Clay’s gaze locks on mine as he searches my eyes earnestly. It seems like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Waiting another beat, he stands from his crouched position and, without another glance in my direction, walks away towardHank and the beer pong game.
I release a breath of air I didn’t realize I was holding. A pang of disappointment flutters inside me, which is completely ridiculous. I’m not sure what I expected him to say, or what I wanted him to do in that moment. My interaction with Matt had been entirely innocent. While it had irritated me that he was trying to persuade me to drink with him tonight—when I was finally feeling good—it wasn’t as if he was making a move on me. At least, I don’t think he was.
I don’t need Clay’s protection any more than I need his attention. And he’d made that abundantly clear when he told me he didn’t need anyone looking out for him two weeks ago.
I bite my lip, watching Clay reach the pong table and shake Hank’s hand without sparing another glance my way. I wasn’t expecting to see him here tonight and I definitely didn’t need him to save me from Matt.
“I’m going to the restroom,” I say, pushing myself up from the poolside ledge and standing.
I walk around the pool and enter the house, navigating the familiar layout of Lucy’s place. Once I find the downstairs bathroom, I shut the door behind me and sit on the toilet, rubbing my hands over my face in an effort to calm my racing thoughts.
Even with no alcohol in my system, I’m still feeling the effects of spending almost seven hours in the hot, Texas sun.
I cradle my head in my hands, feeling my legs buckle slightly on the toilet. I grip the toilet paper holder tightly, trying to steady myself as I fight to remain upright.
I should probably head out.
The familiar exhaustion is creeping into my bones again and the last thing I need is to make a scene by passing out in the middle of their party.
I’m not ready to leave yet—my first summer hangout and it’s barely night fall. But I know this feeling all too well: and when it hits, it’s best to be alone and in the dark, resting.
After finishing in the restroom and washing my hands, I move to open the door, only to find Clay leaning against the frame, his broad shoulder braced against one side and his arm stretched out across the other caging me. His eyes lock onto mine, a heated gaze full of determination.
“Clay, what – what are you doing?” I ask, wobbling slightly on my feet.
Chapter 10 – Clay
Maggie sways slightly in the doorway of the dimly lit bathroom and my arms shoot out instinctively to steady her.?
“Easy...” I murmur, my hands brushing against the bare skin of her waist where she’s essentially naked. Her warmth jolts through my fingers, and I snatch my hand back, the contact leaving a lingering heat.
Not doing that again.
Something isn’t right. Her chestnut curls, damp from the pool, cling to her neck and shoulders, trailing down to where her breasts are straining against a bikini top that’s a size too small for her C full cups. A single bead of water drips between the two peaks and I watch as it slides downward, mesmerized.
She looks stunning in that soft, innocent way she always has, but her legs are wobbling like a newborn fawn trying to find its balance for the first time.
“Are you drunk?” I ask with a little too much intensity for a man who isn’t her father, brother, or boyfriend.
I’ve been underage once too, so I know how these things play out. But the idea of Maggie drinking around Hank’s much older friends—guys I barely know and definitely don’t trust to haveher best interests at heart—leaves me feeling uneasy.
Does she do this every year?
She tosses her hair over her shoulder in response, but I don’t miss the slight tremble in her hand as she raises it, trying to act nonchalantly.
“Is that why you’re here, Clay? I’ve never seen you at Hank’s Memorial Day Party before. Are you here to check up on me? Did my dad send you?” Her words are tinged with a hit of sadness, and I instantly feel guilty for causing her to doubt her father.
“No. I didn’t even know you were here.”
I watch as she puffs her cheeks out and then releases a breath from between her full lips. If I hadn’t been staring, caught up in the way they shine under the bathroom lights with some sort of glossy pink shine, I’d have missed it.
Is she… disappointed?
“I haven’t had a single sip of alcohol tonight. I’m in here because I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head home now.”
“Hey – I’m sorry,” I step in front of her again, dropping my arm but still blocking her path with my body. I need to stop cornering her like this, maybe I should back up and give her some space but something about her keeps me wanting to be close. “It wasn’t my place to ask if you’ve been drinking.”
I take a step back, putting some distance between her soft curves and my tense frame. I try to focus on anything but her, staring over her head, refusing to meet those light brown eyes that always hold way too much—too much gentleness, too many questions that I don’t want to answer. Especially not questions about why I’d followed her into the bathroom to check on her.
