CLAM JAM Page 8

  If I wasn’t already certain I’d made a mistake in not insisting Maggie and Sean keep their Saturday night plans earlier, I sure as hell am now. Because sitting through movie night with the two of them is much like what I imagine it must’ve been like for Guantanamo prisoners who underwent waterboarding.

  Excruciating torture.

  Instead of Maggie’s legs draped over my thighs, she’s sitting with her legs pulled up to the side and leaning into Sean. Sure, she’s sitting between us, but it’s not the same. Not by a long shot. To make matters worse, only Maggie and I are going back and forth, quoting Weird Science.

  “So what would you little maniacs like to do first?” we both mutter at the same time, turning to each other and snickering.

  The entire time, Sean’s on his cell phone, texting like a madman with his brows furrowed in concentration. As if he’s a neurosurgeon or something and people can’t bear to be disconnected from him for the weekend.

  “You okay over there, Sean?” There’s a hint of a bite in my tone, and I attempt to disguise it with an earnest expression.

  “Yep.” Tap, tap, tap. Seriously. The dude has a low-level marketing job. Low. Level. Nothing where he’d be on call on the weekends.

  “I’m going to get a refill.” Rising from the couch, I look over at Maggie. “Need anything?” When she offers a quick, “No, thanks,” reluctantly, my eyes fall on Sean. “How about you?”

  Sean shakes his head dismissively, eyes still on his phone. Heading into the kitchen, I roll my eyes. While uncorking the wine and refilling my glass, I mutter beneath my breath. “Beautiful woman by my side and I can’t be bothered to pay any atten—”

  “Hey, man.”

  My hand jerks in surprise, some wine spilling onto the counter. “Shit.” Hurriedly wiping up the spill, I look up at Sean. “Hey.” When he doesn’t elaborate on his reason for suddenly joining me in the kitchen, I lift the half-full bottle of wine. “You change your mind about a refill?”

  His eyes don’t leave mine as he casually leans against the refrigerator, hands sliding into his pockets. “I’m not going to pretend like I understand your game.” His voice is low, making it evident he doesn’t want to be overheard, but his gaze turns hard. “But Maggie is not going to be yours.”

  Casually taking a sip of wine before setting my glass back on the counter, I offer an easy shrug. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Our eyes war—neither of us looking away and neither of us wanting to break the stare. Like two juvenile boys.

  “Hey, you two.” Maggie slides up beside Sean, linking her arm through his, her eyes flickering back and forth between us curiously. “Everything okay?”

  “Yep.” Sean fixes a smile on her. “Ry was just saying how he wasn’t really feeling well tonight and thought we should head out to give him some peace and quiet.”

  Maggie frowns at me. “Ry?” Her eyes dart to the counter beside me.

  Stepping a few inches to my right to block the sight of my refilled wine glass on the counter behind me, I shrug. “Yeah. Tonight’s been rough, so I’d better take it easy before the nausea gets to be too much for me to handle.” My fingers give a brief tug on my left earlobe.

  She steps forward, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” she whispers. “Love you.”

  Dipping my head down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head, whispering an, “I love you,” back, I don’t break eye contact with Sean. Which means I don’t miss the narrowing of his eyes.

  He’s on to me.

  The gauntlet has officially been thrown.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Maggie

  My phone rings as soon as Sybil leaves my office in huff number five hundred and fifty-two. And it’s only just now hit noon.

  Glancing over at the caller ID lighting up on my desk phone, I heave a sigh of relief that it’s actually someone I want to talk to.

  “Ryland James,” I draw out his name. “What are you up to on this glorious Monday?”

  “Up to far more good than Little Miss Sunshine who just exited your office, that much is certain. How many times has he come in to bother you in the last four hours? Ten?”

  “More like twel— Wait!” I swivel my chair around to peer out the window, but the sunlight is reflecting off the bank of windows on the building across from me, so I can’t detect any sight of him. “Are you spying on me again?”

