His navy suit looks like it was poured onto him, the way it fits every hard plane and muscle. He shaved this morning—I know this because I watched him do it in Viv’s bathroom—but that familiar layer of stubble lines his cheeks and jaw.
I know I’m the one who insisted on secrecy, but I can’t seem to stop staring at him. While we were showering at Viv’s this morning (there are perks to having a best friend with a busy travel schedule), JT brought up the idea of coming clean with my uncle. I hate that he has to lie, especially to his coach, but I’m not sure he understands the level of intensity my uncle can reach.
Uncle Hudson loves me; I know that. But he’s convinced that I will grow up to repeat my mother’s mistakes. Gam had the same paranoia, and Pop always explained that it was her way of coping with my mom’s addictions, and eventually, her death. He was right but knowing that never made my life easier back then, and it’s no comfort now. I’ve never had a sibling, but I watched my mom’s destructive behaviors tear her family apart. My uncle became a different person after she died, or maybe just an undiluted version of himself. He truly believes that because I inherited her blue eyes, short stature, and blonde hair I’ll end up inheriting her addictive personality, too. I swear the man thinks I’m one bad decision away from rehab, though I’ve never given him any real reason to think that.
He’s his mother’s son, that’s for sure. He’s been nothingbut kind since I arrived back in August, and I know he’s happy I’m staying with him and Jules this year. There’s always a distance, though. It’s like he’s afraid to get too attached to me because he’s certain I’ll spiral downward and when I do, he’ll have to grieve all over again.
Can you tell I’ve been to therapy?
My therapists over the years have had a lot of suggestions on how to navigate my relationships with Gam and Uncle Hudson, but I like my solution best. I’m a live and let live kind of person. It’s part of why I chose to go to college on the literal other side of the country. My uncle had virtually no control over my life when I was three thousand miles away. And he won’t have any control over it next year when I’m living on my own in whatever city I choose. But for now, I need to play by his rules. And that means making sure that Uncle Hudson doesn’t find out that JT and I know each other.
Self-preservation isn’t my only motivation, either. Finding out that JT and I are anything more than students at the same school would end in disaster for him, too.
That’s why I’m keeping my distance tonight. In a perfect world, I’d be on JT’s arm, circulating the room, getting to know his friends and teammates. I’d be sharing smiles and knowing looks. I’d be laughing at Ollie’s antics, even though I know he drives JT crazy, and I’d be listening to Mickey go on and on about whatever his most recent hyper fixation is. I don’t really know the guys, but I’ve heard JT talk about all of them for so long that they feel like old friends.
My watch vibrates on my wrist, and though I know it’s not JT, my heart gives a traitorous little flutter. In true Hudson Baylor fashion, my uncle forbade the guys from bringing their phones tonight. I swear he’s a cranky old man in a thirty-five-year-old guy’s body. He gives off serious get-off-my-lawn vibes. But I do get his point about the phones. The point of tonight is for the team to make nice with the donors in the hope that the money keeps rolling in and improvements tothe team’s facility can be made. The guys are here to charm middle-aged ladies and make their male counterparts feel young again, not to huddle together like kids at a middle school dance or scroll through their phones like the Gen Z-ers they are.
Viv’s text comes through, and I laugh. She might be six hours away, but she’s still making my night.
Viv: You are one hot bitch.
Viv: Those tits tho
Viv: Seriously, if Captain Mysterio doesn’t bang you in the bathroom, I’ll come up there and do it myself.
Maggie: No one will bang anyone in a bathroom.
Viv: Be so fucking for real. Bathtubs are your thing, aren’t they?
Viv: Are you seriously telling me you haven’t snuck off to fuck off?
Viv: I raised you better than that.
Maggie: Um, you did not raise me…Gam and Pop did.
Viv: I helped.
Maggie: Fair
Maggie: And no, we haven’t even talked. Have you forgotten the whole we’re-not-supposed-to-know-each-other-because-he-plays-for-my-uncle thing?
Viv: No. I have a really good memory.
Viv: I’m not saying you should stand around and shoot the shit with the guy or drape yourself over his arm all night. But a mid-party romp should totally be on the menu.
Speaking of menus, my stomach growls. The two of us have been fighting lately, my stomach and I. Some days, she’s insatiable and everything sounds delicious. Other days, even toast is nausea-inducing. I should probably get some bloodwork done or something. Gam was gluten-intolerant and lactose intolerant and generally intolerant, so I’m guessing I inherited the first two. But that’s a worry for another day. Right now, I’m on a mission to find the nearest food table.
A few minutes later, I’m across the room. It turns out the closest one was not the best one. But this one has a veritable cheese mountain, so I may just hang out here for the rest of the night.
I’m reaching for a plate when I feel someone brush up against my back. I step aside to be polite, but it does no good. The next bump is as gentle as the first, but still. Before I can turn to see who’s invading my space, I catch a whiff of JT’s cologne and hear his low voice rumble in my ear.
“I want an orgasm, Maggie.”
I watch him as he straightens, adjusts his tie, and scans the buffet table like the stuffed artichoke hearts are the most interesting thing he’s ever seen and like he didn’t just send a wave of lust through my body with his whispered comment.
Damn him. He knows our arrangement is temporary. And secret. He knows my uncle can’t find out. And yet, here we are at a fundraiser my uncle is co-hosting and JT wants to flirt?
This man has been nothing but trouble since the night we met.
