Maggie was distracted and impatient for the entirety of her morning math class. She kept going over and over the fight she’d had with Grey—an argument that had come out of nowhere! He’d been being sweet, actually, going out of his way to make her comfortable, and it had felt nice—then suddenly he’d flipped, and started insulting her, and criticizing her, and—Maggie frowned at the dark blue doodles edging her notebook paper—and she’d been pretty quick to rise to a temper too, which hadn’t helped anything.
She looked at the wall clock above her professor’s head and sighed heavily. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted the class to be over or if she wanted it to stretch on indefinitely. There were less than five minutes left and he said he’d be waiting to pick her up.
Normally she’d hang out on campus until her next scheduled class, which was several hours away, use the time to go to the library and get homework done, but he insisted that she go look at cars with him. Maggie was learning quickly that when Grey Delaney got an idea in his head he acted on it as soon as humanly possible.
She squinted at the enormous whiteboard and saw a number of graphs and equations that she didn’t recognize at all and she rolled her eyes. She’d need to go over the entire chapter again on her own and hope she could puzzle it out.
In high school she’d been an excellent student. Stellar, in fact. She was attending University on an almost full scholarship. But her first semester had found her distracted and less than focused due to falling in love, getting her heart broken and then discovering the most terrifying news of her life—that she was pregnant. Her grades had suffered. Not so much that she was in danger of losing the scholarships, but enough to raise some concerned eyebrows from her Papa and her counselor.
And this semester was already off to a rocky start, what with having to miss days for appointments, miss days for a wedding and then an entire week for that honeymoon. She really needed to buckle down and put every effort into surviving this semester—she knew the distractions were only going to increase as her pregnancy advanced.
People around her began to pack up their things. Notebooks and pens and calculators were getting shoved back into bags, laptops were being powered-down and stowed away, and groggy chatter was breaking out in pockets around the lecture hall.
Taking one last desperate look-over of the board, hoping to magically absorb some or any of the information she’d missed while her mind had wandered, Maggie stood and flipped her notebook closed, shoving her pen into the coil binding for safekeeping.
She yelped when her pocked vibrated and several clusters of people stopped to stare at her. Her cell. It didn’t usually ring this early.
She smiled wanly, embarrassment coloring her cheeks, and withdrew the little silver thing hastily.
‘Parked at the coffeeshop’ was all it said.
He was going to try once more to get her to eat something. She felt a surge of irritation, but her stomach rumbled at the thought of breakfast and she tisked. Fine. She’d have something to eat.
‘Just got out. Be right there.” She texted in response. Then, after a moment decided to add: ‘Thanks.’
She kept the little phone in her hand, waiting for his reply, but none seemed to be forthcoming. She sort of missed the days when she used to receive sweet little messages from this number. And then the naughty little texts he’d sent while she was working or in class—the ones that had made her blush and feel butterflies in her stomach. She slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried out of the lecture hall, making a quick detour at the ladies room to pee, of course—she had to do that all the time lately—and to make sure she didn’t look too terrible. She wasn’t pleased with her reflection, especially standing at the mirror beside two leggy, anorexic-ly thin pretty girls. The kind that had doubtless been cheerleaders in high school. The sort who wore make-up to Monday morning classes. The ones who dressed like it was a nightclub and not a university. The kind of girls that Grey probably wouldn’t mind sleeping with.
She glowered into the mirror as they whined about their boobs and how much they’d had to drink the night before and which party they’d end up at on Friday. She did her best to tame some of the wildness of her curls but it was of little use—she’d taken a midnight shower to clear her head but by the time she was through she was too tired to look through all the boxes and bags for all her hair products and just went to bed au natural. As a result, she’d been rewarded with a crazy, unmanageable, fly-away tangle.
She glanced at the girls’ skin-tight graphic tee shirts and too-high skirts, and their strappy shoes and wondered how these bony, under-dressed things didn’t catch pneumonia. They didn’t even appear to have coats in their possession. It was January for goodness’ sake.
But she suddenly wished she were wearing something a little more flattering than the old sweater and jeans she’d thrown on in a huff that morning. Pressing her lips tight she buttoned the attractive peacoat Viola had lent her and felt marginally better. Now she looked half-way acceptable, she supposed, but she was still wearing sneakers. Nothing ruined the look of a fashionable coat than a cheap pair of sneaks. She shrugged and almost reached for her lipgloss until she remembered the scent of the artificial vanilla had made her lose her lunch the week before. It would be a while before she’d be able to use that brand of lipgloss again.