  “Guilty as charged.” Amusement laces his tone. “Does this mean you have to cuff me? Because if so, I’m on board. Especially with that prim and proper pinstriped duo you have going on right now.”

  Glancing down at my matching skirt and jacket, I snicker. “This is the most boring outfit I own.” With a pause, I add, “Not to mention, you need to stop spying on me with those dang binoculars. It’s creepy.”

  “It’s not creepy.”

  “It’s creepy.”

  “It’s not. It means I’m dedicated to something. I know that this time, every day, you let out a long exhale, rub your temples after your boss leaves your office to head to lunch—where I’m convinced he goes to some dark, underground place where he feeds on the blood of pure virgins or something equally as disturbing—and you try to catch up on emails while eating your lunch at your desk.”

  “Like I said. Creepy.”

  “I prefer to say I’m just watching out for you.”

  “Mmm, still sounds creepy.”

  “No, it doesn’t. If I said something about watching you when you adjust the strap of the black bra you sometimes wear and that it usually needs to be adjusted about a quarter of an inch, that would be creepy.”

  I hesitate, mulling over his words. Do I do that? Do I have a black bra that—

  “Gotcha.”

  I laugh, shaking my head as I pull out my insulated lunch bag from one of my desk drawers. “You’re not right.” Opening my bag, I falter because inside is … not what I packed in a frenzied rush this morning after sleeping in due to getting back later than expected from dinner with Sean last night: a granola bar, some crackers, and a string cheese stick.

  “Ry.” His name is spoken on an exhale as I turn my eyes toward the windows again, wishing desperately that I could see him.

  His response is husky. “Just a little surprise for my Mags. No biggie.”

  But he’s so wrong. It is a biggie. As I pull out a container of sliced strawberries, reaching past a small cooler pack to withdraw another container with a mixed greens salad, I discover one of the individually wrapped Godiva chocolates Ry insists on keeping around the apartment for when he experiences his “time of the month.”

  My shoulders sag. “Ry. Thank you.” I smile into the phone.

  “Keep digging, Mags.”

  Curiously, I reach down to the very bottom to find a folded paper towel. Unfolding it, I read it.

  I want the other person to be happy. Always.

  Before I can ask him the meaning behind this, I hear another male voice in the background on his end. Hastily, he tells me he has to go.

  “Enjoy your lunch, Mags. Love you.” Then he hangs up.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, setting the phone back in the cradle in a daze. “Love you, too.”

  I eat the rest of my lunch in silence, staring at Ry’s handwritten words.

  * * *

  “Maggie? A Ms. Sarah Eaton is here for you.” I glance up from my desk to see Trevor, one of our interns, at my door.

  “Thanks, Trevor. You can send her on in.”

  Glancing at the clock, I wince, realizing how much time has passed. I should be close to finishing for the day, yet I’ve been wrestling with one project in particular, and it’s nearing five thirty in the evening.

  “Hey, loser.” Sarah walks in my office, slumping into one of the chairs in front of my desk. “Are you planning to live here now?”

  “You’re one to talk,” I tease, referring to the long hours she puts in at the hospital. I take in her plain-clothes appearance,
noting the absence of her scrubs. “Did you play hooky today?”

  She leans her head back against the chair, closing her eyes. “Nope. I misread the schedule, so it turned out to be my day off.”

  “That’s awesome.” I honestly don’t know how she does it, pulling all those long hours at the hospital while going to school. It doesn’t leave time for much else, but she’ll soon have P.A. beside her name—Physician Assistant—and that will open more doors and increase her paycheck, as well.

  “Let me save everything and shut down my computer, and we can go …” I trail off, raising my eyebrows.

  Her head snaps up. “Eat. I want to eat dinner with my best friend. And not talk about work or about heart valves or episiotomies or anything else.”

  “Whoa. That was emphatically descriptive.”

  Sarah smiles. “Most emphatically descriptive.”

  I start clicking my mouse to save my files and am in the process of shutting down my computer when she clears her throat.

