Ford rubbed at the back of his neck, muttering, “Besides, rules say you aren’t allowed to talk. You just told her she had it right.”
Sam wasn’t allowed to help because of his natural aptitude for all things spatial. The guy could assemble this stuff with his eyes closed and a Hooters girl straddling his lap, while Ford was more of—well, Ford. He was into deep thought and hobbies that inadvertently made gobs of money.
“First you let your baby sister shame you…and then you cry foul? Dude!”
Maggie let out a short laugh, but all too quickly her attention pulled back to Ty. And the way he rested one hand over the top of his head as he watched, causing the fabric of his New York Knicks T-shirt to shape to his shoulder and biceps and pull up just enough to flash a half-inch of bare flesh above his jeans.
She swallowed and tried to look away, but gave up completely when his left hand met his right atop his head and, wow, was that bit of black a peek at his underwear?
She knew how he looked in that underwear and nothing else. Knew what he looked like stripping it off.
Good.
Her gaze drifted lower to the hug of dark denim over his thighs. God, this guy had the best legs.
A just-friend wouldn’t be looking.
And back up to the topographical extravaganza of his fly. Those jeans didn’t leave much to the imagination. And it wasn’t even like they were tight.
Look. Away.
She meant to. She really did. Knew she should. Because if she didn’t, Tyler was going to notice. Or someone else would.
“Maggie?”
And there it was. Tyler’s low rebuke.
Guilty, guilty, guilty.
She forced herself to meet his eyes and do the only thing she could.
Offer a sheepish look that said, Yes, I was doing exactly what it looked like. SORRY.
And because it was Ty, the look she got back was all kinds of, Oh really—liked what you saw, did you?
The answer was one gigantic resounding yes. But because that wasn’t how it was between them anymore, Maggie fell back on old habits and forced an unimpressed shrug, pulling a face she only hoped backed it up. One that might have been easier to sell if Ava hadn’t taken that moment to look up from her task and remark, “Maggie, you’re all red.”
Ty turned all the way around then, stuffing his hands into his front pockets and doing that thing with his shoulders and arms that made his muscles stand out, his jeans sat low enough they ought to have required an R rating, and her mind go stupid.
“Yeah, Maggie,” he asked, the wry twist to his lips saying he knew exactly what dirty train her thoughts had boarded. “Are you all hot or something?”
Oh no he didn’t.
And with the whatcha-gonna-do-about-it grin, too?
Well, they’d see about that.
“I just remembered a dream I had last night,” she lied, meeting Ty’s eyes for a beat before adding, “A dirty dream.”
Two weeks before the guys would have been all over that, mercilessly teasing them about their hook-up. But after a few days, they’d lost their zest for it. Probably because Tyler seemed totally unaffected by the jibes and there was no sign of an encore on the horizon.
Sam didn’t bother looking up from Ford’s project. “Sweetheart, you should have called and I would have made those dreams a reality.”
Ava let out a snort. “They selling vibrators on QVC now, Sam?”
Ty’s gaze went momentarily unfocused, then slid slowly down Maggie’s body as one corner of his mouth slid up. “Dirty, huh?”
Seeing the way he was looking at her, with all that smug satisfaction, she really couldn’t help herself.
“Really dirty.” She bit her lip, going for a shy seductress vibe. “Ford, you were amazing.”
—
“I am so sorry,” Maggie said for at least the thirtieth time since they’d rolled into the ER ten minutes before, Ford’s hand wrapped tight in a bloody dish towel.
She was about as close to tears as Ty had ever seen her.
Served her right for that bullshit.
Dirty dreaming about Ford, his ass.
And now the guy had a two-inch gash down his palm from where he’d lost control of his screwdriver.
Ava came back from the front desk with a stack of papers in hand and a guilty smile that kept twitching at the corners of her mouth, even when she seemed to be trying to hide it.
His gaze shifted back to Maggie, who was still apologizing to Ford, swearing up and down it wasn’t true. That she wasn’t working her way through the guys in her group of friends because they were safer to scratch an itch with than the men from her dating pool.
Apparently appeased, Ford nodded, then slung an arm around her shoulder for a very brief hug before resuming the cradling thing with his hand.
What a bunch of lunatics. And his favorite one was at the center of them all.
Maggie.
Shit. Sliding back into an exclusively friendly arrangement wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped.
Hell, he knew he’d be looking at her in ways he shouldn’t for a while. But what he’d been banking on was Maggie not having a similar issue.
He’d expected it to be easier for her.
Only every time he caught her eyes lingering on him, felt the burn of her stare in places he shouldn’t, it took everything he had not to take her in his arms, back her into some quiet space, and do all the things he knew she liked best.
And they’d agreed that couldn’t happen.
So it wouldn’t.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ty pushed to his feet. “Guys, I’m taking a walk.”
—
So now Maggie knew what a guy who’d taken a shovel to his face looked like. At least the corner edge of a shovel. He looked bloody. Really bloody. With a gaping wound beneath his eye that made Ford’s look like a paper cut. Cripes.
