She lets out a laugh and leans into Gunnar’s side. I watch as he tips her chin up and kisses her, not giving two shits who’s watching. That boy is so head over heels for her it’s not even funny.
Sitting at this table with a bunch of lovebirds isn’t easy to swallow. It’s a stark reminder of what I don’t have—love, trust, someone who’s mine—and probably won’t anytime soon. In an effort to keep my feelings to myself, I drain my second mug of beer.
“Well, I for one prefer this to our boring-ass weekly meetings. Who’s with me?” I ask, raising my mug just like Cage did a few minutes ago.
“Put your beer down, asshole.”
Before the verbal blows start to fly, Tempest quickly redirects the conversation. “Well, I propose we start finalizing plans for our trip to New Orleans! We have flights and hotel rooms to secure and I’m ready to start planning my food tour.”
“Food tour? I’m intrigued,” Gunnar encourages. “Tell me more.”
“New Orleans is known for its amazing food, right? So, I want to try it all! Gumbo, beignets, muffulettas or however you say it. I can’t wait.” Tempest gets this dreamy look on her face and starts rubbing her stomach. I assume she’s imagining the food baby she’s gonna create as she eats her way through the Crescent City and I can’t say I blame her.
Gunnar groans. “I should’ve known better than to ask. Promise me you’ll save some of your tour for after my fight.” Tempest nods her head in agreement while Gunnar continues. “I can’t wait to celebrate my win with one of those famous Hurricane drinks. It has to be better than this one light beer Cage allows me to drink.” He wrinkles his nose as he looks at his half-full mug.
“Be thankful I allow that instead of making you drink non-alcoholic beer,” Cage grumbles.
I share a horrified look with Gunnar and we both shudder at Cage’s words.
“I’ve been thinking of making some Nola-themed muffins,” Tempest says, as though the last exchange never happened. “I could make a praline muffin… oh, a bananas Foster muffin… and what are those cakes that are made only during Mardi Gras?”
“King cake,” both my brothers and I answer in unison. Dallas, technically, isn’t that far from New Orleans and we’ve known a few Louisiana transplants over the years, so we’ve had a few of the things Tempest has mentioned. I’m sure getting the real thing in Nola is much better, though.
“Yes! I’m definitely making a king cake muffin,” Tempest declares, the excitement in her voice impossible to miss. “Just thinking about the trip has my creative juices flowing.”
“Well, you know we’re at your service to taste test anything and everything you make,” Cage assures her.
“Hear, hear!” Frankie and I clink our mugs together to show our agreement, while Gunnar crosses his arms over his chest and pouts.
“I’ll freeze some for you to eat after your fight,” Tempest promises.
As my family continues discussing recipes, the studio, and everything in between, my attention is caught by a woman walking through the front door.
Not just any woman, Maggie O’Neal.
She looks a bit like a fish out of water as her wide eyes take in the bar. While she’s taking inventory of Genie’s, I can’t help but do the same to her—jeans that hug her curves, a V-neck sweater that shows just enough cleavage to pique my interest, gorgeous brown hair that frames her fresh face. She’s not made up, overdone or trying too hard.
Maggie O’Neal is just right… the perfect amount of everything.
The way she clutches the strap on her purse, fingers locked around it in a death grip even though she’s wearing it across her torso, it’s obvious she’s not comfortable being here. If I was a betting man, I’d bet this is her first time at Genie’s, which makes me wonder why she’s here in the first place.
What would make her step out of her comfort zone and come to a bar by herself?
She is by herself, right?
Craning my head as inconspicuously as possible, I look behind her and back toward the door.
Maybe she has a date?
That thought instantly makes my stomach sour, which is ridiculous because why shouldn’t she be dating? She’s a gorgeous, young woman who should be out having the time of her life. Just because my love life sucks doesn’t mean hers should too.
Fuck, I need to stop projecting my shit onto other people. Chloe and I are done. I need to suck it up and move on.
It’s not like I want Chloe back. Fuck that. I just still can’t believe I was the other guy. She made me a cheater and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive her for that. Any time I think about it, I want to erase the last two years of my life.
Maggie has found a seat at the bar, and when the bartender sets down a drink in front of her, it looks like she ordered water.
Maybe I should order her a drink and have it sent over. The way she’s sitting with her back straight, still gripping her strap to her purse, she looks like she could use a drink. My hands are itching to touch her and rub the tension from her shoulders.
I can’t help the low chuckle as I replay our interaction from earlier today.
When she threw me to the mats… shit.
The crotch of my jeans gets tighter just thinking about how she manhandled me. I’m not sure who was more surprised, me or her. All I know is I’d like a repeat. I mean, I’d love the opportunity to wrap my arms around her without the threat of being knocked on my ass, but I’m okay if she gets rough with me. More than okay, in fact.
My mind starts conjuring images of me and Maggie… in the studio, all hot and sweaty… I’m on the floor again but this time, she’s on top of me and—
“Dude, that chick is checking you out big-time,” Gunnar whispers to me, pulling me out of my fantasy.
When I glance at him, he tips his head toward the bar, pointing in the direction of my so-called admirer. I follow his line of sight and am caught in Maggie’s gaze. As soon as she realizes she’s been caught staring, a look of terror washes over her beautiful face and she goes rigid, spinning around on her barstool.
I don’t like that. Not one bit.
It’s one thing to feel a bit sheepish for being caught but to look downright afraid doesn’t sit right with me. I try to tell myself not to care, to ignore her, and the feelings she’s stirring up in me because that’s not what I’m here for. I didn’t come to Green Valley for a rebound or a hookup or anything more than that. My brothers came here and found the peace and direction they needed, so why can’t I? Of course, they also found their soulmates but I’m ignoring that part. Not everyone is cut out for long-term relationships, and if that is my fate, I’ll have to accept it.
But, first and against my better judgment, I’m gonna go talk to Maggie.
Chapter 8
Maggie
Oh, God. He sees me.
Yeah, he’s totally looking at me.
And now he’s standing up.
Spinning around on my barstool, I pick up the cold glass of water and take a drink because my mouth is now as dry as the Sahara Desert. It must be the nerves or the way Vali Erickson makes me drool. That must be it.