  “Can we invite Ry along? I haven’t seen him in a while, either.”

  It’s not so much her question that draws my attention as it is the way she asks it. “I’ll have to—”

  My desk phone rings at that moment, and I know—without looking at it—who’s going to be on the other end.

  As soon as I put my phone to my ear, a husky male voice greets me. “Hey, baby. Whatcha wearin’?”

  With a snort of laughter, I swivel my chair around to face the windows. “Are you spying on me again?”

  He gasps. “What would make you say that?” There’s a pause. “Tell Sarah I really like that color of blue on her, by the way.”

  “Ry says he likes that color of blue on you.” I nod to her simple, sleeveless blue dress.

  Her eyes immediately narrow as she glances toward the window, her lips quirking upward. “Tell him to lay off the Peeping Tom bit.”

  “She said—”

  “I heard.” He laughs. “You two beauties headed somewhere?”

  “Actually,” I move back to finish cleaning up my desk, “we were wondering if you’d like to join us for dinner.”

  There’s a beat of silence. “Just the three of us?”

  “Unless you want to invite J—”

  “Nope. I’m good with it being the three of us,” he offers quickly.

  As we plan to meet across the street at Druthers, I can’t help but wonder why Ry didn’t want to include Jack in our plans.

  And if part of the reason was because of me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ry

  “So you’re going out to eat without me? Oh, the betrayal! It tastes so bitter!”

  Rolling my eyes at Jack’s melodramatic response coming through the speakerphone, I clean up my office. “Pretty sure you’ll get over it.”

  He sniffles. “I might not. But I guess I should try to get over your abandonment with someone new.”

  “You sound tore up about it.”

  “I really am.” There’s a brief pause. “And what do you know? I’m over it.”

  “That took long,” I remark dryly.

  “Getting over you is easier now that I’ve met someone.”

  “Ah, yet you’re the one who spoke of betrayal earlier,” I joke before sobering. “Who is she?”

  “Someone I met in Boston while I was there last month. She actually seems … normal.” The last word has a tinge of wonder to it. “Anyway, I’m considering heading up there over Easter weekend since I actually have some downtime.”

  “That’s cool, man. I’m excited for you.” Then, coming to a realization, I let out a small groan. “Easter. Can’t say that I’m looking forward to that.”

  I had promised my mother I’d drive up for a visit. A visit I’d been putting off for quite some time.

  “Your dad’s still trying to get you to follow in his footsteps, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  My father has run his own construction company for years. His grand plan includes me taking over when he decides to retire. There’s only one flaw in that plan.

  I have zero interest—or desire—in doing so.

  I swear that if you ask him what his son does all day at work, he’ll say something about me playing video games or something. It’s not as if I’ve never told the guy what kind of job I have—quite the opposite—but he just doesn’t care to know what I do. It doesn’t fit his particular mold.

  And my poor mother has been in the crosshairs for years.

  “Maybe you should bring Maggie home with you,” Jack suggests. “She’d be a great buffer.”

  “Until she mentions something about you and me being together.” I laugh quietly.

  Jack falls silent for a moment. “It’s just a thought.”

  After we hang up and I leave my office to head down to meet the ladies at the restaurant, I find myself mulling over Jack’s thought.

  * * *

  “Seriously, Mags.” Sarah is laughing so hard, her eyes are glistening with tears. “It’s physically impossible for you to drink anything without your pinky sticking out.”

  Maggie, who’s laughing nearly as hard, shrugs. “I can’t help it. It’s like maybe,” she works one pinky finger up and down with a concentrated expression, “the tendons are too short or something?”

  “No.” Sarah immediately dismisses this theory.

  Maggie offers another shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s just one of those things.” She laughs. “Beer? Pinky out. Wine? Pinky out. Water? Pinky out. Tea? Pinky definitely out.”

  “What about a juice box?” I ask.

  Maggie glances at Sarah before they both turn back to me and answer in unison, “Pinky out.”

