I’m a fucking goner.
I wonder how they would feel wrapped around my waist, the block of leather pressing into my lower back with sharp precision. The scrape of straps trailing down my spine as she adjusts her position on a bed, guiding me and asking formore.
I’m trying not to stare, not to gawk at her like some creep, but it’s impossible not to be curious about her. Which means I dutifully trail behind her to the wooden bench made of deep mahogany where Jeremiah is waiting for us. We stop short of the furniture, and Maggie tenses beside me. Her shoulders square back in a defensive stance. The corner of her mouth drops, the smile melting to a subtle frown.
“Together, right?” I murmur in her ear. Her hair tickles my cheek as she peers at me with wide eyes.
“Together,” she repeats. Inadvertently, as though in a fit of nervousness, her hand slips into mine. It takes a beat before she registers what she’s doing, and when she does, she starts to pull away. I squeeze her palm, keeping her joined to me, letting her know I’m a man of my word. She’s not in this alone.
“You can stay, Maggie.”Fuck, her name is like an exaltation from angels. It rolls off my tongue, the same way it would if I whispered it into her neck or chest in a moment of passion. “Do you want to come up with a phrase or word we can say if one of us needs a second to pause?”
She exhales and nods. Her fingers drum against the back of my hand, a string of twine linking us together. “Good idea. What about ‘picnic’? It looks like that’s what we’ll be doing after this first scene.”
A blanket is set up on a patch of fake grass to the right of the bench. A wicker basket and a vase of wildflowers sit on the ground. Boxes of candy hearts, the same ones I attached to all the Valentine’s Day cards Maven gave out to her classroom back in elementary school, are scattered across the pink and white plaid.
“Nice choice.” My thumb rubs across the plane of her knuckles, an instinct to comfort taking over. “Want to play a game to keep today interesting?”
She drops our hands and turns to me, chest grazing my shoulder. The glide of the fabric of her shirt against mine is a shock to my system, jolting me awake. It’s stronger than holding her hand or the whole damn cup of coffee I chugged on the way here, an injection of heat to my veins.
“What kind of game?” Maggie asks. She arches her eyebrow and folds her arms across her chest. I deserve a gold fucking medal for not staring at her breasts, the movement lifting them higher. “Tread lightly, Aiden, because I don’t want to feel Jeremiah’s wrath.”
My dick twitches. My name spills from her mouth effortlessly, making it seem like she’s spoken it a million times before.
Fucking hell.That’s really fucking nice.
It would sound even better if she screamed it, I bet.
“Twenty questions?” I suggest, firmly snapping the lid closed onProvocative Sounds Maggie Houston Might Make. “Nothing perverse. Mundane stuff. Favorite foods. Pet peeves.”
“I’m down,” she says. “Only if I can ask you first.”
“Deal.”
“Okay,” Jeremiah says. “We’re going to start with you all talking on the bench. I prefer my photos to be more candid, less posed. I’m going to be clicking while you two socialize. Do what feels natural, and ignore me.”
Maggie and I take a seat on the weathered wood. There’s a heart carved into it, just above the armrest, with a pair of initials in the middle. It’s faded over time from sunlight, and the letters are barely visible.
I wonder if those two are still together.
Two souls, forever tied.
To my right, Maggie angles her body toward me. Her hands fold into her lap and she lifts her chin. She keeps her feet planted on the ground, and I notice her toenails are painted a ruby red.
“I guess this makes us friends,” she says.
“Do all your friendships start on a bench while having your photo taken?”
“Yeah. Yours don’t?”
I chuckle at her humor and shake my head. “I’m more of a couch or bean bag fan myself.”
“Laidback, I see. What’s your favorite food?”
“Pickles.”
“Of all the food in the world, you pick a jarred vegetable?”
“They’re technically fruits,” I say. “I read it on a Snapple cap once.”
