Role Playing(60)

She groaned. “Maybe?”

Now he frowned . . . and to her shock, tugged her forward into a hug.

“You are one of my best friends,” he said, squeezing her. She could hear his deep voice resonating through his chest, which then rumbled against her chest. Her sweater was no defense against that kind of sexy rumbling, she immediately noted.

Oh, God. What was happening here?

“So of course I’m going to see you again,” he continued, obviously completely unaware that her pulse was now dancing the rumba in her throat and she was feeling rushes of heat that had nothing to do with hot flashes. “If you’re okay with it, I mean. I’m not going to, like, force you to see me.”

“I like seeing you,” she admitted in a quiet voice.

He pulled back. “Same.”

They stared at each other for a long second. She swallowed hard.

It had been a long time since she’d wanted to kiss someone, and suddenly, there were all those feelings. And she was frozen, unsure of what to do, her heart beating like a power hammer in her chest.

He stroked her cheek. She leaned into the touch, still staring.

Just go for it. She started to lean forward, her body tense as a coiled spring, when he spoke.

“Um . . . would you go to a wedding with me?”

She blinked, yanked out of the moment by his uncomfortable tone. “Sorry?”

“Wedding.” He sighed, leaning back. “My cousin is having a wedding, and I need a date. It’s in Coeur d’Alene, at this fancy hotel. Any chance you could come with me?”

She recoiled. She’d thought . . .

Oh, God.

“Um . . .”

“Please don’t feel pressured,” he said quickly. “It’s not a big deal, I’m not . . . I’m just . . . my ex Sheryl is going to be there, with my brother obviously, and . . . it’s a favor. I hate to ask . . .”

Now she felt like she’d been slapped.

I hate to ask?

She’d been about to kiss him. But he’d come out to her as demi—maybe, anyway, but somewhere on the ace spectrum probably—and he’d made it clear that he rarely felt attraction, and she’d almost . . . oh, God, what the hell had she been thinking?

She got to her feet in a rush, humiliation and pain flooding through her at what she was feeling, at how close she’d been to making a truly horrible mistake . . . with a guy she now realized she really liked.

“Maggie? You okay?” He got to his feet, cursing a little. “Sorry. My foot’s still a little tender . . .”

“I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, and to his credit, he sounded concerned.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she hurried out. “I just . . . can’t.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry I asked. I know you don’t like crowds, and family gatherings are a lot of pressure. I don’t blame you. You’ve helped me so much, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable . . .”

Now guilt was added to the weird emotional cocktail she was wrestling with. “No, no, that’s . . .”

“I’m going to go,” he said. He looked like he was going to hug her goodbye—they were getting pretty good at those—but instead, he dropped his arms, giving her a weird, awkward nod. “Talk to you tomorrow?” His voice sounded hopeful. And a little sad.

She didn’t trust her own voice, so she just nodded, before closing the door behind him and locking it.





CHAPTER 25


PRAGMATIC ADAPTATION


Aiden felt terrible.

He hadn’t meant to pressure Maggie. Especially after everything she’d done for him. The fact that she somehow thought the only reason he was friends with her was because she did things for him—helped him cook, drove him to appointments, kept him company—was disheartening. And then what had he done?

I asked her for a fucking favor.

After literally just telling her that he liked her without her needing to do anything.

He knew that she was introverted. They’d talked about it at length. They’d laughed about how they’d almost met at Deb’s football party, even as his heart hurt at the idea that she’d barely been able to keep it together for twenty minutes. And he’d remembered her text, saying she wanted to “kill shit.” While it had been prime Bogwitch, now that he knew the woman behind the screen name, he also saw that her grumpiness and lashing out were an extreme coping mechanism. She was trying to protect herself.

You are such a dickhead.

He grimaced. All day, he’d waited for Maggie to text him after he’d sent her another quick apology. She hadn’t. Now, he was out at the Trick Shot on a Saturday night, something he very rarely did. And an even more rare occurrence: he was drinking. Now that he was off pain meds, he just wanted to numb himself. He’d called Riley, asking him for a ride and explaining that he might get a little trashed.

As expected, Riley was all about being wingman and designated driver. “Because goddamn, you need to loosen up” had been his response.

So here he was. At a bar. Trying desperately to loosen up.

“Wedding’s coming up,” Riley said next to him. “Did you finally get a date?”