Truth or Dare (10 page)

“Ava. Why are you in my bed? Again.”

“You ODed on allergy medicine. I saved your life by sleeping in here with you.”

Mm-hmm. Right.
“I kicked you out last night. I remember.”

Fist shot high overhead, Ava stretched. “Yeah, I went next door and jammied up. But by then, the sleepover seed had already taken root. So I came back and crawled in. You know I like overnights.”

Then Ava’s brows knit together and she gave her pillow a tentative sniff. Looked back at Maggie and inched closer, sniffing again. “I didn’t notice last night, but something smells really good.”

“Ava,” Maggie squeaked, laughing when the sniffing ended up with Ava’s nose burrowed against her neck. “First with the nonconsensual sleepover and now you’re practically—
umph
—on top of me.
I’m not that kind of girl!
”

The front door opened and closed with a thunk.

“Seriously, what
is
that? Pepper…tea?” Ava asked, a concentrated frown on her face.

“I know, it’s nice, huh? Haven’t you noticed how good Apartment Three smells?” Maggie pulled a corner of the T-shirt up to her nose. Then frowned. “Except, this is no laundry detergent. You don’t think he— He wouldn’t have—”

A burst of laughter broke free of her chest at the thought of her former nemesis sticking her with a shirt from the top of the hamper, just for old time’s sake.

“Given you the shirt off his bathroom floor? That would be
awesome.
” Ava’s nose was working down her chest. “Except it smells clean. In fact, it’s not the shirt so much as
you.
”

The body wash. She hadn’t been able to smell it last night with her nostrils swollen shut, but—

“Maggie, you sure you weren’t getting your itch scratched upstairs, because Apartment Three is
all over you.
”

“Ava,” she howled, “you are
so
violating my bubble.”

“
Pfft.
You’re my BFF. You don’t get a bubble.”

“Donut delivery,” Sam called down the hall. “If you’re not decent, no objections here—holy shit!”

Maggie looked past the dark fall of Ava’s hair draped over her to the door, where Sam had grabbed the frame with one hand, a bag of old-fashioned donuts spilling out around him. “Sam! What the heck?”

So much for her plan to put off washing the floors one more week.

Ava sat up, basically straddling Maggie’s leg, an amused look on her face. “Behold, the power of girl-on-girl suggestion.”

Climbing one stair at a time, Maggie told herself to get a grip. The next five to ten minutes didn’t have to be a big deal. Yeah, they had to happen. But the angst over a simple T-shirt-and-sweats handoff followed by a few words of gratitude—not necessary.

So she wasn’t entirely clear on how those last moments had gone down prior to falling asleep. And after waking, she might have been a bit more touchy-feely than normal. So what? Tyler would assure her she had nothing to burn with shame over. That she hadn’t actually been feeling him up the way she was pretty sure she had been. And that everything with their precious new friendship was still on the up-and-up.

At the top of the stairs, she went to his door and knocked.

This would be fast. Painless.

He’d make a crack about her laying off the sauce. About the hives being an improvement. Something. She’d give him the finger. But in a half-affectionate, you-know-how-gr
ateful-I-am kind of way.

No meaningful talk.

No heartfelt embrace.

No Enrique Iglesias singing in the background about being her hero, baby.

Ty’s heavy tread sounded as he approached the door. The lock tumbled and her belly followed suit.

That hot rush through her veins wasn’t anticipation. It wasn’t excitement to see him.

Definitely not.

It was nerves over the justifiable concern she’d drooled on his stomach. Snored. Or elbowed his ’nads as she flopped around…asleep in his lap…while he’d sat there with his arm resting against her in a way that made her think maybe he hadn’t minded too much.

The door swung open and Tyler greeted her with her favorite smirk and a wicked glint in his eyes. “Morning, gorgeous.”

He was joking. The tightness when she rolled her eyes reminded her of what the mirror had solidly confirmed. Gorgeous wasn’t on the menu for today. But instead of delivering some snappy comeback, Maggie found herself off balance and out of sorts. Too caught up in the sight of him standing in front of her, and the nervous flutter starting up in her belly with frenetic vigor, to do anything more than give herself a mental slap.

Because suddenly, she knew what her absurd reaction to their close proximity was about. What had been quietly, insidiously building since their first date.

God,
maybe even before.

She recognized the signs from all those years ago. The rush of excitement and prickly awareness whispering over her skin every time Tyler was around. And when he wasn’t, the sense that somehow she was waiting, almost holding a bit of breath, anticipating when she’d see him next and finally be able to breathe right again. The distracted thoughts. The reading into every casual, inadvertent action…the
denial.

This was a crush.

And that was the dead-last thing she needed getting in the way of their burgeoning friendship.

What was she going to do with a crush? She wasn’t interested in a relationship. Had sworn up and down to Tyler she wouldn’t fall for him. But now, here she was, blinking up at the man who was making her tongue-tied and her heart beat too fast.

“You want to come in?” he offered, without any apparent awareness of her distress. “I’m assuming you’re here about the whole undying gratitude thing. I know you’ll never be able to thank me enough, but I’ve got a few minutes if you want to try.”

Pull it together, girl.

This was not the time for awkward staring.

Forcing some sass she didn’t feel, Maggie handed over the clothes she’d washed and the plastic sleeve of powdered sugar Donettes she’d picked up that morning. “Yeah, thanks for the good time, but I’ve got to scoot.”

Tyler nodded.

“There’s this thing. I’ve got to get to.” She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. The lie, because
thing,
what thing? “So I have to go. But I really do appreciate what you did.”

“Okay, Maggie. See you around.”

“See you.”

