

She started to put on her jacket. Out of habit, he got up, then winced and almost immediately sat down.

“Shit.” Maggie rushed to his side and, to his shock, felt his head. Then her eyes widened. “Sorry. Habit. I wanted to see if you had a fever. But I guess that’s not the point? Your foot hurting?”