She blushes and plucks another sugary item off the shelf. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
I reach past her to an endcap and snag a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. “Never said it to any girl,” I tell her honestly. She levels me with a look of disbelief, but I don’t flinch.
“I’m dead serious,” I say, following her to the coolers.
Maggie opens the door and scans the contents before selecting a bottle of ginger ale. “It was the best sex of my life, I’ll give you that,” she says matter-of-factly. “But the bestnightof my life? Not even top five. There was minimal cuddling, and there were no snacks. To make the top ten nights of my life you have to at least provide chocolate.”
I’d laugh, but the woman’s not joking. “Noted,” I say, heading back to where we started and riffling through the display until I find what I’m looking for: there, hidden among the dark chocolate salted caramel bars is a lone treasure. A forgotten gem. And possibly the key to this woman’s heart. Picking up the mislaid candy bar, I hold it up in triumph. “Chocolate secured,” I say, brandishing the dark chocolate peanut butter bar I know she was hoping to find earlier.
Maggie stands before me, dressed in slouchy sweats and a hoodie that would probably fit me, looks stunned. “Wow. Unless you can see the future and you hid that a couple hours ago just to impress me with your skills, you have my utmost appreciation. But that’s all. Because this,” she says, gesturing between us, “is not happening again.”
I lean against the endcap and study the woman who’s starred in every dream I’ve had for the past six weeks or so. “You said it was the best sex of your life. So…unless you were a virgin…”
She laughs openly and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. “Nope. You weren’t my first rodeo, but you were the best, no question. That thing you do with your hips? Jesus. You should give tutorials on YouTube. I could be passive-aggressive and send the link to my ex.”
I can’t help the smug smile that crosses my lips. “You like the hip thing, huh?”
“Yes,” she says, blushing under the harsh lights of the convenience store.
“But you don’t want a repeat?” I ask, grabbing one of the pre-packaged snack boxes on display. The hard-boiled egg, cheese, and almonds are a sad substitute for dinner, but they’ll have to do.
“Nope,” she says, turning her head and giving all of her attention to a rack of gum.
“Make it make sense,” I say.
“You think our night together was magical, right?” sheasks, turning her blue-eyed gaze on me. I school my features. Now is not the time to drool like a simp.
But it’s always the time for honesty. “I damn near shit a unicorn the next day, so yes.”
“Ew,” she replies, wrinkling her nose.
I crack a smile at her prissiness. “C’mon, Maggie. It was fucking legendary. Who wouldn’t want to go there again?”
Without missing a beat, she raises her hand like we’re in school. “You call it magical. I call it a one-off.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “A one-off? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” she answers, mimicking my earlier sentiment.
We run our purchases through the self-checkout, and she balks when I’m quicker on the draw with my card than she is with hers. I shrug unapologetically as we exit the store. “You can cover the next date,” I tease, fully expecting the eye rolling and laughing when it comes. We make it back to the Poplar Lane Apartments a few minutes later, and I’m surprised Viv’s not back yet. I mean, I don’t know the girl, or her habits, but I’m fully expecting to get the boot so they can bond and shit.
Maggie just laughs when I tell her this. “Oh, no. I won’t see Viv until the morning. She’ll either crash at the guys’ place or at Jake’s if she ends up meeting up with him later.”
So, we’re alone for the forseeable future? It’s delicious torture. “What’s the movie you’re subjecting me to?” I ask.
Maggie looks me up and down. She must like what she sees because instead of kicking my ass out, she reaches for a tray on a high shelf. She’s on her tiptoes, but it’s still a good four or five inches out of reach. Leaning forward, I pull it down and place it on the battered countertop. Maggie smiles her thanks and begins loading up the tray with enough sugar to satisfy a bunch of first graders. I add my snacks and carry the overflowing tray to what passes for a living room. I’m notjudging, I swear. While Viv’s place definitely has less square footage per capita than the hockey house, it’s not a biohazard.
Maggie makes herself comfy on the couch and cuddles up in a bright pink blanket with cacti all over it. I’ve hit an all-time low: I’m jealous of fleece. Maybe that’s what prompts me to utter an embarrassing question. “So, you really don’t want round two, huh?”
She nibbles on her full bottom lip. “Like I said, it would ruin my memory of round one. Realistically, there’s no way it was as good as I remember it.”
I whistle, picking up the remote and handing it to her. “Wow. Must be some memory. Sounds like mine, which is why I think it should be revisited. You know, for science.”
She laughs. “Really? Interested in medical research, are you?”
I shrug. “If it’ll get me back in your naked graces, then yes.”
“It’s good graces,” Maggie says, correcting me.