J
ANUARY

The thing about crushes was, they were hormone-spawned, pheromone-driven, chemical things. And unlike their more mature cousin,
love,
which was really something to worry about, crushes were notoriously fickle and generally sported the life span of a gnat. So Maggie figured she’d let this inconvenient little anomaly blow over on its own and within a few days, a week tops, she’d be laughing about it with herself while she drank alone…because this crush wasn’t something she’d ever own up to.

The only problem?

She hadn’t remembered how
persistent
a simple, uncomplicated crush could be.

It had survived Christmas and her trip down to Florida to see her family. And in all honesty, it had been a handy distraction during all her mother’s worried silences and her father’s awkward assurances they knew she was being smart. Careful. But once she’d boarded her return flight, she was hoping that distracting crush might just stay down south.

No such luck.

It sustained itself through New Year’s and the chaste hugs and cheek kisses the whole group had shared. Except for Sam, who’d somehow snared this passing gorgeous blonde he swept into a dramatic dip before planting what looked like a total soul kiss on her and then letting her go with a wink and a smile. And now, two weeks into January, Maggie’s crush wasn’t showing any signs of waning. In fact, if anything, it was getting worse.

Why couldn’t she get this guy out of her head?

She’d even given up her post–Hives Guy boycott of the gym in order to try and burn off those untoward thoughts about her neighbor. The one who’d mentioned that working out was the only way he could really clear his head. Of course, the minute she’d asked what he’d been trying to get off his mind was the minute he changed the subject.

Yep, red flag.

He was so
not
good crush material.

And his unknowing advice stunk. The gym didn’t seem to be working for her. Thirty minutes she’d been pedaling her ass off, and in her mind’s eye, she was still seeing Tyler’s shirt. The white oxford she’d discovered was her very favorite, and the one he’d been wearing the night he rescued her date. She was thinking about the way his sleeves had been rolled to just below his elbows, showing off forearms wrapped with ropelike muscles that shifted and flexed every time he moved his hands. The way the fabric pulled taut across the definition of his shoulders and back when he wielded that big ball—because, yes, that shirt had done the impossible and made bowling sexy. And she was thinking about how he’d been wearing it open with just enough neck showing to give a girl ideas about wanting to see more. About how easily the buttons might slide free…about how it would feel to push the open panels over his shoulders, down his arms. How close she’d have to stand in order to do it. What it would be like to look up from that scant distance and see Tyler looking down—

An
Us Weekly
snapped in front of her face, followed by Ava’s breathless, yet obviously amused, censure. “Geez, Maggie, maybe it’s time we had a discussion about the
subtle
art of scoping. And the selection process, while we’re at it. Because while that guy over in free weights is very nice to look at, I’m almost positive he’s married to the dude spotting him.”

“What? No!” she panted, barely managing to wave a hand through the air and bat away Ava’s claim. “I wasn’t looking at those guys. I swear.”

Truth.

“I—I had something in my eye.”

Lie.

“Yeah, we saw,” Ava laughed. “Lust. An obscene amount.”

Maggie coughed, trying to buy some time and come up with an excuse.

“Don’t bother. You’re wearing a sports bra and, sister, the twins are telling all your dirty secrets.”

Maggie’s hands flew up to her chest, but cupping the girls while she rode her stationary bike wasn’t much of a long-term solution. “Sam, give me your T-shirt.”

Ignoring her request, Sam grinned from his treadmill like she’d made him a tray of salted caramel bars and told him he didn’t have to share. “Time for Maggie’s biennial lay already?”

“Ha. Ha,” she panted. If only it had been that recently. It had been three years since Bruce, a French sculptor Hedda had introduced her to at an opening for a mutual friend’s show. He’d spoken more English than she’d spoken French, but barely, and they’d ended up sharing an uncomplicated night together before he’d flown home the next day.

As she thought about it, three years
was
a really long time.

Like long enough that maybe all this fluttery awareness with Tyler was simply the call of her neglected libido making a bid for attention. Maybe it wasn’t so much about
Tyler
as he happened to be the hottie on hand when her hormones flared up.

He was so hot.

And funny and sharp and all the other things that used to make up the list of qualities she found desirable in a man. But still. Maybe the solution to kicking this crush—if that’s even what it was—could be as simple as offering her starved libido a little snack. Not a full meal, but an appetizer. A small plate. A treat to tide her over for another year or so.

A good kiss with someone she found
more
than tolerable. Someone who was good-looking. Nice. Funny. Someone she might click with if she weren’t working so hard to avoid the clickage.

One man came to mind.

The wrong man. Because the whole purpose of picking up a snack was to reestablish Tyler’s standing in the “friend zone,” not take him for a test drive.

Turning to Ava, she stopped pedaling. “Sam might be right. It’s time. I need to get kissed. Really kissed.”

Maggie exited the L station, shopping bag in hand and a confident spring in her step. The dress she’d bought was gorgeous. A colorful vintage number made playful by its mixed patterns, and sexy by the slim lines and dozens of buttons running from the bust to a short split above the hem. It was a dress that invited a guy to touch…but just a little.

Perfect for what she had in mind with Aaron, the lawyer from Ava’s office she’d gone out with back in July. He’d been a little too handsome and a little too close to friendship material for her to accept a second date, but since then she’d had a few opportunities to meet him again, and she’d realized they weren’t cut out to be friends, either. Friendly? Yes. But as far as a real friend went, he wasn’t her type.

He was one of those perpetually enthusiastic guys who seemed to function on a level of pleasant superficiality ideal for limited interaction. Anything on an extended basis, though, and a girl might wonder what exactly he was on.

Fortunately, limited interaction and superficiality were precisely what Maggie had in mind. That and some kissing.