It had been a little over an hour since they’d arrived. On the way in, Sam had run into an extremely attractive redheaded cardiac surgeon he knew from somewhere and, promising to catch up with them in the waiting room, headed off with her. Tyler had checked in a couple of times, but didn’t seem inclined to stick around, especially after they took Ford back to the exam room and Ava followed along.
Maggie had been sitting alone ever since. Stewing in guilt and shame.
This was her fault. If she’d just been able to keep her eyes to herself, they wouldn’t be here. The only injury Ford would have suffered was a ding to his pride when his little sister trounced him in furniture assembly.
Her head dropped back as she took a deep breath.
What had she been thinking?
She hadn’t. That was the sum of it. She’d gotten a pair of low-slung denims in her eyes and all mental function of a non-flirt variety ceased completely. She needed to get ahold of herself.
Because her friendship with Tyler meant something to her. And she didn’t want to lose it over some series of ill-timed libido-sourced seizures she couldn’t seem to control.
Eyes closed, Maggie felt someone settle into the chair beside her. She wanted it to be Tyler, ready to break the ice and de-awkward the situation between them. Or maybe even Sam, because hearing about his doctor friend would be a decent distraction. But the voice at her ear told her it wasn’t either.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
She opened one eye to confirm her suspicions, and then smiled.
That’s right: Hot Doc was back in town.
“You planning to quit?” she asked, relieved for the break from her thoughts. “Because I don’t have a whole lot of control over my friends damaging themselves.”
Sure enough, as soon as the words left her mouth, she winced, looking down at her hands. “Except for today. Because this one was my fault.”
Leo chuckled in the seat beside her. “Getting into trouble again, hmm. Gotta admit, I do like that about you.”
—
Some guy in scrubs was chatting
Maggie up, looking at her like she was just exactly the kind of coffee break he’d been hoping for. Hot Doc.
It had to be.
He looked…neat. Hair combed, with an expensive cut. No gut Tyler could see. No creepy staring or pompous attitude.
He looked nice.
Like Ford almost, but downsized.
Even sitting, Tyler could see the guy wasn’t quite as tall. Or broad.
Though Ford was on the lean side, he still carried a set of shoulders on him this guy didn’t have. But what the doctor lacked in build, he made up for in a focus Tyler had only ever seen Ford exhibit when he was scribbling notes for one of the games he designed. And that focus was all about Maggie.
From where he was standing, he could only see a sliver of her face. But she looked relaxed, her posture suggesting she wasn’t in any hurry to lose the guy. Okay, her posture wasn’t suggesting anything, really.
Only then she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in that unconsciously sexy way she had, and his gut knotted—because sure enough, the doctor’s eyes were all over that shit. Watching her ear like he was thinking about touching it himself. Wondering if all that silky blond was as soft as it looked.
It was.
A hard clap on his shoulder pulled Tyler out of his foray into laughably unjustified jealousy, as Sam hauled him across the waiting room to the woman he couldn’t seem to stop watching and the doctor who wanted a piece of her.
“You okay with this, Three?” he asked, surprising Tyler with the question.
“Oh yeah.” Screw that, but it’s what a guy had to say. Especially when it was his life preventing even the possibility of more. “Completely fine.”
“Cool. Try to look like it.” Coming up to Maggie and the doctor, Sam stuck out his hand. “The infamous Hot Doc?”
The doctor arched a brow at Maggie. “Hot Doc, huh?”
Ty’s stomach soured. Like this guy needed his ego fluffed.
Maggie’s cheeks turned the same shade of pink they’d been for him a few hours before.
“Sorry,” she said, not willing to meet anyone’s eyes, though suddenly, more than freaking anything Ty wanted her to look into his. “It’s a nickname from when you treated Ava.”
Sam chimed in. “They’re big on nicknames. But most of them aren’t quite so flattering, if you know what I mean.”
Ty’s molars ground together as his eyes cranked over to the buddy he didn’t want to hate.
The doctor laughed, confident and sure. “Hell, as much as I like the sound of Hot Doc, mostly I go by Leo. Leo Martin.”
“Sam Farrow. And this is Tyler Wells. But he mostly goes by Apartment Three.”
Tyler shook his hand, pushing a smile and a few words to his mouth while concentrating on keeping his grip this side of asshole. “Nice to meet you.”
Hot Doc turned his eyes back to Maggie. “Say guys, good to meet you, but mind if I borrow Maggie for a minute?”
Chapter Twenty-one
The ride home was quiet and uncomfortable. Ford sat in the front passenger seat, his stitched-up hand resting in his lap, the window cracked to circulate air and hopefully settle his stomach, which apparently wasn’t 100 percent thanks to some olfactory sensitivity to “hospital smell.” Ty’s hands gripped the wheel, his mouth set in a steely line, the muscle in his jaw jumping at thirty-second intervals.
Sam stared out the window as Ava quietly rattled off details about the new office her firm was opening in San Diego.
Which left Maggie more or less alone with her thoughts in the cramped back of Tyler’s car.
It was possible that muscle working in Tyler’s jaw was all about spending the last three hours at the emergency room. Or the threat of Ford getting sick in his immaculately kept vehicle. It could be either of those totally legitimate reasons.
Only she didn’t think it was.
