Maybe Now (Maybe Someday part two) Page 6

  Jake’s expression is stoic as he watches me silently for a few seconds. But then he smiles with a shake of his head. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  He makes a face like he’s impressed. “You’re a little young to have life figured out so well.”

  His compliment makes me smile. “Yeah, well, I have a shorter life span than everyone else. I have to cram a lot into a smaller timeframe.”

  I almost regret making a joke about having a terminal illness, but it doesn’t dismay him at all. In fact, it makes him smile. God, I hate how much I like him already.

  “Is this your first date since Ridge?” he asks. I nod, and he says, “Mine, too.”

  I think about that for a moment. If he hasn’t dated since his breakup, that means he hasn’t dated another girl since high school. And I probably shouldn’t open my mouth, but the sentence is already coming out. “If you dated your ex for twelve years, that means you’ve only been with—”

  “Her,” he says, matter-of-fact. “That is correct.”

  And here we are, somehow discussing sexual partners over dinner on a first date. And somehow, the conversation isn’t at all uncomfortable. Conversation with him has been great, actually. There hasn’t been a lull all night. Not even while I was driving his car 100 miles per hour in circles around a racetrack.

  There also hasn’t been a lull in our chemistry. There were a couple of times tonight when I thought he might kiss me—and I absolutely would have let him—but he’d grin and step away from me like he enjoys the feeling of torture. I guess that would make sense. He’s an adrenaline junkie. Adrenaline and attraction feel very closely related.

  He’s staring at me right now, and I’m staring at him, and I don’t know exactly what it is that’s taken over me at the moment. A little bit of adrenaline. Attraction. Maybe even infatuation. Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling about it. I don’t know Jake well enough, but I think the intense look on his face suggests he feels it too.

  I break eye contact with him and clear my throat. “Jake…” I lift my eyes, meeting his stare again. “I don’t want a relationship. At all. Not even remotely.”

  My words have no visible impact on him. He simply presses his lips together and then, a moment later, asks, “What do you want?”

  I lift my shoulders in a slow, unsure shrug. “I don’t know,” I say, dropping my shoulders again. “I wanted to have fun with you on our date. And I did. I am. But I’m not sure it’s a good idea if we go out again.”

  I wish I could explain to him all the reasons why I don’t want to go on another date with him. But there are way too many reasons not to go on another date, as opposed to only one reason why I should.

  Jake squeezes the back of his neck and then leans forward, folding his arms over the table again. “Maggie,” he says. “I’ve been out of practice when it comes to this whole dating thing. But…I feel like you like me. Do you like me? Or am I just blinded to your disinterest because I’m insanely attracted to you?”

  Ugh. I can’t help the smile that forces its way out. I can also feel myself blushing over the fact that he’s insanely attracted to me. “I do like you. And…” This is so hard for me to say. Flirting is so foreign to me. “I’m insanely attracted to you, too. But I don’t want to date you after tonight. It’s nothing personal. I want to live in the moment, and right now, another serious relationship is not a part of my moment. I’ve been there, done that. I have other plans for my life.”

  Jake looks both intrigued and disappointed in my answer, if that’s even possible to feel both things at once. He nods and says, “So this is it? I leave a tip on the table and then I drive you home and drop you off and we never see each other again?”

  I bite my bottom lip, because knowing it’s now or never makes me nervous. I either use this moment to mark off another item on my bucket list or I wake up tomorrow regretting that I was too scared to ask him to come over.

  I’m not scared. I can do this. I am Maggie fucking Carson. I am the girl who jumped out of an airplane and raced a sports car in the same day.

  I swallow the last shred of shyness and look him in the eyes. “This date doesn’t have to end when we pull into my driveway.”

  I can see the immediate change in his demeanor. I can see his intrigue and his attraction and his hope, all settled behind his eyes that are staring at my mouth. He lowers his voice a little and says, “When, exactly, does it have to end?”

  Holy shit. This is actually happening. Bucket list item number eight, practically in the bag.

  “How about we just live in the moment?” I suggest. “And then when that moment is over, you go home and I fall asleep.”

  The corner of his mouth curls into a grin. Then he pulls out his wallet and lays a tip on the table. He stands up and offers me his hand. I slip my fingers through his, and we leave the restaurant, living in the moment and not a second beyond it.

  I roll over to see if he’s gone as soon as I open my eyes.

  He is.

  I run my hand over his pillow, wondering how someone can feel so full of emptiness.

  Last night was… Well… It was bucket-list worthy, that’s for sure. As soon as we left the restaurant, we headed to my house. He let me drive. We talked about cars, my thesis, that I want to try bungee jumping. He offered to take me, but realized he was essentially asking me out on another date, so he corrected himself and told me a place he thinks I should try. When we got to my house, we were both laughing as we walked inside because the sprinklers came on as soon as we got out of the car, the spray of water hitting us both right in the face. I walked to my kitchen and grabbed a hand-towel to dry my face. Jake followed me, and when I handed him the towel to use, he tossed it over his shoulder and reached for me, kissing me like he’d been waiting to do it since the moment he laid eyes on me.