  We all laugh, and just as it begins to fade, Sarah changes the subject. “So give us the scoop.” Her eyebrows raise expectantly. “How are things with you and Sean? Have you slept with him yet?”

  Of course, this would be the moment I’m chewing my loaded grilled cheese sandwich, and part of it gets lodged in my throat. Coughing violently, Sarah starts pounding on my back while Maggie looks on worriedly. Once I finally get myself under control by taking a sip of my water, I don’t get much of a reprieve because Sarah starts right back up.

  “Fill us in, Maggie.”

  With a sigh, Maggie leans in. “Things are going well. He mentioned something about bringing me home to meet his family the long weekend leading up to Eas—”

  “That reminds me,” I interrupt with what I hope is an easy smile. “Feel like putting on your superhero cape and rescuing me Easter weekend? I have to make a trip up to see my parents.”

  “Oh, Ry.” Maggie’s lips turn down. “You’re really going?”

  Lowering my gaze to the beer in front of me, I nod. “Yep.”

  “What’s …” Sarah hesitates “…wrong with going home for a visit?”

  “Oh, you know,” I wave a hand dismissively, “just the fact that my father completely dismisses my job and the hard work it took to get where I am. He wants me to take over his construction business and stop,” I use finger quotes, “‘messing around with video games all day long.’”

  Sarah draws back with a frown. “What? You don’t even have anything to do with video games for your job.”

  I point at myself. “I know that.” I point at Sarah. “You know that and,” I point at Maggie, “she knows that, but somehow, he never got the memo.”

  “I’ll go with you, Ry.” My head jerks up in surprise at Maggie’s quick response.

  “But I thought you’d go with S—” Sarah starts.

  Maggie holds up a hand. “There’ll be plenty of time to meet his family. They live in Albany, not across the country. But,” she gazes at me with kindness shining in her beautiful eyes, “Ry needs me more.”

  “I’ll bet he does.” Sarah’s soft muttering gets my attention, and I turn to catch her eyeing me with a calculated look.

  Shit. I knew it was only a matter of time. Although, never in a million years would I have e
xpected to be upset about someone not believing I was gay. Clearly, I’ve sunk to new levels of low.

  “Really, Ry.” Maggie—thankfully oblivious to Sarah’s muttering—pats my hand affectionately. “I’ll go with you.”

  Relief pours through me. “Thanks, Mags. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

  Standing from the table, she excuses herself to use the restroom, which isn’t surprising since it’s no secret that Maggie has the bladder of a field mouse.

  As soon as she’s far enough away from the table, Sarah leans in, eyes narrowed on me. And I know it’s all over.

  “Ryland James.”

  I feel my balls shrivel up hearing my full name spoken in that way—strict, no-nonsense, and stern-like.

  “Ma’am.”

  Out comes the pointy index finger. In my direction, of course.

  “You need to quit screwing around.” She wags her finger at me. “You need to figure your shit out quick, or you’re going to lose her forever.”

  Cautiously, I lean in closer. “Figure my shit out?”

  Her eyes grow squinty. “You know what I mean.”

  We stare at one another for a long moment—with me refusing to budge. Finally, she casually leans back in her chair.

  “So, tell me, Ry. How does it feel to take it up the ass?”

  I choke on … air. That’s how off-guard she catches me. Staring accusingly, I hiss, “What the hell, Sarah?”

  Her expression is one of feigned innocence. “What? Is that not a normal question to ask?” Tipping her head to the side, she asks, “Specifically a man who has, allegedly, been in a sexual relationship with another man?”

  I start to answer before my brain clicks, and it’s like I mentally hear a ding, ding, ding. Because it trips over one word.

  Allegedly.

  My panic must be apparent because Sarah shakes her head with a little laugh. Not the kind of laugh that’s easy, with humor behind it. No way. It’s one of those laughs that have a bit of an edge to it. And then she says one word. One word that explains everything.

  “Jack.”

  Fuck. Apparently, my lover had loose lips and threw me under the damn bus.