Sam shifted, trying to find room for legs too long for the backseat of any vehicle. “So how’d you leave it with Hot Doc?”
Ava perked up, her eyes going wide with curiosity. “What, you saw him?”
Sam grabbed her legs, lifting them over his lap, so he could stretch out into her space. “He wanted to talk to her…alone.” Then, looking past Ava, he asked, “So did he take you back to some quiet doctor’s lounge and test your vitals? Take your temperature to see if you were hot?”
The car jerked to the right, and Ford groaned.
“Sorry,” Tyler said, shaking his head as he glared out the window. “Pigeon.”
“When did he get back?” Ava squirmed around to face her, kicking Sam’s ribs and the seat, and of course Maggie, as she readjusted so their legs ended up in a tangled jumble.
Not comfortable, but they were almost home.
“This last week. He’s only been back at the hospital a couple of days.”
“And?” Ava urged, hands clutched together in front of her.
“And he apologized again about November and asked for another chance to make it up to me.”
Ava’s squeal cut through the too-cramped car, and Maggie pressed her fingers against her ears until her determined friend batted them away.
“So when’s your date?” Amid more squirming, she pulled her phone free and did a quick calculation. “I’m guessing in the next eighteen days.”
The pact. Of course Ava was looking out for February.
“Or—” Her mouth dropped open. “It’s Valentine’s on Tuesday. Pullleeease tell me he’s taking you then! Please, please, please!”
“Settle,” Maggie laughed with as much nonchalance as she could muster considering her actual state of tumult.
She hadn’t missed the way Tyler took off the minute they were left alone in the waiting room. Or how, each time he’d come back, he managed to avoid eye contact completely. It didn’t take a mind reader to get that her lustful-look-gone-catastrophic wasn’t sitting well with him, and he was trying to reestablish the boundaries between them. Add some space. Because maybe he didn’t trust the just-friends thing after all. And who could blame him?
They’d agreed to put the flirty attraction behind them and it wasn’t happening.
But, God, the idea of losing Tyler’s friendship made her sick. It made her belly knot and her throat tighten. And she was blowing it between them.
So when Leo showed up telling her he’d been thinking about her and asking for another chance…saying yes seemed like the obvious solution. She’d go out with him. And with a high-caliber, possibly recurring date on the books—one she met at least somewhat enthusiastically rather than grudgingly—Tyler could slide right back into the friend zone. It would be perfect.
Except for the stuttery, hard-pumping thing that happened with her heart every time she caught a glimpse of Tyler, heard his voice, or even thought of him.
“For cripes’ sake, Maggie, spill. When are you going out?”
She knew there wasn’t a future with Tyler, but until she could get her response to him under control, there was no way she could go out with another guy.
At least no one so genuinely interested in her.
“We aren’t.” And that’s when the car went stone silent.
—
No fucking way.
Following Maggie up the first flight of stairs, Tyler didn’t say a word. Didn’t trust himself to speak when he could still hear Sam and Ava ushering Ford back to his place, because what he wanted to discuss, he wanted to discuss privately.
Maggie didn’t bother looking back at him.
She knew he was there. He could tell by the set of her shoulders she was completely aware of his presence behind her and was counting out the steps to her place, same as he was.
At the landing, she pulled out her keys and went to her door.
Christ, the only thing he hated more than the idea of Maggie going out with Hot Doc was the idea of her not going out with him. Because with pact consequences what they were, and Maggie working so hard to save for the gallery, there was only one reason he could think of why she’d
pass up a perfectly good first date with a guy who’d already been preapproved.
Him.
And that was a burden he couldn’t handle.
Wasting his own life in this limbo was one thing. He’d made a commitment the day Charlie was born. But Maggie wasn’t going to do it, too.
She turned the key and from behind her, he planted a hand on the solid panels and pushed the door open, following her inside.
She faced him, their eyes locking. The seconds stretched like hours.
The door latched shut and it was on.
“What the hell are you doing passing on that date, Maggie?” he demanded, only to have her index finger meet his chest as she got up in his face with her own attitude.
“Don’t you go glowering down at me, mister. I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t pass on that date for you.”
“Oh really? So who’d you pass on it for, Ava?” He was so pissed he could barely see straight, but on some level he knew he was the one acting nuts and still he couldn’t stop. “Just thinking she looked like she could use a hot stone treatment or seaweed wrap this month?”
Maggie stared him in the eye. “I passed for Leo.”
“For him? How’s that work, because from where I was standing it looked like he was completely into you!” Like Tyler was into her, only he couldn’t act on it the same way.
“Yeah, he was,” she shot back. “So how fair would it be for me to go out with him when all I can think about is what it was like being with you? When all I want is to be with you again?”
And that was it.
His control snapped, and then he had her by the shoulders, backing her against the door they’d just walked through, ducking down to meet her mouth and bring their bodies into hard contact.
Contact that, based on the way her fingers had knotted in his hair once her hands got free of the coat he’d jerked down her arms, was exactly what she needed.
There was nothing gentle in their kiss.
Nothing tender.
Just need and instinct and the frayed remains of the restraint that had been stretched too far, falling around their feet with their clothes.