  It was unexpected, but wanted, and even though I felt every single thing while his mouth was on mine, I was also full of uncertainty. I’ve only been with two people sexually in my life, and I was in love during both of those relationships. This was the first time I was about to have sex with someone I wasn’t in love with. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but knowing he didn’t either made me feel more at ease. I kept reminding myself of that with every new part of my neck he kissed.

  After about fifteen minutes of full-on making out with him, something switched in me. I don’t know how he did it, but he was so attentive and into it, that all my concerns and insecurities eventually fell away with my clothing. By the time we made it to the bedroom, I was all in. And then he was all in, in more ways than one.

  It was everything. Afterward, we rolled onto our backs, and just when I thought he was getting ready to leave, he turned his head and looked at me. “Are there rules to one-night stands I’m not aware of? Are we only allowed to have sex once?”

  I laughed, and then he was on top of me again, and as much fun as it was the first time, the second time was even better. It was intense. And slow. And perfection.

  He didn’t roll onto his back after the second time. He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around me and whispered, “Goodnight,” before kissing me. I liked that he said goodnight instead of goodbye, because it took the focus off the fact that we both knew he’d be leaving before I woke up.

  I just assumed I’d wake up in a state of euphoric bliss today. Not a state of melancholy.

  Feeling a little down about it being over isn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. It means I couldn’t have had a better person to have my one-night stand with. Had it been anyone else, I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much as I did. And if I hadn’t enjoyed it, I don’t feel like I’d have the right to cross it off my bucket list.

  So yes, it sucks that I can’t find anything wrong with him. But it would suck even more to fall back into something I’ll just want out of eventually. I can’t put myself in another position where someone will become obligated to take care of me.

  It’s not a good feeli
ng, knowing someone has convinced themselves they’re more in love with you than they are simply because you’re dependent on them. I’d rather feel melancholic than pathetic.

  I grab the pillow Jake slept on—the same pillow I was just rubbing in longing—and I throw it off my bed. I’ll throw it in the trash later. I don’t even want to smell him again.

  I walk over to my dresser and grab my bucket list. I mark out number eight and then look over the list again. I suddenly feel accomplished, knowing number eight was probably the one thing on my bucket list I was certain I would never have the guts to do.

  Maggie Fucking Carson. You are a badass.

  I fold the list and set it on top of my dresser. I open the second drawer, then grab a pair of panties and a tank top and pull them on. I need to go visit my grandfather today while I have the opportunity, but first I need waffles and a shower.

  Waffles before shower. I’m way too excited for waffles after not being able to eat much last night.

  I might even go get a manicure today. I’m staring down at my nails when I walk into my living room. But then I freeze when I smell bacon. I slowly raise my head to find Jake standing at my kitchen stove.

  Cooking.

  He spins around to reach for a plate and sees me. He grins. “Morning.”

  I don’t smile. I don’t speak. I don’t even nod a greeting in return. I stand there and stare at him and wonder how a twenty-nine-year-old man could honestly not understand the meaning behind one-night stand. Night being the key word. There’s not supposed to be a morning included in that definition.

  I look at my tank top and underwear and suddenly feel modest, even though he spent enough time on top of me last night that he probably has every inch of my body memorized. But still, I wrap my arms around myself.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  Jake is watching me, a little unsure of himself after seeing my reaction to him still being here. He looks at the stove and then at me, and I swear he deflates right in front of me.

  “Oh,” he says, suddenly seeming out of place. “You thought… Okay.” He starts nodding and immediately reaches to the stove and turns off the burner. “My bad,” he says, not looking at me. He grabs a glass that’s next to the stove and takes a quick drink. When he faces me again, he can’t even look at me. “This is awkward. I’ll go. I just…” He finally makes eye contact with me. I wrap my arms around myself even tighter because I hate that I’ve created such an awkward moment when he was obviously trying to do something nice.

  “I’m sorry I made this awkward,” I say. “I just wasn’t expecting you to still be here.”

  Jake nods, walking toward me to grab the shoes he kicked off next to the couch last night. “It’s fine. I misread things, obviously. I know you made yourself clear last night. But that was before we…twice…and it was…”

  I press my lips together.

  His shoes are now on his feet, and he stands, eyeing me. “Wishful thinking, I guess.” He points at my front door. “I’m gonna leave now.”

  I nod. It’s probably for the best. I just ruined every good thing about last night.

  Actually, he ruined every good thing about last night. I walked into my living room accepting that I’d never see him again, and he ruined it by assuming I wanted him to stay and cook me breakfast.

  He reaches for the front door, but before he opens it, he pauses. When he turns around, he stares at me for a moment, then walks back over to me. He stops about two feet away and tilts his head. “Are you positive you don’t want to see me again? There’s no wiggle room for me to convince you to give this one more shot?”

  I sigh. “I’ll be dead in a few years, Jake.”

  He takes half a step back, but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Wow.” He brings a hand to his mouth and runs it over his jaw. “You’re really using that one?”

  “It’s not an excuse. It’s a fact.”

  “A fact I’m very aware of,” he says. His jaw is hard, and now he’s mad. See? If he would have just left before I woke up, this would have ended perfectly! Now, when he leaves, we’re both going to be frustrated and full of regret.

