“Come on,” I add gently. “Let me give you a ride. I’m heading out anyway.”
Chapter 2 – Maggie
Clay clears his throat but remains silent. His strong hands grip the gear shift of his light blue 1995 Tacoma as he pulls out of the fire station parking lot and onto the main road that connects our small town of Lonestar Junction.?
The cab is so quiet that my thoughts begin to drift, the buzz from the shooters Kaleb and I had downed at Rex’s Rodeo House Bar are still swirling in my head mixing with my own embarrassment and shame at being called out by Clay in front of my father’s employees.
I hadn’t meant to lose track of time but when my phone buzzed with a reminder regarding the concert we had tickets to, I suddenly remembered that I’d promised my dad I’d stop by the station first to say hello before heading to see Kenny Chesney play in the next city over.
It isn’t like me to be so reckless to accept a ride with Kaleb after I knew he’d been drinking. I would never put myself in danger,intentionally,but I’d also never miss out on saying hello to my dad after being away for so long.
Sure, I shouldn’t have been drinking, but I’d just returned from a full year away at school and we’d had plans to meet up at Baxter’s with a few friends the day we all got back in town. The problemwith that plan is that no one had showed up except for my ex.
Guilt washes over me as I squirm in the passenger seat, recalling Clay’s mention of how excited my dad was to see me today. Now, he wouldn’t see me until tomorrow morning, after his shift ended, and I’d sobered up.
He’s going to be disappointed, but this is for the best.
I suppose I owe Clay a thank you for saving me from the lecture my dad would’ve surely given, not to mention sparing Kaleb from a worse fate than Clay had already dealt him. Maybe it was for the best that Clay had stepped in.
He turns down a side road, crossing over the single railroad tracks in town, while the familiar landscape of my charming hometown blurs past the old, smudged window of Clay’s truck.
“It’s not like you to not be thinking with your head, Maggie,” he murmurs softly from the driver’s side as my eyes snap to his, caught off guard by the comment.
“What doyouknow about how I think?”
He chuckles softly, “Sounds like you’ve sobered up. But yea, you’re right. I don’t know.”
I huff from the passenger seat as I cross my arms over my chest. Disappointment courses through me at how right Clay is but also annoyance that Clay would make a statement like that.
As if he knows me.
As if I haven’t been a witness to the countless poor decisions that he’s made growing up.
After a few minutes of silent driving, Clay pulls up to the modest home my dad and I have shared since shortly after my mom passed away. It’s a two story, craftsman bungalow painted tan with a big front porch and a white picket fence. He stops in the driveway and jumps out instantly, hurrying around to my side just as I’m halfway out the door and onto the ground.
“Guess the boys in Houston don’t open doors for ladies, huh?”he says, gripping the passenger side handle with a playful, but clearly annoyed smirk.
I look up at him, my gaze is a little clearer than it had been thirty minutes ago but is still softened by the alcohol. It’s ironic—alcohol has always heightened my libido, which is highly inconvenient since I’m not interested in sleeping around.
Back in college, it was a line I’d often flirted with, riding the edge between sobriety and the euphoria alcohol brought, only to bail before things went too far, whether it was a party, a date, or any other situation I found myself in. I’d had a few casual hook-ups, but the guys weren’t gentlemen and typically focused on their pleasure alone. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d orgasmed without my own hand and was beginning to wonder if it was even possible. That is, until my beer goggled eyes get a better look at Clay.
My body flushes with heat as I press my thighs together, ignoring the familiar sensation that zings between my legs.
“The boys in Houston don’t do much for women. That’s why I’ve never been interested in them,” I reply with a wink, not quite sure how my comment lands before turning to head inside.
Before slipping through the front door, I turn back to catch Clay’s gaze. He’s still standing by his truck, watching me with those unreadable, green eyes—the same shade everyone in the Cameron family seems to be blessed with. Unwavering and steady. An unmovable force of muscle.
He had put his shirt back on before driving me home, but I hadn’t missed how good he’d looked without it while washing one of the massive pumper trucks at the fire station. Even from a distance, and through foggy beer goggles, the strength he’s gained since I’ve been gone for a year is undeniable. If I didn’t know any better, I might’ve thought he’s checking me out just now. But that couldn’t be possible. Clay had made itcrystal clearlast summer that he’d never see me as more than his nephews’ kid nanny and I’d come to terms with that being for the best.
I give a small wave with a flutter of my hand, then turn to head inside, closing the door behind me without another glance backward. As I do, I remind myself of the words I’d told myself years ago: Clay Cameron is one desire that I won’t explore. A web I refuse to be caught in, and a heart break that I don’t want to endure…
Chapter 3 – Clay
After dropping Maggie off at her dad’s house, I drive straight to Ashwood Farm, refusing to let my mind overanalyze our interaction or dwell on why she’d been with that loser I had to call a cab for back at the station.?
I recognized the guy once I heard his name—his dad proudly calls him his protégé. What I never thought was that he’d be foolish enough to drink and drive, especially not with someone else in the car with him.
Especially not withMaggie.
