“Come on.” Gwen angled her body closer, guiding her toward the side of the bar where it was marginally less mayhem. Her hand slid down from Maggie’s elbow to her wrist, warm against her pulse. Maggie tried not to notice the heat curling low in her stomach. She tried even harder not to notice that Gwen’s thumb brushed once, just once, against her skin before pulling back like it hadn’t happened.
“You don’t get to do this,” Maggie said, her voice breaking just enough that she had to laugh to cover it. “You don’t get to swoop in like… like some gallant knight pulling me off the bar when five minutes ago you were practically undressing Lillian with your eyes.”
That got a reaction. Gwen’s jaw clenched. She lookedaway, toward the crush of people, then back at Maggie. “What are you talking about? I wasn’t?—”
“Save it,” Maggie cut in, throwing up her hands. “She’s perfect, right? Tortoise biologist, saves the desert, doesn’t dance on bars?—”
“Maggie.” Gwen’s voice was sharp now. A warning. The kind that used to stop her mid-rant, back when they still knew how to fight fair.
Maggie’s chest ached. Her throat felt tight. She held up her hands. “Relax. I get it. We’re separated, technically, so I’m not asking for explanations. You don’t owe me those anymore.”
The words landed heavy between them. For a second, Gwen just looked at her with a searching expression, and Maggie hated the way that felt, like Gwen was memorizing her, like Gwen still cared.
Danica’s voice cut through, high and gleeful: “Mags, Pete is gonna try the mechanical bull.”
The group erupted in laughter again. The ridiculousness of it all should have been enough to drag Maggie back into the frenzy, but she was still pinned by Gwen’s gaze.
“Are you okay?” Gwen asked again, quieter this time.
Maggie swallowed hard. She tried to say yes. She wanted to say no. This feeling was freaking her out… this pull between them. Surely it was just their history that made her jealous, made her want all of Gwen’s attention. It was the muscle memory of love, nothing more. She rolled her eyes and pulled her wrist free. “I’m fine. Go rescue someone else.”
She pushed past Gwen toward the rest of the group, heart hammering like she’d just sprinted.
Gwen’s fingers wrapped around her elbow again before she could vanish into the crowd. Firm. Not up for debate.
“No,” Gwen said, voice low, close to her ear. “We’re going back to the hotel.”
Maggie barked out a laugh that sounded like it belongedto someone else. “We? Since when is there awe?” She yanked, but Gwen didn’t let go. “I saw you take Lillian’s card. I know what you have planned.”
Gwen blinked, eyes narrowing just enough to register a hit. Then, maddeningly calm: “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, please,” Maggie shot back. “I’m not blind. You think you’re subtle? You think I didn’t notice her sliding that little hotel key into your hand like some… some key-card harlot?”
Around them, the group whooped. Pete had managed to half climb the bull and was already yelling, “This is for feminism!” Izzy and Danica were doubled over laughing. Kiera was filming, muttering about liability insurance. The whole bar was vibrating with noise, but Maggie could only feel Gwen’s hand, solid and warm, holding her in place.
Gwen’s mouth twitched — anger, not amusement this time. “What the fuck, Maggie.”
“What?” Maggie lifted her chin, defiant. “If you want to go sleep with Saint Lillian of the Tortoises, go ahead. You don’t need my permission. Just don’t… don’t stand here acting like you give a damn about me.” There it was, the crack in her voice. She wanted to swallow it back down, but it was too late. Gwen heard it. Maggie saw the flicker in her eyes, the one that said she still cared, that she still felteverything.
Gwen leaned in, close enough that Maggie caught the clean, sharp smell of her perfume over the stale beer of the bar. “You’re drunk. Let’s get you out of here.”
Maggie yanked her wrist, finally tearing free. “I know exactly what I saw.”
But she didn’t. Not really. And the uncertainty was almost worse than the jealousy.
“Yeah. She gave me her card,” Gwen said, though her tone was more fact than confession.
Maggie froze. The bar noise blurred into static. Herstomach dropped so fast she nearly laughed. Confirmation. Proof.
But Gwen kept going, sharper now. “Because she wasn’t staying there. She has a house here, Maggie. The card was for me — for us. Lillian thought I might want…” Gwen exhaled, frustrated, like she hated how the words sounded out loud. “I asked her if we could have her room for the night for some time alone.”
That landed like a slap. Maggie’s head snapped back, eyes narrowing. “What?”
“It wasn’t her idea to… fuck.” Gwen raked a hand through her hair, still holding Maggie’s wrist with the other. Her composure was slipping, the polished veneer cracking at the edges. “It washeridea to give me the card. Because she could see that I—” She cut herself off, jaw tight. “God, Maggie. You really thought I’d hook up with your best friend’s sister? Here? Now? Who do you think I am?”
The floor seemed to tilt under Maggie’s boots. She wanted to scoff, to double down, to toss out something sharp about Gwen’s new Vegas bestie. But Gwen’s voice — low and rough — lodged in her chest like an arrow.
Who do you think I am?