Great. Hair a mess, no make-up, no lipgloss, sneakers and a ratty old sweater underneath a borrowed coat. Plus she felt bloated and puffy. She doubted she’d be able to wear these jeans much longer. She needed to go maternity shopping before too long. Biting the insides of her cheeks so as to avoid cursing, Maggie straightened her spine, lifted her chin and strode from the restroom, determined not to dwell on the fact that she was short and un-glamorous, and getting to be almost noticeably pregnant. He probably wouldn’t look twice at her even if she were all dolled up and looking her best. He hadn’t married her out of passionate attachment, afterall.
She hunkered down into the coat’s high collar as she walked against the wind toward the coffee shop on the edge of campus. But he did, she was sure of it, he did sometimes look at her that way. She’d caught him doing it a lot during their honeymoon. She’d figured that was sort of an ‘alone on a desert island’ scenario. But there were other women at the resort. Besides guests there were also plenty of attractive enough workers to catch his eye—and they had done that. She grimaced as she thought about the way his eyes had followed their waitress’ rear end on the night he’d taken her to eat at the resort’s five-star restaurant. How he’d flirted openly with the bartender when they’d gone to the lounge on another night. She was pretty sure he’d slept with the lifeguard from the pool while she’d gone upstairs to shower and rest. She’d cried about that for almost an hour before she’d managed to finally fall into a fretful quasi-nap. She’d dreamt of Grey swimming in a pool filled with naked women. It had been hellish, and she’d been a royal pain in the ass to him all that evening because of it.
But even though he still looked at plenty of other women, and he wasn’t exactly discreet about it, she was pretty sure he still looked at her too. And sometimes even wanted her. That last night of their honeymoon had been… wonderful. He’d told her things, said things to her that made her blush and made her more aroused than any of the sweet things he’d ever said to her.
And he’d said he couldn’t get her out of his head. That he needed her. That he couldn’t help himself when he was around her.
Of course he’d been drunk. But she knew well enough from working at Los Tres and from having some hard drinking uncles that men often spoke truest when they’d put away large amounts of liquor. And he hadn’t said anything too absurd. He hadn’t claimed that he loved her or that she was the only woman for him or anything as unbelievable as that.
So she thought his confession, fevered and rushed and desperate and aggressive as it had been, might be very near to the truth. Especially given the way he’d backed up those words with very definite action. Maybe she wasn’t the only one in the relationship who still wanted to have sex with a person who they loathed and despised.
Only she wasn’t sure she loathed Grey as much as she wanted to. Not anymore. Not after getting to know his parents and his family a little. Not after seeing the little boy in the photo album. The one who’d give up his coat for her without a second thought, who always held doors for her, who never failed to offer her a glass of water or anything she wanted.
He made her furious like no one else could, but she wasn’t sure she could really hate the man. Even if her broken heart was raging at her to do just that. It seemed her heart was being outvoted by her gut, her brain, her sentimentality, and most definitely by the rest of her body. Especially the parts of her that reacted to his deep, smooth voice, or to that knee-weakening grin he had, or to those impossible eyes.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
She jumped and her steps faltered. She’d been trudging along against the cold, her head down, her eyes on the stone sidewalk before her. She’d started to walk right on past the shop.
“Oh, whoops.” She looked at him and felt her cheeks redden. She’d been daydreaming and felt a little bit red-handed.
“Hungry yet?” He asked, his face stern. He rubbed his hands briskly in front of him. He must have been sitting inside waiting for her when she’d wandered right past—he wasn’t wearing his coat as he hovered in the doorway.
She wanted to say no, just to irritate him as much as his smug arrogance nettled her, but she nodded. “I could eat a horse.” She replied.
“Well, I don’t know what you Mexicans put in your breakfast burritos, but this place hasn’t got any horsemeat. How about a bagel?”
She tilted her head to the side and glared at him.
He stared back, his face bland and unconcerned with her wrath.
“On second thought—“she began, an imperious lift in one eyebrow and a proud scowl on her face.
But he grinned. “I’m only kidding. Jesus, Maggie. Just get in here and get a fucking pastry for Christ’s sake.” He laughed a little and held the little shop door wide.
The warmth of his smile seemed to take the chill right out of the bitter January morning. How could he do that? She found herself smiling back and wondered at the power he had over her. She was still angry with him, she insisted to herself, he had had no right to go off the handle like that this morning, to be such an ass. She shouldn’t be smiling at him, sharing in his amusement at his racial slur.