  I take a step forward. “I’m dying, Jake. Dying. What’s going to come of this? I don’t ever want to get married. I don’t want children. I have no desire for another relationship where I’ll eventually become someone’s burden. Yes, I like you. Yes, last night was incredible. And that’s exactly why you should have left already. Because I have things I want to do, and falling in love and fighting with someone about how I live the last few years of my life is not something that’s ever been on my bucket list. So, thank you for last night. And thank you for attempting to cook me breakfast. But I need you to leave.”

  I blow out a frustrated breath and then immediately look at the floor because I hate the look in his eyes right now. Several seconds pass and he doesn’t respond. He stands there and soaks in everything I said. He eventually takes a step back, and then another. I look up and he looks away, turning toward the front door. He opens it and steps outside, but before he closes it, he looks straight at me.

  “For the record, Maggie. I was just making you breakfast. I wasn’t proposing.”

  He shuts the door, and my house has never felt emptier than it does in this moment.

  I hate this. I hate everything I just said to him. I hate how much I wish it wasn’t the truth.

  I hate this stupid fucking illness.

  And I hate that I said all that and made him leave before he could even finish cooking the damn bacon. I stare at the pan and then walk over to it and throw the entire pan in the trash.

  I lean against the bar and can’t help but pout. Is Jake ending a relationship twelve years too late better or worse than me ending a relationship completely and entirely too early? He’s someone I could love. If I had the life to love him in.

  I bring my hands up to the back of my head and press my elbows together, bending over. I try to stop myself from being so disappointed. But the fact that I’m disappointed over a guy I met twenty-four hours ago disappoints me even more. I take a few minutes to recover, then force myself upright.

  I grab the box of waffles I had intended to have for breakfast from the freezer. Only now, I’m not nearly as excited to eat them.

  Sydney swings open my bedroom door. I’m sitting at my desk, finishing up a website for a client, when she goes straight to my bed and falls face-first onto the mattress.

  Rough day, I guess.

  It’s probably my fault because I stayed another night at her house last night. Maybe I should give her a night to catch up on her sleep. Outside of her job, we’ve been together almost non-stop since Tuesday. I know it’s only Friday, but we get exhausted being together. In the best way.

  I’ll make sure tonight is a little more relaxing than the last few nights. We can take the chill out of Netflix and chill and literally just watch TV shows all night. Then I’ll let her sleep in as long as she wants tomorrow. Hell, I’ll probably sleep in with her.

  I walk over to the bed and lie down beside her. I brush her hair out of her face, and she opens her eyes and grins at me, despite looking exhausted.

  “Bad day?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head and rolls over onto her back. She lifts her hands to sign, but whatever she wants to say, she doesn’t know how to sign. “Midterms,” she finally says.

  I tilt my head. “Midterms?”

  She nods.

  “You had midterms this week?”

  She nods again.

  Now I feel like an asshole. I grab my phone and text her.

  Ridge: Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have stayed at your apartment.

  Sydney: Mine were Monday and Tuesday, so no worries. Your timing Tuesday night was impeccable. It’s just that I work at the library and it’s insane during midterms. The students are insane. The professors are insane. I’m so happy it’s Friday.

  Ridge: Me too. Let’s do nothing tonight but watch TV. I need to find out if
Ned really gets decapitated.

  Sydney: Who?

  Shit. Warren is rubbing off on me. I don’t want her to know I just spoiled season one of Game Of Thrones.

  Ridge: Oh, nothing. Talking about The Walking Dead.

  Sydney stares at her phone for a second, confused.

  Sydney: I don’t remember that from The Walking Dead.

  She watches The Walking Dead. Great. Now I want to have sex and I already told her we’d be lazy tonight.

  Sydney’s attention moves away from me and toward my bedroom door. “Someone is knocking,” she signs.

  I climb off her and head to the living room. Through the peephole, I notice it’s a girl with a FedEx uniform on. I open the door, and she hands me a package. Once I’ve signed for it, I walk the package to the bar and wait for Sydney as she walks into the kitchen. I read the label and it’s addressed to me, but there’s no return address.

  Sydney leans over me and then signs, “You got a present?”

  I shrug. I’m not expecting anything that I can remember, but I open the package and there’s another package inside of it. A poster tube. Knowing Warren, he probably sent me a roll of toilet paper with his face all over it. I start to pull the tape off, but I notice Sydney walk around me, toward the living room. When I glance up at her, she’s holding her phone up, aiming her camera in my direction.

  “Are you recording me?”

  She nods and gives me a sweet smile. “The present is from me.”

  “You bought me something?”

  Her shy smile is so fucking adorable. Every time I think I’m too exhausted to even think about picking her up and throwing her on my bed, she does something that completely reinvigorates me and makes me feel like I could run a marathon.

  I look back down at the tube and feel bad that she got me a gift. I suck at gifts. Shit, what if she’s the type who gives the best gifts? I’m the guy who once bought his nine-year-old brother a hamster for Christmas, but didn’t realize it died in the box. Brennan opened it and cried the entire day.