“I got you a hot chocolate.” He said, gesturing to a small lidded cup on a cozy table by the window, where his own tall cardboard cupped beverage waited alongside an open newspaper, and his coat was slung over the back of spare café chair.
Numbly she walked toward the table. “Do we have time to sit and eat?” She asked. She had no idea how long it took to buy a car, but thought she remembered it taking her father hours upon hours the last time he’d gone car shopping. And that was after weeks of visiting various dealerships, and pricing, and shopping around.
He was ready to slip the coat off her as soon as she’d unbuttoned it. She wanted very much to keep it on, since it was the best part of her ensemble this morning, but the little shop was blasting the heat and with the signature herbal scent and strong coffee ground aroma that a college coffee house is known for, she thought the heat underneath her coat might be enough to make her ill.
“Sure.” He responded, folding the coat lengthwise and then draping it over his on the spare chair. “What would you like to eat?”
He moved around her and held out the chair that was meant for her and she sank into it automatically. “Because I have my Lit class at one—“
“Right.” He said. “You may not make it to that. Bagel? Croissant?”
Maggie craned her neck to look up at him. “I have to make it, I missed last week.”
Grey blinked. And then he smiled pleasantly. “Freshman Lit? Who’s the professor?”
Maggie frowned. She didn’t trust him when he smiled like that. There was something entirely too suave and practiced about it. It was one of the smiles he’d worn often when they’d dated. It wasn’t real.
“Sinclair.” She answered. “And everybody says she’s really tough—“
Grey looked triumphant and a real grin flashed across his face. “No problem. How about coffee cake?”
Maggie huffed. “Grey, listen, it’s a new semester, I really can’t afford to be getting off on the wrong foot. I missed last Monday and—“
“We have a lot of shit to get done today Maggie, and you won’t fail because you missed a couple classes.” He was losing patience with her.
But her patience wasn’t far behind his. “For God’s sake Grey, do you realize how many classes I’m likely to miss this semester? What with doctor’s appointments and dress fittings and luncheons your mother is insisting I attend and everything? That’s not including the possibility of emergencies or if something goes wrong and I need to go to the doctor unexpectedly—“
His polite smile evaporated and he looked stormy. “What do you want for breakfast?” He demanded.
She folded her arms over her chest and stared at an original piece by one of the university’s art majors. It was ugly. And angry. It looked like how she felt. All tangled and knotted and confused.
“Grace Sinclair is best friends with my Mom and Dad.” Grey explained impatiently, still standing next to her chair, awaiting her order. “She’s Ben’s mom.” He added. “She’s practically family.” When Maggie failed to show relief at this information Grey clucked his tongue. “Christ. I’ll talk to her for you if you want.”
Maggie ground her teeth together. She didn’t want that at all. “A bagel with peanut butter please.”
He blinked. “You could take a leave of absence, if you’re so concerned.” He continued to press the issue but she met his eyes with a challenging gaze.
“And an orange juice.” Take the semester off? That was probably something rich people got to do whenever they felt like it. She thought about her scholarship and swallowed hard as she glared up into those pale green eyes of his. It must be nice to be Grey Delaney and not have to worry about a thing.
He closed his mouth and swallowed as he nodded. “Sounds good. Be right back.” She imagined he had read some of her wrath in her eyes, and she felt satisfied that he’d chosen to back down and shut his mouth for once.
Maggie felt her temper boiling as she watched him walk to the counter. She had to begin a mental rosary in order to back herself down. It was lucky for Grey and for everyone in the coffee shop that the barista that morning was a scruffy looking male co-ed, because if she had seen him so much as smile at a female in that moment she was certain she would have blown the lid off the place.
Her stomach grumbled and she glowered down at it. “Traitor.” She muttered to the little life growing in there. Then she smiled just a little, imagining once again those baby photos Mrs. Delaney had given her. “You’re going to be one stubborn little terror.” She murmured quietly, before reminding herself she was in a public place and looking around to make sure no one had spied her apparent insanity. She drummed her fingers on the table causally and ran her eyes up and down Grey’s effortlessly graceful form as he headed back toward her with a plated bagel and a plastic juice bottle.
‘And gorgeous.’ She added silently to the baby.
Then she re-focused her mind on how manipulative and controlling her new husband tended to be--in order to prepare herself for the rest of what was promising to be a very long day in his company.
Mother Mary grant her patience!
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